Get your coat - you're going to pull

I'm in Berwickshire, and this post is about mud.

Two nights ago, I went to a campsite near Kelso, one of those that only takes five vans, and was invited in by a very nice farmer and his wife (they're retired now, and their son is running the farm). The first thing I had to tell them was that I had only just arrived and I was stuck in their field. Not axle-deep stuck, but gentle front-wheel-spinning stuck. They were very calm and good about it and said that it was happening to everyone this year - in fact, the farmer's wife said it was the worst year for rain since 1948 - and they would pull me out in the morning with a 4X4. Which they did, without fuss, the old farmer hooking up my van and just driving off, and me skidding about behind him.

I stayed two days there, uneventfully, and today (you see? I'm up to date!) went over to see St Abbs and Coldingham, which are beautiful little beaches with the Berwickshire Coastal Path running along them. And then I spotted another small site at Coldingham, which I duly rolled into. The farmer there was even older, and I couldn't understand him very well. He was eating his dinner when I arrived, but patiently waited while I filled the van with water from his garden hose, which seemed to take ages, and then fetching me change, which also seemed to take ages. And then he launched into a long description about where I should park, with my front wheels on hard standing (it's front-wheel drive) so that I didn't get stuck.

The trouble was, I didn't understand the diagram he drew in the air, and went right across the field to where I thought the hard standing was. And got stuck. He was obviously a bit annoyed about this, because I hadn't done what I was told, but totally unable to help: they had no useful vehicles. I didn't know what to do, but thought it was a better idea to do it in the morning - and he was getting into a bit of a state and I suspect still missing his dinner. So I told him I'd get some friends to do it (who?) and he seemed satisfied with that, and went back in the house.

Once he'd gone, I cursed myself again for not remembering to buy wheelmats. These are basically plastic grippy things that you can poke under your wheels to get some traction. So using the same principle, I tried various things. Putting the doormats under the front wheels. No luck, and muddy doormats. Putting pebbles under the front wheels, having dug out the worst of the mud with a table knife. No luck. So I put a lasagne in the oven, lit a fag, and opened the second of the emergency Baileys miniatures (thanks Annie) and poured the whole thing into a cup of coffee. I was quite cross and upset, feeling stupid myself but also a bit annoyed at the arcane impossible-to-follow instructions. It's not relaxing spending the night in a stuck van, even though it is identical in every respect to spending the night in a non-stuck one. It sort of hangs over you that it can't move, and it ruins your evening thinking you have a big problem to deal with in the morning.

So, fortified by Baileys, I decided I was going to get a four-wheel drive vehicle by fair means or foul. The place is full of farmers, I told myself, even if they are exhausted shadows of their former selves at the moment. So I shut the dog in the van and marched off down the road. I'm not sure what I thought I was going to do. See someone in a field and grab them, or stop a tractor going by, because that's generally a sign that the person also has a 4X4 (the tractor itself would rip up the field too much), or stop a 4X4 that had mud on it (there's a guy on the site that has a Freelander, but it's only a toy, and he was sitting and watching all of this from his trailer, so obviously not inclined to help). I had no luck out on the road, so I carried on down the hill about a mile to Coldingham, and spotted a The Anchor pub. I went in and looked at the clientele, and finally chose a burly, friendly-looking chap at the bar. I asked him if he was local, and explained my predicament. He got all keen about helping - to the extent that he sent his wife off to get his Mitsubishi Shogun while he had another pint. Turns out he's not a farmer (they're far too busy to be in the pubs) but a deep-sea fisherman from St Abbs (with seven brothers, and seven boats, all fishing out of Eyemouth). So one thing this chap has is rope.

He and his very sympathetic wife (she drove, and made 'there there' sort of noises) gave me a lift back to camp in the 4X4. We had a nice chat on the way, and they thought it hilarious that I'd come out leaving a lasagne in the oven, and was being brave on the strength of a Baileys miniature. We hooked up the vehicles and fisher-man (I didn't even ask his name) pulled me out just like that, backwards, much to the delight of the site owner who obviously was amazed I'd managed to come back with a vehicle. As am I, really - would I, at the beginning of this trip, had the nerve to walk into a pub and ask someone to drive a couple of miles during an evening out to pull me out of the mud? I think it's also a credit to the Berwickshire people - who are, apart from Hebrideans, the friendliest and kindest bunch I've met on this trip. They refused any money for the diesel, and said it was just nice to help someone in trouble.

So everyone's happy. My van's out, and all parties have a good story to tell. I must get stuck in the mud more often - you meet such lovely people.

Postscript: Today (Monday) I went down to St Abbs and had a coffee at The Smithy before starting a walk - I mentioned to the lady there that I was in a camper van, and she said, 'Are you the one that got stuck in the mud last night?' Turns out she knows Val and James (for it was they) and where they lived. So I went down to the Post Office in St Abbs, and the chap there - William - knew the family, and the rest of the address, so I got them a thank-you card. And was going to post it through their door until another lady, Helen, came in and said she was James's sister-in-law and she'd post it in for me. She'd also heard all about it and teased me mercilessly. I seem to be making a lot of friends in St Abbs!