When the Purple Haze Tour Bus stops at places like Dryburgh Abbey - where this photo was taken - the Purple Haze Tourist often takes a deep breath, then stands in awe, gazing respectfully at the great architecture, the wealth of stone carvings, the huge sandstone monoliths, and we ask ourselves: "Who on earth could have built such an incredible palace?"

Thanks to this stone carving we now know. It was Hugo de Morville, Lord of Lautherdale. And he did it all by himself: it says so on the stonework.
Aye? I bet this lazy fucker didn't do a hand's turn to help. Never lifted a brick. He probably sat on his fat arse, watching the priests bugger wee medieval choir boys while waiting for the tradesmen to finish a forty year shift with no pay, no holidays and no time in lieu.

An elaborately carved stone marker dedicated to James Ye 2nd of Scots - in the grounds of Dryburgh Abbey.
James Ye 2nd came to a messy end when he was bombarding Roxburgh Castle on 3rd August 1460 (couldnt have been much on the tele that night).
Here's the sad bit. Heheh. Oor Jimmy liked to fire the canons himself. He'd often say to "his men" "you know chaps, one's monarch likes to take a hand's on approach to modern warfare." Thought he was a bit of a soldier did Jamesie Boy.
Unfortunately he wasn't. A canon blew up in his face when he lit the touch paper and kaboom. In the words of actor Ray Winstone: "it blew his fakkin head off. I'm tellin you. Fakkin claret everywhere mate. Sweaties eh? Wot they like? Cant do fakk all right."
His tash looks a bit Freddie Mercury an aw.

This plaque in Dryburgh Abbey is a cracker. It's beside that of General Haig so it must be one of the auld bastard's relatives. A cricketer too by all accounts. Jolly good show. But check the description of the guy's wife Unity: "Dancer. Singer. Peter Pan." Eh?? 

Inside the darkened crypt of the 11th Earl of Buchan in Dryburgh Abbey. Despite being an Earl this guy was one of the good guys. A patriot and also a contemporary of Sir Walter Scott. It wasthe 11th Earl of Buchan who commisioned the first statue to commemorate William Wallace in 1810. He championed Scottish language, literature and culture at a time when the Brits were either being patronising or snotty about all things Scottish. No bad for a knobber.
The Dryburgh Abbey planners sensibly kept The Earl's grave far apart from Sir Walter's. Good move. We wouldnt want want the Earl spinning around in protest at the lowering of the tone of the neighbourhood.

Does Dryburgh Abbey not look just lovely and peaceful? It does now I suppose. But it's not always been that way. Edward The Second, fleeing from Scotland with his tail between his legs, burnt it to the ground after he got humped at Bannockburn. Sore loser eh?
Mind you, he met with quite a burny end himself when his wife's lover stuck a red hot poker up his ass, and right through his internal organs. Ouch! His screams could be heard for miles apparently.
And to compound the lack of respect Edward has always been held in by Scots, we like to sing when we're pissed: "Sent him homewards... SENT WHO? ... proud Edward's army... tae think again." Bet he didn't do much thinking once he got the old sizzling crowbar up the jacksie.

This is the gravestone of General Haig in Dryburgh Abbey. He was the First World War Commander who sent all those working class squaddies to their deaths in the trenches. Thankfully no one on The Tour needed a piss. 

Dancing on the gravestone of Sir Walter Scott in Dryburgh Abbey. Sir Walter (as his mother liked to call him) was a pompous conservative arch-defender of the Act of Union. He was the man who organised and planned the first royal visit of an British monarch to Scotland since 1707. This was the famous visit in 1822 of King George IV (who was a German, by the way, just like Bertie Vogts). For the Royal Visit Sir Walter invented the kilt and sporran, etc, and then single handedly managed to turned Scottish native culture into a Harry Lauder joke. Scotty was a pain in the arse. A pish writer. And a Jambo. Fuck him.

The Eildon Hills as seen from the Wallace Statue. Local legend has it that Michael Scot the Magician split the three hills with a couple of karate chops or something. By coincidence there's a kids TV series on BBC just now called Shoebox Zoo where Peter Mullan plays Michael Scot. Scot was the Scottish Merlin and, seriously, was an actual person who, the Latin records show, attended a number of Universities in Europe in the 11th Century. Splitting hills eh? That's pure class. Much better than card tricks or hanging over the River Thames in glass dog kennel.

Check the size of this William Wallace statue near Dryburgh. It was commisioned by the 11th Earl of Buchan in 1810 and was the first of the many Wallace statues built in Scotland. Sir Walter Scott hated it and wanted to have it blown up by dynamite. What a height though. Took me ages to climb up on to it but FREEEDOOOM ya radges.  

The Rhymin Stane as its known locally. The legendary spot beside The Eildon Tree where Thomas The Rhymer (a very real 13th century poet whose verse still exists) feel asleep, thought three days had passed, but it turned out it was actually seven years. He was woken up by a fairy. Say no more Thomas. As long as you enjoyed yersel..

Check the state of this antique shop in Melrose. Love the flag. Very Melrose indeed. What a bunch of plonkers.

This is at the site of the invisible Roman Fort at Trimontium (dating back to 84AD). All I can see that is Roman is a pair of coos roamin aboot in a field. Nice view though.

Trimontium Roman fort. This was a right swindle. We go to the biggest Roman fort in Scotland - built in 84AD allegedly - and there is just a big poncey pink stone and an empty field. That was it. Not even a wee bumpkin version of the Colliseum. It was supposedly built when Agricolo came north to have a square go with the Picts. The tour verdict was that it was just a wind up by the locals but I'm informed otherwise and that you can actually see the markings from the air. Which is a shame cos we never happened to have a fucking helicopter wi us. Bampots. 

Buried beneath that white marble stone lies a casket. And in the casket it is the actual heart of Robert The Bruce. No joking. In the late 14th Century Barbour wrote in his epic tale "The Bruce" that King Robert's heart was buried in a casket in the grounds of Melrose Abbey. In 1921 they did an excavation and sure enough the casket was found, photographed, and reburied right here. In the photo my fingers refer to the full-time score at Bannockburn in 1314. 

I was looking at this flat grave stone and then - hand on my heart I swear - just ten minutes after the pipe - this ghostly 3D stone apparition seemed to rise out of grave in front of my very eyes. It looked a bit like an anorexic version of Ben Grimm out of the Fantastic Four. No one else on the Tour saw it. I did though. In fact I could swear that I can still see it now, even in this photograph. Strong puff, eh?

On the roof of Melrose Abbey beside the historic 17th Century Dutch Bell that was imported to Melrose in 1612 (now restored to its former glory and operated by an electrical switch) stands Purple Paul - Tour Operator and cannabis cafe pioneer - making a medieval hand signal for what I believe is Youngus Leithium Teamicus. Chicken curry ya bas.

The view from the roof of Melrose Abbey. A right bonny wee graveyard doon below. I like the way the gravestones have a kind of higgly piggly arrangement. Thats a proper old graveyard that is. Nae poncey marble angels and crap like that here. This is the real deid McCoy.

This is the ruins of the historic Melrose Abbey. What a place. The wall I'm standing on to take this photo was build in the 12th century. Falling tae bits though.