Songline On Sea

I am writing this blog in the kitchen back in East Grinstead. A 10 mile walk then a 6 hour car journey back has made it a long day but utterly memorable. Alan drove Tim and I to Abereiddy then went to leave the car at Whitesands Bay and walked back to meet us. This allowed Tim and I to walk the whole last leg having been delivered to the start point and then have the car waiting for us at the end. The day was once again grey with clouds that looked like rain but mercifully weren't. As before we saw lots of seals in the many bays far below us but today we saw something new. A seal who looked up at us on the cliff above was attacked by another seal in a most aggressive manner and then a chase which went up onto the rocks at which point if we leaned over any further we would have joined them on the beach below. Was it territorial aggression or seal foreplay? In the next bay were seal pups with their mother and an altogether more peaceful family scene. The penninsula went on forever. Alan came and met us and it seemed like many people were heading in the same direction as us including a hoard of schoolchildren. Tim and Alan left the last few steps to the actual head to me to arrive first. It was a moment of sheer bliss to be on a promintary at the end of a 1,500 mile walk with the sun coming out over a calm sea full of islands and to complete the scene there appeared from stage right an old sailing boat in full spectacular sail. We shared a few moments of bliss, disturbed a tranquil couple to take a photo or two then left to the busy Whitesands Bay and a beach full of tourists with their boogey boards and their wetsuits. We went by car to St. David's Cathedral which we enjoyed for a while before finishing in the refectory. What a wonderful and special place and a fitting place to end the 5 months walk. We stopped once on the M4 motorway for coffee and arrived in East Grinstead at 10pm. Waiting for us was Kaya, champagne and blinis. What a wonderful ending, what a wonderful trip. I feel so lucky and privilaged to have experienced and survived the last 115 days. My legs are weary and in need of rest. I feel gratitude for all that I have been allowed to experience. With that I end this years blogs.

The number 114 is forever etched in my memory as my old school number. It has appeared again as the penultimate day of this leg of my journey. Tomorrow I walk to St. David's Head and then all being well I shall be home in East Grinstead tomorrow night. Today we did a good 14 mile walk once again along an endlessly amazing coast path. The walk was a little easier than yesterday, that is to say there were a few more flat bits. After a lot of road walking, promenade walking and beach walking this is the best possible finale with a non-stop designated coastal path. It is me, the path, the coast, the sea, birds and wild life and the weather. The weather would be described as bad for beach folk and sun lovers, but great for walkers needing to put in the mileage. It was grey and cool with non of the sunny intervals forecast on TV. We passed some very pretty places, Tregwynt, Abercastle, Aberbraw and Porthgain. Again these villages are full of holiday homes. Houses being reinvented from their original purpose into pleasure places. There seems to be a vogue for painting their houses in bright colours, some of which show questionable taste. We got the Strumble Shuttle back to Trefasser which was where Alan's car was waiting for us. Three guys walking together is a recipe for lots of fun and laughter which was continued over supper. I thought my knee had gone at one point towards the end of today's walk but it was OK. I feel like an old crock and cannot believe that my legs can carry me like today for so many miles. When I swing out of bed, stand up and go downstairs in the morning the feeling is not good and I can only admit astonishment, admiration, and gratitude to this body of mine for being able to go along with what I ask of it and delivering me safely each day.

I had a leisurely start to the day knowing that Tim and Alan would not be here till midday. I walked a couple of miles through Goodwick to the end of a bus route where they joined me at 1.15pm. Tim had walked with me in Scotland earlier this year and both he and Alan had been with me on a memorable sailing day from Tolesbury way back in Essex. It seems like a lifetime away being in Essex. They were endless days of flat landscape where foot fatigue was an issue, not knee pain which has kicked in with a vengence since the Pembrokeshire Coast Path started three days ago. My legs are saying, 'Give us a break!' and the rest of me feels the same. To therefore have 2 close friends to jolly me through the last days is a huge help. The walk from Goodwick to Trefasser was 10 1/2 miles of once more blissful coastline but as tiring as before. From Strumble Head, where there is a pretty lighthouse, the landscape is reminicent of Scotland. The plant life is wonderfully colourful against the grey sky. We saw lots of seals way down below us in the sea and on the rocks. Even the lifeboat went into a bay beneath us to see what was going on. We passed the point marked by a monument of where the French invaded Britain in 1797 for 3 days before they surrendered in a pub in Fishguard where we had supper. Tim kept us going on the walk with eccles cakes which he had brought from Sussex. Now there are only 2 left and 3 of us to be catered for. We are staying the night back in Fishguard. We got back here on a bus called the Strumble Shuttle which goes from Newport to St. David's and is basically put on to ferry walkers up and down the path. We will be using it tomorrow again. We will also use this hotel again. We may have camped tomorrow but that is no longer an exciting prospect for me and the weather forecast is for more grey skies.

