Heading for a ten mile walk along the coast at Eyemouth with around 30 walkers, I decided this was the perfect start to my healthy eating and exercise plan.

I parked at a garden centre on route to wait on some of my walking buddies picking me up to car share.

Eric, having missed the motorway cut off for the second time, finally pulled up, and no sooner had I fastened my seatbelt when “Eric, I think I need the toilet.”

Patiently Eric drove 30 yards from my parked car to the garden centre where we all got out and proceeded to demolish huge rolls and sausage and mugs of tea before using the toilet.

‘Well, that was a disastrous start to my healthy eating plan," I reckoned.

The views on the walk were wonderful, and after only a couple of miles we decided to settle on the beach and soak up the sunshine, at which point Margaret announced that she hated sand on her feet, and as she was wearing open sandals and was on a coastal walk, I guessed this was a difficult thing to avoid.

Ice cream’s all round followed by a paddle and soon we were back on track for few miles until we came to the picturesque village of St Abbs, which was just perfect for a late lunch.

After all, I had only managed a Snickers bar and a sandwich since the beach.

However, much to our disappointment the raved about Cullen Skink was no longer on the menu so……

“Burger and chips for me, please,” I ordered.

Agreeing that we were too full to walk back to Eyemouth, we ordered a local taxi.

“My legs are sore,” groaned one.

“I just want to lie down,” moaned another.

Surprisingly, our taxi driver had never heard of our accommodation and dumped us at Eyemouth harbour.

“Strange he couldn’t find the Old Coach House,” I commented to Eric and Jim, because by this time Margaret and Lesley had wandered off to meet the rest of the crowd.

But, luckily for us I spotted a police officer.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where the Old Coach House is?”


The officer was as clueless as the taxi driver and I began to suspect I had made a scam booking, which meant all five of us had nowhere to sleep.

“Never heard of it,” reiterated the local bobby.

The three of us starred at each other until I had the bright idea of phoning the number on the booking form.

“Right, read out the number,” I ordered the officer.

By now I had cleverly surmised that this police officer, due to his lack of local knowledge, was indeed in fancy dress.

After all it, it was the local Herring Festival and lots of people were dressed up.

“Hello, I’m booked in to your accommodation tonight but we can’t find it.”

“Madam, you’re through to the local police station.”

“Eh?” I had no clue what was going on.

“But I dialled the number on the booking form,” I glowered at the fake bobby.

By now I was sure I had made a scam booking and started to panic, when suddenly a window above us flew open and a loud voice shouted.

“The Old Coach House is around the corner,” she bellowed.

“Collect the keys from the pub.”

The guys had quickly scampered off to catch up with the rest of the group and, unbeknown to me, they informed the walkers that I had been arguing with a police officer (who wasn’t fake after all), and had been arrested.

From that moment on I received endless text and Facebook messages asking if I was still in jail and if I was OK.

Finishing our fish suppers, we headed out to enjoy the festival and firework display when Lesley had the bright idea of nipping into the local co-op for some prosecco.

But as luck would have it, the second she got to the front of the queue…….

“Sorry, it’s 10pm and we cannot sell alcohol.”

“But…..” Lesley was gutted.

“I missed out on the Cullen Skink and now the Prosecco,” she moaned until one of the group appeared with a couple of bottles which immediately straightened her face.

A few hours of fun festivities, a quick kebab and then home where and we all agreed we had had an absolutely fabulous day.

However at 4.35am I was woken abruptly by almighty screeching, squawking and waling sounds, the likes of which I had never heard before.

Seagulls were frenziedly diving bombing everywhere which kept me awake for the rest of the night.

“How was your walking weekend?,” my sister asked.

“Well Jean,” I sighed.

“I’m still receiving message asking if I’ve been released from jail.”

Before she could reply.

“And…..I’m knackered,” I puffed.

“And …….. I’ve put on two pounds.””

So much for a healthy relaxing weekend.