Day 12 - Cup Final Day

From: Golspie
To: John O’Groats
Miles today: 69
Miles – running total: 940


Not only is it Cup Final Day, but we are playing in the final and the opposition is looking rather poor. But before the detail of the day’s riding, which I’m sure you are itching to get to, a brief reprise on the accommodation front. Last night’s venue, the Sutherland Arms looked attractive enough from the outside but the inside left a lot to be desired. This was fine for one night but we were meant to be returning triumphant to the same place after completing our journey. A plan was hatched and after a brief falling out with the hotelier, we used their wi-fi network to find a more suitable venue.

Fed up with country lanes, just want to get there.

With no travelling to do from hotel to start point, we were away bright and early at 8.30 having given Alastair one last revision of how the gears worked. We worked north still on the trusty A9 through Brora after six miles. Today could have played out in two ways – a leisurely bimble up the coast enjoying the atmosphere of our last day or heads down and let’s give it one more blast. It wasn’t discussed but the change of the wind direction in our favour made the decision for us and once the legs were warmed up we were off at pace. In the first hour we covered all but 16 miles, stopping briefly to refuel in Helmsdale at the foot of our first climb. This proved to be long and slow, made us work but was not too demanding. We thought we had got away with it and the pace picked up again. We were now storming along, a lot of the time breaking the 20mph barrier on the flat (care of that tail wind). Six more miles on and we hit the Berriedale Braes. We had been running along the coast relatively high up, suddenly we descended into a steep valley and at the bottom were faced with a vertiginous climb back out the other side. This was an out of the saddle job for much of the way up, another cyclist wishing us well having stopped on the first bend and waving us through. Stephen showed us a clean pair of heels and by the time we re-grouped at the top, none of us could recall having had to work harder.

We were eating up the miles now and with the Braes behind us picked up the pace again stopping for another break 16 miles south of Wick, the final proper town before John O’Groats. The terrain was undulating and with Stephen leading the way we rode in a tight formation sustaining a speed that we had not previously got near. We were flying. By my calculations we covered those 16 miles in circa 40 minutes. This was the most enjoyable part of the ride to date.

Andrew had driven ahead and found an attractive fish restaurant in Wick and we arrived shortly after midday for an early lunch of crab salad, pear ice cream and coffee. One more effort was required. That last stint was going to be between 17 and 20 miles. Off we went again and once again Stephen was up front breaking wind for the final time. We covered ten miles in 30 minutes before allowing ourselves a wee stop. Seven or eight to go but it started getting hilly again and now the legs were beginning to tire. The landscape around us had suddenly become more desolate, farmland turning to moorland covered in rocks and heather. One final incline and there the village of John O’Groats lay before us. We cruised that last half mile, with video camera on to capture the moment of passing the village sign, then on another mile down to the port and the much prized signpost confirming our arrival.

The finishing line (and not before time)

Done and dusted. We were exhausted and elated. Andrew presented us with a bottle of the fizzy stuff. We did photos, bought tacky souvenirs and repaired to a café to celebrate.

It’s a long way from Land’s End to John O’Groats. It’s more the monotony that gets you down than the physical tiredness. In fact Stephen, having led most of the day, not only went for a run when we got to the hotel but got in a race with a teenager and beat him. The man has no limits or concept of age.

Anyone got any bottom cream?

Before I sign off a few thanks are due. Our drivers Simon and Andrew have both been superb and have given up their time to help, support and pander to our every need. Well, almost every need. Nick’s friends Nicky and Chris lent us their bike rack, which has been much used. Alastair’s parents-in-law, Shirley and Bryn showed us great hospitality in Wales. Our wives deserve thanks for indulging us in this trip, left behind to mind demanding children and pets (especially young un-house-trained puppies). The list could go on but finally thank you to all those of you who have taken the trouble to read this blog. In particular thanks to those who sent messages of encouragement, primarily Alison, Mandy (aka Wendy) and Brian. The technology has not allowed me to reply even though I told it that it should. It is very naughty technology.

