Reckless driving on the River Tweed (Rousse)

My father was super-impressed that my school friend PM (was PS) owned the land that ran from the back of her house all the way to the River Tweed.

‘Is the bank solid?’ he asked, as he inched the wheels of the black Range Rover closer to the crumbling sandy ledge above the water.

I drafted a panicky status update for Facebook about my fears of a watery death. However, I was too nervous to post it for fear that my contacts would judge me as a show-off.

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