It was a bad night. The wind blew me awake at 4am, got worse and woke me again at 7am. By 7.30am I realised the wind was seriously against me and the motor I kept hearing could be the farmer coming with a pitchfork. It was a cold, grey and unwelcoming start to day 112 and my legs didn't want to move. It was my upper body strenghth that got them over the fence, and then will power to get back on the path, down 500feet and into Newport for breakfast. A man with a dog called Henry (an alsation this time) knew the coast path well and told me that yesterday's walk was the hardest coast path he knew of. I agreed and was glad not to have known that before setting off. I also didn't know about the famous blow-hole which made it all the more exciting for being alert enough to notice it and recognise it. The scenery all day today was once again breathtaking. Dinas Head sticks up and out into the sea half way between Newport and Fishguard. This area is full of Londoners who have bought property. 15 years ago they would have been wary of Welsh Nationalists but not any longer for those days are gone. There are some lovely villages and properties around quiet beaches. One especially on the east side of Dinas Head which had both a beach and a (ruined)chuch right beside it. I sang. I walked round the neck of the Head as I had neither the energy nor the time to go round. On the other side, I met Deborah from Hastings who walked with me for a bit. Yesterday I went past a group of 4 ladies who gave me 2 Twix bars. I got to Fishguard where the second place I visited had a room for me. My landlady is from Finland, knows Forest Row and worked in a Camphill home for 3 years. There are a lot of drunk males in Fishguard plus the usual teenagers travelling in packs but what frightened me were 3 vehicles racing up the High Street towards me, one of which was the cab of an articulated lorry. I had supper in the Royal Oak which is famous for being the sight where the French surrendered their invasion force in 1797. It was a historical farce but nonetheless true that this was the last time we were invaded and not 1066. Alan and Tim are joining me for the last few days. They leave Sussex at 6am.

I had badly miscalculated the distance today. The cliff paths are a lot further to walk than they appear on the map. After 17 miles of ups and downs my legs were done so I hopped over a fence to get away from the sheer 500ft. drop and set up camp for the night. It is my very own hill fort. It had got to 7.30pm, the wind was blowing colder and the light goes much earlier now. I had a good breakfast, fortunately in my overpriced Bank Holiday G a B and wanted to go to a Welsh Presyterian Chapel Service but the 10 o'clock service simply wasn't happening for some reason. I set off across the river out of Cardigan having digested the fact that it was Lord Cardigan who had got Lord Raglans order wrong at 'The Charge of the Light Brigade'. I charged along the estuary to Poppit Sands, a charming spot and the start of the Pembroke Coast Path. I've seen so much coastline and most recently enjoyed the Llyn Penninsula and the Ceredigion Coast Path but this is something else. OK, I was lucky with the weather but I have to say that as a coastal path, this is the best so far. The effort to construct it, put the signs up and open it was done way back in 1970 so it's time some of the signs were replaced, but it's very well marked. I saw all the geological features I'd taught in GCSE Geography last year including a blow-hole. I saw also a red kite and lots of choughs. No otters or bottle-nosed dolphins or mermaids, though.

