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Five minutes later, we were brought two large fry-ups and a pot of tea. If the Scots in
Scotland were even half as nice as the Scots in Carlisle then we were in for a treat.
The rain had not relented by the time we braved it back outside, almost two hours after
weentered. Ourbikes,whichwehadunsubtlypretended tochaintothetrolley depot,were
still there. On this rare occasion, I secretly hoped that the bikes would have been stolen.
Thatway,wecouldhaveabandonedthewholetrip-duetocircumstancesbeyondourcon-
trol - and then headed home to our warm dry beds and home comforts. There would be
no shame in admitting defeat, having made it so far, only for our trusty steeds, that we had
worked so tirelessly to acquire, to be taken from us by a couple of pesky Carlislians.
Unfortunately,nobodyhadseizedtheopportunity,andthebikesremainedwherewehad
left them, ready for us to climb aboard with our damp, bin-liner-coated arses.
Reaching Scotland was certainly an anti-climax.
A bridge across the River Sark marks the border and we were greeted with a brown
'Scotland Welcomes You'
sign in the town (if you can call it that) of Gretna.
Gretna is of course famous for its registry offices. In Scotland, the 19
th
century law that
allows 16 year olds to marry without parental consent is still taken advantage of. The first
building you see after entering Scotland is one such registry office. The
'First House in
Scotland Marriage Room'
or
'Last House in Scotland'
- depending on which direction you
approach it - is a single storey white and black building, right next to the main road. I've
definitely seen more romantic wedding venues, but it did have a certain charm.
It was noon and still raining heavily. There was no sign of any brides or grooms, but
I got quite excited by the idea of a couple turning up for a spontaneous marriage, and ur-
gently requiring two witnesses. Unfortunately, nobody did. The only way that a wedding
by the side of a busy road, on a wet Thursday in Gretna could have been less romantic,
would be if Ben and I had been the witnesses.
'Have you ever been to Scotland before?' asked Ben as we stood hugging the '
Scotland
Welcomes You'
sign (this is a compulsory rite of passage for anyone that enters Scotland
by bike or on foot).
'Yes. This is my second time,' I said.
'When was the other time?'
'About five minutes ago.'
'Eh?'
'I had to nip back into England a few minutes ago because my route instructions blew
back over the border.'
'You're a moron. So you've never been to Scotland before today?'
'No.'
'Me neither.'
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