Scotland invented hills, but we have a rival at Lincoln Cathedral - Susan Morrison

Bump-free wide horizons make Scots nervy. We do like a wee bit of hill and glen, if only to hide from invading enemies and most importantly, visiting families.

The city of Lincoln itself, however, is an excellent workout for hill climbing muscles, and I know that because we took ourselves down to see the sights.

There’s a show-stopper of a cathedral and a fairly decent castle, although I must be honest, Edinburgh has nothing to fear. We’ve got a better gift shop for a start.

The street to the Cathedral is actually called ‘Steep Hill’. This tells you all you need to know, really. It's a hill, and it's very steep.

Also, it's the only serious slope for miles around. Fell runner training must be a challenge in Lincolnshire. You’ve basically just got this to run up and down.

Hardly any Scottish city could get away with that snappy two word street name. Take Edinburgh. Imagine the chaos you could cause by naming every high gradient roadway ‘Steep Hill’. That’s the entire Old Town.

It’s possibly that familiarity with urban hill walking that made me pretty dismissive at the start of our ascent. Have to be honest, I did eye-roll the sign.

That cantankerous, carnaptious Dad’s Army Private Fraser voice in my head positively sneered. “Oh aye? Steep, is it? Let me tell you about steep. I’m from Scotland, slopes are in our blood”.

Why, sometimes, in places like London, we fall over because we’ve been walking about in soft Southern flatness for so long. We lose our balance. It's possibly an inner ear thing. Or a booze in the blood thing.

We had prepared for the challenge, of course, with what marathon runners call ‘pre-loading’ our diet. So that would be strong coffee for me, tea and marmalade on toast for himself.

He’s taken to using one of those Nordic walking poles. They are very useful, but with his luxuriant white mane he does bear an uncanny resemblance to Gandalf.

And then we hit the slope. Good people of Edinburgh, the signs did not lie. This hill is so steep it should be Scottish. Be of cheer, I did not let my nation down. I threw myself into the challenge, aided by the kind people of Lincoln who had thoughtfully placed any number of cutesy wee shops all the way up, each tempting me and pole-wielding Sherpa Tensing ever higher.

This is the cunning of the sassenach. It’s like being lured ever further up Ben Nevis by the twinkling windows of artisan candle and soap shops.

We hit the summit, and by jingo, I wanted to slam a Saltire into the ground and claim this hill for Scotland. Couldn’t, obviously. Cobbles.

It was worth it. The cathedral is sublime, although the mere sight of a stained glass window is enough to raise John Knox’s chilly spirit to blast his monstrous trumpet at me.

Ach, away, John, I’ve paid for my peek at glory by slogging up the hill, how presbyterian is that?