After meeting up with the McQueens, we planned a camping trip with them. We went to our old haunt at Scremerston beach, and did all the usual stuff - we started a fire, the kids collected driftwood and explored the dunes (with Casper the dog), we got fish suppers from Berwick-Upon-Tweed, we huddled together for warmth because it was blummen cold and windy.
Two things happened that hadn't before. The gas stove exploded, which was alarming but caused no injury or damage apart from a small tear in our tent.
In the morning, a ruddy-faced agricultural-looking fellow (I could tell he was a country type because he wore green cords and a bodywarmer, and drove a pickup) approached the camp as we were sizzling sausages for breakfast, and informed us we were illegally camping on an SSSI. This was news to us, but he went on to explain that our favourite beach for burning things on had in fact been incorporated into the Lindisfarne SSSI on account of its rare grasses. Or something. We promised not to come back, and come to think of it the wild camping laws are far more relaxed in Scotland - so it was a fond farewell to Scremerston.
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