From writing blog on beach to writing blog in Chinese restaurant. Andy had said last night that someone camped on exactly the same spot as me three weeks ago. Last night was the most heavenly experience. I fell asleep fully clothed with the tent open and woke up cold at 1 o'clock with the moon having risen above the far cliff. I closed up for the night and woke again in good time to pack everything away by 9 am and before anyone passed. In fact I didn't see anyone till breakfast which I took in a cafe close to the beach at Craig Cairlian. A good 2 miles cliff walk before breakfast makes a bacon, egg and sausage bap taste very special even with instant coffee. The best part of the Ceredigion (Cardigan) coast was to come. The peacefully soothing farmland, although undulating, gives no clue to the dramatic nature of the high cliffs, wonderful rock features, hidden coves and beaches. The path and landscape was as good as anywhere I have seen the whole journey which is now nearly 3,000 miles. Much of this path is brand new having only been opened in July of this year. This makes it too new to be on the o/s map and there will surely be more signs soon - there needs to be. A new £10 book is available to coincide with the opening but it is too heavy to carry and surely it should be clear to walk without the need for a book at all. There are a lot of iron age hill forts and I photographed some strange circles visible in a field leading up to one. Sadly it started to rain at Penbryn as forecast so I wasn't going to walk anymore of the cliff path which was muddy enough without rain. I was also exhausted having walked up and down steep slopes all day and was still a long way from Cardigan. Si I walked a few miles by road till I could walk no further and caught a bus the last few miles from Aberporth. The bus went via Mwnt - yet another delightful beach and once again a National Trust property. Across the estuary from Cardigan the Pembroke Coast Path starts and the last leg of this year's journey. Not sure about Cardigan. I found Llangrannog and the coast around it the best bit today. I was lucky to find a spare single room tonight - it was certainly the last in this Gwely a Brecwast.

What a difference good weather makes. I have had a reasonable night except for a group with one particulary loud Canadian voice in the next field who were still talking when I woke at 4 am and then a baby started crying. When I got up at 9 am I had thought of a few things to say to the Canadian but amazingly he was already up and was neadly 7 foot tall. I gave him a withering look and he put on music which was as dull as his voice last night. Aberaeron was heaving with Bank Holiday bustle, everyone pleased about the good weather. It's the busiest weekend of the year down here so livelihoods depend on the sun shining. It seems that the family unit is very close in Wales with grandparents having an especially important role. Lovely cliff top path to New Quay which was positively heaving, the seagulls deliriously happy with so many unfinished fish and chips around. The cliff path south was very slow going and I wasn't sure where I would end up. It's mayhem in the campsites and all accomodation is booked so I was prepared to wild camp since the weather was so good. I was tired by 6.30 pm when a heavenly beach appeared and behold a little flat patch beside the path aloft. There I am perched and have had a wonderful evening. On the menu was dried whitebait from Japan, miso soup also from Japan followed by a chicken and mushroom pie. I'm writing this on the beach as the tide comes in. It's a very dark night. Andy came up and sat down beside my tent as I was eating earlier. He told me this was all National Trust property which means there should be no camping. Andy was not bothered. He's a stay-at-home dad bringing up 2 children, so he was out for a walk having put them to bed and was glad to chat. I'm going to put myself to bed soon as there's nothing else to do but go to sleep with the sound of the sea in my ears.

I had a lovely breakfast with fresh orange juice, parma ham, toast and olive oil. It was a delicatessen where they made me the best baguette doused in olive oil, then pastrami, little gerkins and salad. I had seen Aberystwyth last night and a bit more today like the castle and harbour. I forgot to mention last night hearing presumably the local theatre group on a stage on the seafront singing Gilbert and Sullivan. The trio singing 'Three Little Girls from School' were U3A age which contributed towards the surreal situation with the high tide behind them smashing on the sea wall. Aberystwyth is the main town of mid Wales with lots going on. This week the town is taken over by thousands of Hasidic Jews who have an annual get together by the sea. I flagged down a bus to help me along a busy main road which was packed out with women and children off on an outing to a honey farm. All of them were eating and making a huge noise - suddenly, it wasn't like Wales anymore. I lost one of the lenses from my glasses somewhere on the roadside so I'm on the spare pair which I've been carrying for a hundred and eight days. They are not very good and make map reading rather difficult. Most of today was walking on quiet back roads, the cliff path being too wet and muddy. There was however a nice stretch of beach to walk along to Llanon. The pebbles were all very flat and good for walking on. I made it to Aberaeron to find the Bank Holiday weekend had already begun. The first campsite was full but the second had a pitch left on the far corner and next door to a man with his family from the Rhondda Valley. He'd seen me that morning in Aberystwyth and gave me a can of Irish beer to help me with getting the tent up. This area of Wales is very connected to Ireland much like Galloway and Liverpool. This is where Dylan Thomas used to come to go walking and relax in the pubs. It is indeed a charming village with colourfully painted houses around the harbour and provided me with the best fish and chips I've had this year. At last I've found out that bed and breakfast is Welsh is Gwely a Brecwast which explains G a B outside the B&Bs. It has not rained today and latterly the sun came out - rejoice! There's rugby pitches all over the place suddenly and they speak English with what I understand as being a Welsh accent unlike North Wales where they speak English English. From here people go for fun to Aberystwyth and to Swansea for shopping.