It has been an adventure. In almost two weeks there has not been a cross word between us. And not a drop of rain has fallen on us, how lucky is that? There have been aches and pains – Alastair’s shoulder has played up from start to finish; Nick had a problem with ‘Jim’ (the character Jim Royall of “ My arse” fame – go figure); I’ve had a cold and even Stephen had a stiff knee for the first few days – at least I think it was his knee. Over the course of 12 days, Nick’s on-bike computer has informed him that we have burnt up more than 25,000 calories each. This is great news except for the fact my waistline indicates I have consumed about 35,000. My new car bumper sticker will read, “Cycle 940 miles and put on weight – ask me how”.

I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but would I do it again? You’ve got to be joking it was a pain in the backside!

So, mission accomplished, London. We’re coming home.

WE WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE ANY DONATIONS, HOWEVER SMALL TO SUPPORT THE CAUSES WE UNDERTOOK THIS CYCLE ON BEHALF OF. PLEASE SIMPLY CLICK ON - http://www.justgiving.co.uk/Tim-Nightingale/

PS Racing bike for sale: Hardly used, one careful owner.

Day 11 - Almost the end of end to end

From: Fort Augustus
To: Golspie
Miles today: 85
Miles – running total: 871

I start tonight with an apology to Mandy, whom I mistakenly renamed as ‘Wendy’ in last night’s missive. We have few enough readers without me offending those that we do have by getting their names wrong. My top tip for remembering people’s names is to find something that rhymes with it. Works every time. Well, almost every time.

I left you in suspense last night as it was all about to kick off at the Whitebridge Hotel. Four skinny middle aged (push) bikers against the Hairy Harley Chapter on their UK tour. I thought things were going to go pear-shaped when Stephen opined rather loudly in the bar that anyone over the age of 30 with a ponytail, arm to arm tattoos and a girth exceeding 40”, should be imprisoned without trial and confined on an indefinite basis. Fortunately our bearded biker brethren were too taken up with their plans for the following day, which involved going on a steam train from Fort William, which when not chuffing around the Highlands is the Hogwart’s Express of Harry Potter fame.







Loch Ness



The day dawned bright and sunny and stayed that way all day long. We reached our starting point at the foot of Loch Ness and followed along its entire length before pressing on for Inverness. I am ignorant of the meaning or significance of “Inver” but there are an awful lot of them around here. We have been through Inverbeg, Invergarry, Invergordon, Inverness and, for all I know, Inverjimmy.

Another day, another bridge, this time at Inverness

We cruised into Inverness a little after midday, passing through en route to the A9, the main road going north and east. Our journey over the last 24 hours has gone from the west coast to the east, in a north easterly direction. We climbed out of Inverness for quite a while, initially along some country roads masquerading as cycle lanes. The climb was rewarded with a very long stretch of gentle downhill, allowing us to pick up speeds of 25mph+. Nick was leading and as we swept down the hill to the Cromaty Firth and the bridge crossing it, a sign came up that we had been waiting 11 days to see. It said “John O’Groats 111 miles”. Our momentum was such that we couldn’t stop for photographs, but we knew the end was in sight.



Bridge over the Cromaty Firth

Lunch awaited in a fine restaurant, by our rather low standards. Sitting beside the bay we were able to watch seals cavorting in the water and sunning themselves on rocks. If only we could have done the same.

The afternoon brought with it 36 miles of mostly flat terrain. And normally we might have laughed in the face of such a meagre number of miles but the combination of sore bottoms and at times a goodly head wind meant we had our work cut out. We started stopping after every half hour for bottom relief. The road dragged on interminably as we now headed up the east coast. It was sunny, the scenery was fine and yet we were near enough to the end to want it to be the end.

We pulled in to Gospie at getting on for 6pm. The final five miles had not so much been a late charge as the evening rush hour. We had a wonderful downhill section about five miles out, with sweeping curves and a velvet smooth surface. By the time we hit the flat we were speeding along at 20mph and sustained the pace into and through Gospie, hoping to trigger the electronic “Slow down” sign.

This was Alastair’s day. The whole trip he has been wanting to lead but we have had to restrict him for fear of getting lost. To say Alastair lacks a sense of direction is an understatement of incalculable proportions. Only last night in the hotel, while I was typing this very blog in our shared room, I heard this plaintiff voice somewhere in the hallway, calling my name. Alastair was lost, forgotten our room number and had knocked on two other doors already. But today, north of Inverness we got on the A9 and stayed there for the rest of the day. We pointed him in the right direction and let him loose.

