Janet Christie's Mum's the Word - when it's better to travel than arrive

Country Girl and I really need to up our pace. We’ve 10 miles to cover on our latest leg of the John Muir Way and we’re sitting in a cafe in South Queensferry drinking coffee, discussing how we really must increase walking speed and hit the road earlier if we’re going to complete the Way this year, or maybe next. Oh and one day walk the length of Sicily. I know.

In our defence we’ve completed almost half of the Way so far, but we need to get a wiggle on, focus on getting miles under our belts as well as Jelly Babies, so we stride out. After half an hour fannying around locating the start because we’re sure we know better than the signs or map, despite past experience of ‘short cuts’ involving ravines, quicksand and areas labelled ‘Wilderness’, we resolve to stick to the path and not be distracted.

We’re making good time, despite a dander onto a beach to check if the tide’s in and we can swim, a rope swing on a tree that has to be tested and a castle that has ice-cream, archery and lawns to lie on, we’re back on the path, walking through woods, resolute, focused.

Which is when something stripey emerges from the undergrowth onto the path. Last time this happened it was a zebra, surreal until I realised we were skirting the zoo perimeter on Corstorphine Hill, but this is equally unexpected - a young badger that approaches and sniffs around our feet.

“Its mother must have sent it out to live independently,” says Country Girl, who with a zoology and botany degree knows about such things.

“Good luck with that Mrs Badger,” I say.

The cub eyes us, curious, too wet around perfect pointy ears to be scared or merely irritated, like the grumpy old badger that breenges through my garden giving me ‘out of my way’ glares. This one looks healthy and happy so we just watch as it rummages off among the plants in search of worms. Time passes, five minutes, ten minutes, until Country Girl says: “People coming. We should move,“ and we head off, stepping aside as a fast-pacing posse approaches in a cresendo of rustling and powers on past.

Did our walk take longer than planned? Well yes, but… ‘It’s not the destination, it’s the journey that matters’ (Ralph Waldo Emerson).