This week my family said goodbye to Teazle, who was put to rest on Tuesday.

She had been a familiar fixture for a good part of my lifetime, having lived to the grand old age of 16. She joined our family in 2009, back when we were living in Walsall and alongside Jenna, Sage and Dessie. She had known my nieces since they were babies, and made the move to Bexhill in 2014 with my mum and dad.

Teazle was a small Border Terrier, but what she lacked in stature she made up for in personality.

She was also mission driven, and that mission was food.

Around the same time every morning, when she believed it was time for lunch, she would stand in front of my mum, nudging herself forward every few seconds as if to say let’s go. She would similarly encourage my dad to fetch her a biscuit in the evening.

She had an unwavering ability to sense when dinner was on the kitchen table, and instinctively knew which of us was going to give her something from it first.

If my brother was eating while sat on the living room floor, she would sit in front of him and show admirable restraint, safe in the knowledge that he would soon give her some of his meal.

Beyond the constant quest for food, important battles would be fought.

She had regular tussles with the floor sweeper, barking at it with vigour until my mum put it back in the cupboard.

She would bark furiously when my mum left the house, then jump onto the back of the sofa to watch her leave.

She would proudly parade with a stuffed rabbit toy in her mouth after running endless circles around me as I made her chase it.

Over the years she became less energetic, eventually losing her eyesight and all of her teeth. She no longer tried to squeeze out the front door when I entered the house, or jump on the sofa to watch me eat my tea. But she remained on hand for kisses, cuddles, ear scratches and tummy rubs, and continued to enjoy basking in the late afternoon sunshine.

She lived a magnificent life, and mine was greatly improved by having her in it.

Rest in peace, my fluffy friend.

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This time I visited two places I’d only ever glimpsed from the East Coast Main Line: Durham and Berwick-upon-Tweed. I also explored Lindisfarne, spent a day in Edinburgh, and walked part of the Berwickshire coastline from St. Abbs to Eyemouth.

Durham

A single building draws your attention when crossing the railway viaduct that skirts the edge of Durham, that of its imposing cathedral.

Once described by Bill Bryson as “the best cathedral on planet earth”, it’s certainly one of the more interesting I’ve visited.

Upon entering, the geometric patterns on the pillars lining the nave caught my attention being at odds with the otherwise typical Gothic design. I of course climbed the 325 steps to reach the roof of its central tower, and was rewarded with views of the neighbouring castle and wider city.

I stayed in Durham for 3 nights. It’s a beautiful city and I should have taken more photos of its historic centre. Instead, I spent the rest of my time walking (and running) along the River Wear and strolling around the university’s Botanic Gardens.

Berwick-upon-Tweed

From Durham I headed northwards to Berwick-upon-Tweed, where I based myself for the rest of my trip.

This small town, whose ownership was long contested between England and Scotland, has three distinct bridges crossing the River Tweed.

Berwick Bridge (or ‘Old Bridge’, opened in 1624) is now limited to one-way traffic heading west. The Royal Tweed Bridge (or ‘New Bridge’, completed in 1928) carries the A1. Meanwhile trains travelling on the East Coast Main Line use the Royal Border Bridge (completed in 1850). I think the later was my favourite.

Near the railway bridge lies remains of Berwick Castle (with the station built on the site of its Great Hall). The old defensive walls surround the center of the town, and these make for a tranquil – if short – elevated walk.

Lindisfarne

With all Berwick-upon-Tweed’s sights seen within the space of an afternoon, the next day I caught a bus to nearby Beal, and from there walked to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne.

Separated from the mainland by a causeway, I waited over an hour before I could cross it. The alternative was to use Pilgrim’s Way, a path across the mudflats marked by tall poles, but this is not recommended unless accompanied by a local guide.

Once on the island, I tried to speed run its main attractions. Both the castle and the priory were closed, as were most other businesses, having arrived on the main part of the island by late afternoon.

Edinburgh

The following day, and again looking for nearby attractions, I took the train to Edinburgh, just 45 minutes north.

Via Princes Street Gardens, I headed to Modern Two. After lunch in its cafe and a meander around the galleries, I crossed Belford Road to do the same in Modern One.

From there, via the Water of Leith Walkway, I headed over to Arthur’s Seat. I clambered up to its peak during golden hour where I met the most spectacular sunset. With clear skies, I could even see the Forth Bridge in the distance. I’m not sure I was able to capture the luscious scene that lay before me.

St. Abbs to Eyemouth

For my final full day in the North East, I again crossed the border into Scotland, this time to follow the coastal path from St. Abbs to Eyemouth.

This path was recommended to me by the taxi driver who drove me back to Berwick two days earlier (and who, it turns out, is Lindisfarne’s postie). Having walked almost 24km on that day, and then half that distance again in Edinburgh, I was glad this route clocked in at 6km.

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The mission patch for the release supporting national reporting features a polar bear cub as this functionality is known internally as ‘mini Mavis’.

They say that the best way to slow down the passage of time is to spend it doing something new and challenging, so earlier this month I travelled to Sestriere, Italy to learn how to ski.

Skiing is a reasonably safe activity, yet outside my comfort zone enough for it to matter. Signing up for lessons in a group setting would mean I could enjoy a more sociable holiday than I’m used to. Skiing ticked all the boxes.