So after all the bottom aching miles, we have one day left. We are following the coast road all the way to John O’Groats. We have only found out this evening that 25 miles in there is a 1:3 climb that is not to be taken lightly. It is steep enough that there are run off lanes for lorries. It’s not good news but somehow I think we relish the challenge. We have circa 72 more miles to do. And one major hill. There is not much at John O’Groats to mark our arrival, no brass band, no dancing girls, no ceremony just the satisfaction of knowing we did it. “A demain” as they say in Spain.

Day 10 - Real men eat mountains

From: Lanark
To: Inverarnan
Miles today: 90
Miles – running total: 786


Another day, another eternity in the saddle and no porridge or brown bread for breakfast. You’d think if you could get porridge anywhere, it would be here in Scotland where it is supposedly a national dish up their with other culinary delicacies like haggis and mince and tatties.

We climbed on board with slightly heavy hearts and headed up the hill. This was going to be our main day in the Highlands. The cloud was heavy and the hills shrouded in mist. We got into a steady rhythm and with a reasonably gentle incline soon found ourselves in the village of Tyndrum, which had a certain Canadian village in the middle of nowhere feel about it.

After Tyndrum there was more climbing followed by a long flat section through the valley, a meandering river off to our right. Along this stretch we came across our largest roadkill to date, a red deer, the first of two we saw by the side of the road. Another climb out of the valley pushed us a little harder, but the chill from the lack of sunshine meant we were glad of the warmth from the higher work rate. By now we were reasonably high and officially in the Highlands, as confirmed by the road sign. We skimmed across Rannoch Moor, apparently the largest wilderness in the UK and what a desolate place it was. Small ponds of water were all about, with a mass of dead tree roots which, I am reliably informed, date from thousands of years ago.

Caption competition: What is Alastair saying? (Answers in comments, please)

We ploughed on and suddenly the hills turned to mountains. We passed by Glencoe ski resort, which is not exactly Zermatt or Verbier. The roads were long straight and mostly flat. Our days are fairly pressed given the mileage and today would be the highest yet. As it is we have refuelling breaks, lunch breaks, puncture stops, wee stops and occasionally mid afternoon onwards bottom stops. There is therefore a paucity of time and while the scenery was again spectacular, I didn’t feel I could halt progress for the sake of another snap. I have therefore had to become adept at retrieving my camera from pocket on my back, getting it out of its case, switching it on and setting up the shot whilst still pedalling. This is a fairly precarious process since it requires two hands. I then have to move out to the middle of the road in order to get the other three guys in the shot. This is not something Health & Safety would endorse, nor something I would advise trying at home - especially if you live in London. At one point on this straight road today, a female passenger in an on-coming vehicle put her hands over her eyes as I fiddled with the camera. One has to suffer for one’s art.

There is a benefit to all this climbing and the descent down to Glencoe (the village rather than the resort) was taken at a modest 25mph although we could have tanked it at 40mph had our conservative other selves got the better of us. The run down was great and I only regret that I didn’t video it.

Back in the valley and Fort William was our next target, 14 miles away. The prospect of lunch at Morrisons, the supermarket, was enough to spur us on and less than an hour later we were queuing up for a wide selection of food, all of which had been fried. None of us had had the benefit of eating at Morrisons before and what a treat it proved to be, so much so that Stephen planned to text Mandy, his PA, to see if there was one in the City that he could take clients to for lunch, while Alastair thought it might be a cost effective venue for his private equity firm’s Christmas lunch. I would have followed suit had my own firm not suffered the misfortune of already having booked the Bleeding Heart.

We consumed our chips or mince and tatties in the lee of Ben Nevis, Britain’s highest mountain. Only 31 miles to do after lunch and we got back on board and headed for Fort Augustus, our target for the day. Along the way there were more lochs, more mountain streams, more local wildlife, some of it still alive and a total absence of sun. No matter, it didn’t rain. We still have had not a drop. The odds on getting from Land’s End to the middle of the Highlands on bikes over ten days and not being rained on must be about as likely as Labour winning the next election or England winning the World Cup. Or both. On the same day.

