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Braveheart. The Scots love it. Even though historically it’s nonsense, containing more inaccuracies than a Tabloid newspaper on heat.
CJ flashed around the turns as if the boat was a salmon. The man was clearly insane, barking out who knew what at us as he straightened up and headed directly for a floating tree at around 100kph.
They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom! So said William Wallace… or at least so said Mel Gibson. But if you want a real taste of Scotland’s Braveheart, there is no better place to go than The National Wallace Monument.
Boots, socks, raincoats, gloves. Not forgetting the vital Talonz, getting ready for the tour was a task in itself.
The Province of Alicante is home to sun drenched ex-pat Brits, orange groves, gorgeous coastlines and surprisingly desolate mountains.
Veering from one side to the other, my strokes growing ever more desperate, it quickly dawned on me that a tilt at yet another international sport was escaping my grasp.
A little bit of a change from the norm this week, as I want to concentrate not on a series of blog posts but on a single blog – but then again how often do you get to view the progress of a dancing bear across Europe.
It is not often you walk off an aeroplane to be greeted by the passenger in front of you collapsed on the floor. But then again not everywhere is 3,400m above sea level.