Not only did I find the experience to be brain-expanding and life enhancing, but falling down a mountain strapped to two laminated strips of wood and fiberglass felt like an analogy for life, with many lessons discovered along the way.

1. Embrace being a beginner

I’ve a vivid memory of arriving in Berlin in 2015 and, after getting disoriented by its metro system, feeling my brain kick into a fight-or-flight problem solving mode. It was an exhilarating feeling, but one I’d not felt recently until I arrived in Sestriere.

I hadn’t anticipated how foreign the entire experience would be.

Tightly strapped into ski boots for the first time, every aspect of my existence was called into question. With all ankle mobility removed, I adopted the gait of someone who recently had an unpleasant accident.

On the slopes, everything was reversed. To turn left you push on your right foot, to turn right you push on the left. To slow down, you shift your weight forward — not backwards as you’ll go much, much faster, as I learnt to my cost.

The way you’re meant to slow down, and how you begin to ski, is by adopting the ‘snow plough’ position; turning the tips of your skis inwards to make the shape of a pizza slice. While this will slow you down, to stop at speed you need to turn sideways into the mountain, adjusting the position of the skis so that they press into the snow.

I’m not sure I ever mastered stopping. Falling over while tied to skis is a distressing and disorientating experience, and it was a wonder my knees remained in place after each tumble.

2. Most people want you to succeed

Learning to ski with a dozen other beginners was a welcome reminder that most people are good and well meaning.

As is so often the case, I was the last one to come down a slope, but every time I was met by words of encouragement. There was audible whooping and cheering as I completed a succession of turns coming down a steep slope (only to trip over myself and for Luca, the instructor, to bemoan picking me up again).

Towards the end of the second day was when I felt the most demoralised. Attempting my first blue run, I managed to ski down the first third before falling down much of the second. With my skis having detached, and unable to click my boots back into their clips, I walked down the remainder of the run.

I felt like a complete failure and wondered why I had embarked on this silly adventure. I felt even worse when I saw other members of the group on their second go skiing down the same run with apparent ease.

But again, the support of the group changed the entire dynamic. Having finally returned to the starting point, I was told that others had also fallen over and faced their own difficulties, one even banging his head hard on the snow.

The following day I completed every run, and while I crashed into a few different obstacles, I didn’t fall over once. For a few moments, things even started to click. I wouldn’t have enjoyed that third day had I not had the encouragement to continue on the second.

It was lovely bumping into people from my group later in the day around the resort. One evening a member of the group spotted me in a bar and told me how proud she was that I persisted, and that she enjoyed seeing me progress. It was a heartwarming moment.

3. Don’t look down, look ahead

While the snow plough position is a good place to start, it not only prevents you from going faster (and making it easier to turn) it’s also incredibly tiring, especially on the legs, knees and lower back.

Rather than Luca, it was other members of my group that shared some of the most useful instruction.

The first was to stop looking down at the skis but instead look forward and feel where your feet are. Once you stop concentrating on the position of the skis, you focus more on the direction of travel and can plan a route down the slope.

The second tip was to look in the direction you want to go; doing that forces your body to twist, the legs rotate and you can change direction more easily.

4. Don’t over think it

In early lessons you are taught how to use the different types of ski lift. I fell over on my first attempt boarding a magic carpet. I got caught coming off the button lift for the first time and fell into a heap at the top. My legs did the splits as I pushed myself off a chair lift and again collapsed into a contorted pile (landing close to signs of blood left by a previous, much unluckier passenger).

I soon realised that the best way to succeed, be it at skiing or getting around on these lifts was to relax. Being tense makes everything more difficult, and besides, better to enjoy the moments between the inevitable falls.

There were many occasions where I was able to put several turns together, and at speed. Only when I started to think about what I was doing would I get into a tangle and trip over myself.

As a chronic over-thinker, if the week taught me anything, it’s that I need to become more comfortable trusting my gut, to use my intuition and act on impulse. Don’t think it, feel it.

5. Know when to stop (before you get hurt)

On the Friday I attempted a fifth consecutive morning of skiing, my first outside of ski school. By this point my body was aching, my legs were locked into the snow plough and my mind was focused on survival, not enjoyment. None of this prevented me from going off piste and getting buried in several feet of snow!

I had hoped to ski on the Saturday, but sometimes it’s good to know when to stop something before you get hurt. Emotionally and physically drained, another day on the slopes would have likely ended in disaster. Instead, I ate cake on the top of a mountain with a view no photo could ever capture, and spent the afternoon relaxing in a swimming pool and sauna. It was marvellous.

6. When you fall over, get back up

Learning to ski is like learning to ride a bike, chiefly in that when you fall over you have to get back up.

While my first fall was incredibly terrifying – with abnormal force applied to your shins you fully expect your legs to snap in half – over time you get used to it. In fact, landing in snow became quite refreshing!

It’s fun to feel your brain adapt and learn a new skill, and only through failure can you understand the limits of your body and how to deal with different situations.

The other thing said about riding a bike is that once you learn, you never forget. Should I attempt skiing again, and as I continue to resist the swift passage of time, I’m sure the lessons and memories from this challenging but formative week in the Alps will stay with me for years to come.

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