Exciting news on the puncture front. We thought we had a puncture free day yesterday but alas no. This morning Nick’s tyre was flat, which counted as a puncture. Then he had another flat in the hills and this evening another rear puncture. He is now uncontested leader:


Nick 5
Tim 3
Stephen 2
Alastair 0

Quite how Alastair has escaped beggars belief and is certainly no result of his cycle craft. Tonight I have to report that we are sharing our hotel with a group of Harley Davidson bikers. There are eight of them and five of us, but Stephen is still insisting that we can “take them”. I have my doubts since in weight alone each of them seems to weigh twice as much as us. And that’s just the women in the group. For the result of this showdown of the bikers, don’t miss tomorrow’s exciting penultimate instalment. We’re getting close, only 160 miles to go.

Day 9 - Through Glasgie, with love

From: Lanark
To: Inverarnan
Miles today: 80
Miles – running total: 696

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Last night’s accommodation was fairly sparse but adequate for our needs. What it lacked in luxury, it compensated for by the friendliness of all the staff we met. It seems the friendliness thing extends beyond the border.

Disappointingly, there was no porridge. And brown bread seems to be a product that is exclusively sold in the south east. We’ve almost given up asking for it. I tried again this morning but in vain. In one establishment along the route where we asked if they had any brown bread for our toast, the waitress said,
“Well, it’ll be brown when it comes out the toaster.”

And clearly some of our party’s sophisticated London tastes are occasionally frowned upon in the regions, to wit:
Waitress: Would you like tea or coffee this morning with your breakfast?
Alastair: Can I have a skinny latte, easy on the foam?
Waitress: Would you like tea or coffee this morning with your breakfast?

I awoke to positive and negative thoughts. We have only four more days and are two thirds through. On the downside we still have to cover a distance equivalent to cycling to Leeds from London and most of the way back.

This particular morning started cloudy, windy and cold. Cold enough that we all needed to wear our rain jackets all morning. We were 25 miles outside Glasgow, our first port of call. The ride in through various satellite towns and suburbs was largely uneventful, flatish and lacking greatly in aesthetic appeal. It did nothing to lift our spirits.

A local health food restaurant:

Once in Glasgow itself we took our mid-morning break in the less than salubrious surroundings of a Morrisons car park. We purchased the goods needed for a makeshift lunch on the move (picnic would be to overstate the matter) and then went ‘off piste’ following a cycle path beside the Clyde all the way into the City and out the other side. Nick’s research had established that this had been renovated relatively recently and the prospect of a gentle cruise beside the Clyde was an appealing one. The reality did not quite live up to expectations as the path was intermittently covered in broken glass, as one of our party described it “confirming all our worst prejudices”. Further confirmation was found, if needed, by the occasional group of men standing around, merrily passing the time of day having had one or more Bacardi Breezers too many. For the most part they waved us through in good humour, although discerning what they were saying was beyond us. One took a more aggressive position, which we thought might be down to our appearance being not dissimilar to Policemen on bikes i.e. luminous green jackets with blue helmets.

The centre of Glasgow, or the bits that we saw adjacent to the river, were modern and bright. It is certainly a modern city with plenty of interesting modern architecture, but the broken bottles and scattered shopping trolleys on the cycle path suggested there are still underlying problems as indeed there are in so many other cities.

We lunched late directly under the Erskine Bridge, overlooking a canal, in what was now bright, warm sunshine. Still 40 miles to go. A further blast along the cycle path beside the canal, then on to the roads before an afternoon break. 27 to go. We now picked up Loch Lomond on our right and followed it from bottom to top, soaking up the miles on some excellent road surfaces, punctuated by stretches of appalling quality surfaces. It’s feast or famine up here.

The sun while now sinking in the sky as we sped on to the infamous Drovers’ Inn, a hostelry marking the gateway to the Highlands and renowned for its outdoorsy clientele. We pulled into the car park at 5.30 on the dot, a long but not too demanding day with almost no hill work to speak of.

By Loch Lomond

Something for the morning

By contrast we start tomorrow morning with the longest climb on the whole trip. I am assured that it is not too steep, but that it will test our strength and stamina with an estimated duration of an hour and a half. It’s all fun, fun, fun.

Day 8 - Sassenach invasion of “The North”

From: Carlisle
To: Lanark
Miles today: 75
Miles – running total: 616

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There is an element of Groundhog day each morning as we face up to another eight hours in the saddle. It was a week ago this morning that we set off from Land’s End and while everything has pretty much gone to plan and we are undoubtedly making good progress, we are weary from our efforts and rather saddle sore. Last night we were so tired we got through dinner and a couple of bottles of wine but could not see out Match of the Day, which is never a good sign.

Sunday morning it may have been but we left our accommodation good and early after lashings of porridge and a top up of toast. We got on the bikes at 9.20 and sauntered through Carlisle on our way to the border. In all our travels through the north of England, I never once saw a sign that mentioned Scotland. Even when we were but a few miles from the border, the signs just read “The North”. This is the sort of thing you expect to see on the M1 at Watford, but what’s wrong with mentioning Scotland? And now, even while we’re well into Scotland, we’re still getting the same signs saying “The North”, presumably meaning the north of Scotland. Perhaps that one at Watford means the north of Hertfordshire.

After a couple of hours we finally arrived at the border. This was a joyous affair for us despite the rather lack lustre road sign announcing the fact. We were in Gretna Green, with the house on the opposite side from the sign declaring itself to be the first house in Scotland and the scene of 10,000 wedding ceremonies. We wondered out loud how many of those subsequently became divorces. The consensus was around the 9,500 mark.

Photographs taken and mid morning snacks consumed we went on our way. It was cloudy and cool. Rain threatened but never came. We couldn’t have complained if it had; lots of people do exactly what we’re doing and we doubt that very many will have cycled the length of England without a drop of rain falling about them.

We pressed on along flat roads with good surfaces for the most part, although not that good as Nick managed to pick up two punctures and now sits just one behind me on the leader board. We passed through Fleming Kirkpatrick which claims to be home to the very cave in which Robert the Bruce made some Attenborough-esque observiations of arachnid behaviour patterns. We by-passed Lockerbie and went on to Johnstonbridge for lunch, stopping at a motorway service station that we could access from our A-road.

The day turned out to be one of two halves: flat in the morning and gently hilly in the afternoon. These Scots are canny and minimised the strain of hill climbing by engineering only the slightest angle of ascent. They went on for miles and miles but their gentle nature made them a pleasure to ride up. They thoughtfully provided a cycle path, which in part was silky smooth and in part rather rough and pitted. They also very considerately provided a parallel motorway, which 99% of the traffic chose to use. We had the road to ourselves save for the odd motorcyclist using this empty space as a test track.

The afternoon passed with only the minor incident of us all simultaneously suffering from tired, numb, sore and chafed bottoms. Or other delicate areas in the immediate vicinity. This led to a number of bottom stops. Up until now we have been fortunate not to suffer more than we have. Whether our backsides have collectively had enough, remains to be seen.

After prolonged rollercoasting with a backdrop of the Southern Uplands, we were met at the appointed junction by head of logistics #2, who transported us back to tonight’s accommodation. I won’t go into too much detail, suffice it to say it is part of a stables.

Tomorrow we head down the road into Glasgow, where we’ll try to pick up the cycle path beside the Clyde. Four more days to go and my bottom can’t wait for it to be over.

Day 7 - Over the hill

From: South of Lancaster
To: Carlisle
Miles today: 76
Miles – running total: 541

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The flatlands of the past two days had lulled us into a false sense of security. Today the hills came back and took their toll. We are feeling wrecked tonight.

We headed into Lancaster, through its streets and out the other side, starting to climb almost immediately. In theory today was all about skirting up between the Lake District to the west and the Yorkshire Dales to the east. In reality we engaged with both. Our initial climb took us back into beautiful countryside which we had missed in the second half of yesterday, travelling through various urban conurbations. The road before rose and dipped and we ate up the miles enjoying spectacular scenery. We stopped mid morning at Kirkby (the second ‘k’ is silent) Lonsdale. We pulled up in a car park next to a delightful river (see photo left) and munched our snacks overlooking the rushing water.

Onward again we moved deeper into the countryside, finding some more hills to climb having already left Lancashire behind us and moving briefly into Cumbria before dipping east into Yorkshire and the Yorkshire Dales national park. We had been dreading the afternoon as we knew we were facing a five mile climb to somewhere called Shap on the top of the Dales. In reality the climb up to Orton that preceded it was far worse than Shap itself. Lunch in Orton was marked by a street market and unbelievably warm temperatures. I would wager this was the hottest day of the year in Orton.

Back on the bikes, up the moor and down the other side to Shap. From here we aimed for Penrith, moving seamlessly from the Dales to the northern tip of the Lake District. We arrived in Penrith late afternoon and tiring. It was still warm. One more step of circa 15 miles to Carlisle lay ahead, how difficult could it be? One A-road and a rollercoaster from start to finish with some inclines are fatigued legs could have done without. We nevertheless had our, by now normal, late afternoon charge and sped along as best our legs would let us. By the time we found Andrew we were a spent force.

In the course of the day we managed to pick up two punctures, one for Stephen (he now has two to his credit and is catching me up) and Nick had his first. Only Alastair remains puncture free. Our puncture repair process has become a slick operation with everyone now knowing their role in order to expedite matters.

And that is just about England done. Tomorrow we cross the border into Scotland. It is by no means a done deal. Not only do the hills of the southern lowlands lie ahead but the very real mountains of the Highlands. We still have 80 miles a day to crank out and we still have rather more than a third of the distance remaining. Scotland has few people but lots of space.

Day 6 - Lost in Lancashire (or was it Cheshire?)

From: Nantwich (north of)
To: South of Lancaster
Miles today: 86
Miles – running total: 465


The north/south divide is very much in evidence on this trip. And since most of you reading this monologue will be from the south, I have bad news: the north is a great deal friendlier than the south. The service we received in Cornwall and Devon was poor and often a good deal less than friendly. And yet, as we move north more and more people greet us at traffic lights, proactively asking where we’ve come from and where we’re going. Admittedly the average age of these people is also north of the retirement age. But last night’s landlord and chef engaged us over breakfast on how he butchers and ages his steaks. Not exactly scintillating, but at least he made the effort. Those from the south barely gave us the time of day.


Of course there are language and cultural sensitivities one has to be aware of. As we moved through Cheshire and into Lancashire we found that greeting people we were asking directions from with a cheery “Good morning my good fellow, would you be kind enough to point us in the direction of…” didn’t wash. In Lancashire, they may be friendly but they minimise their salutation to a perfunctory “Ye-awright?” The response to this is not an explanation of your current state of being, but simply a reflective “Ye-awright?” back at them. Once we learnt this straight forward lesson we were equipped to communicate far more effectively.

Good news on the puncture front, - someone else got one. Stephen had his first puncture today. The picture below shows Alastair and I repairing it. Alastair's the one pumping hard, while I manfully grip the rubber. Several motorists hooted while all this was going on and for the life of me I can't think why.Today was an important day. It was our sixth day of pedalling and thus marks the half way point on our 12 day schedule. It was always going to be the longest day in terms of mileage to date, but in fact due to our own incompetence we added a further five miles to the total as a result of getting lost in the morning. It wasn’t all bad. Once we realised we’d gone wrong, we risked all and tried to cut across country through the lanes to make good our mistake. In the course of this diversion we came across the chocolate box village of Great Budworth. There’s not a lot there but what there is rather fetching. We liked it so much we all agreed we'd go back some time, but not ten minutes later as it turned out when we realised we had gone wrong in our attempt to put right our earlier going wrong.

It was that sort of day. Early on, Nick (Chief Navigator) had even managed to take us off roading. It was also changeover day on the Head of Transport, Logistics and Procurement front. Our trusty Man Friday, Simon (see left), morphed Dr. Who style into Andrew (see right). We left Simon at lunch and met Andrew for tea.

On the pedalling front the Indian summer continued and we took full advantage. We moved into Lancashire and with it lost some of the rural idyll we have enjoyed for the last six days. We’ve been through a few towns today from Northwich to Leigh and Standing. We’ve skirted Wigan and been through the centre of Preston. For the most part what it lacked in aesthetic appeal it more than made up for in being relatively flat. We made hay and whacked along at a good pace. At one point this afternoon, proceeding in full flight formation we overtook another cyclist on a hybrid bike. He was not pleased and immediately put his head down and came after us. Stephen, on point, put the pedal down and off we went, duty bound not to stop before our pursuer had given up. By the time he did so we’d racked up the pace to 20mph and we already had 77 miles in the legs that day. There is only one conclusion: We are getting fitter and are better able to cope. Today was longer than any other but we felt in much better form at the end of it than we have on many of the others.

So as we move into the second half our mission, we have gone beyond both Manchester and Liverpool. Just as well that we’re getting stronger with the edges of the Lake District coming up tomorrow and Scotland only just round the corner.