I was up early and with a cup of tea and then a wholesome muesli concoction from Bill who enjoyed making sure I was at the station to catch the train to Tywyn. The tide was very high so I had to walk behind the sand dunes and over the golf course to Aberdovey. To cross the River Dovey Estuary would not be far but there is no ferry crossing or bridge. Waiting for the train up the estuary, I met a girl with her mother. She was travelling all the way back to London to pick up her GCSE results. I hope my history and geography students do OK! The train took me up to Machynlleth where I had 45 minutes to look around. After Hells Mouth Beach this was my second hippy experience. A beautiful place and a market is all you need to find people seeking an idealistic lifestyle. So many of the first generation look as bad as the Vietnam veterans, the American versions decided not to be. Their children now carry the ideal further in a more calculated and sensible way and are now giving birth to the third generation who will hopefully find the answer to saving the planet. Borth is a cowboy seaside town which I got to by train. Walking along, I came across a van in the road advertising haircut, massage, nail cutting and ear cleaning. I was intrigued so looked in at the open sliding door. There was Henry on a plinth on all fours grinning with his tongue hanging out. Henry was a dog! Now I was out of Gwynedd and into Powys. The mountains of Snowdonia have given way to a landscape more like Devon. This meant the walk to Aberystwyth was very up and down - beautiful to look at but hard to walk. Today the weather was supposed to get better but it got worse. Not just rain but thunder as well. The cliff path would have been awful but the road was, too and I felt uncomfortable as it bent through the hills. At the end of it I met a man coming the other way and felt compelled to warn him that it was very dangerous. 'I know', he said, 'I do it everyday!'. I'm enjoying Aberystwyth. Like Bangor it has a university and a hospital but in addition it houses the National Library and is a seaside town. I'm in what my landlady describes as a sort of hostel. She runs a building with a load of rooms by the seafront beneath which she also runs laundrettes. I'm out of travel soap so was able to borrow some washing powder to do my clothes washing which I generally do every other day. The seafront has been done up and I had a very passable pizza in a pub which was on what is left of the pier. There have been floods a days march further down the coast. Surely the weather can only get better.

It was another challenging day as far as the weather was concerned. The wettest August for 100 years, so I am told. Bill walked with me across the estuary and up a steep climb inland to put me on the old pilgrimage track to Tywyn. The pedestrian path is alongside the rail track across the estuary. I had to pay a £0.70 toll for the privilage which gave splendid views but also close-ups of how shoddy the bridge is with considerable rust and corrosion over all the structure. We could see that the top of the hill was in cloud and could only hope that it would clear but it didn't. Bill went back once we were on top but he had done me a huge favour by guiding me up to over 1000 feet on a path through the forest which he knew well. I then had a mostly downhill walk through what I'm sure was wonderful scenery of which I saw only the very wet track where I had to watch my step. It rained on and off and in the wind Brolly took a battering from which she will soon need treatment. She has worked hard again this year and is in need of a rest. Only one week to go. I came out of the clouds to enjoy the village of Llanegryn and then got as far as Bryncrug where I had to stop to get a bus back towards Barmouth. I thought it would be a drag getting off the bus and having to retrace my steps back across the estuary to Barmouth but the scenery, although grey and forbidding was spectacular. I am spending a third night with Bill who is very sleepy after his walk up the mountain but still cooked a good meal. Like Brolly, I feel rather battered and am looking forward to finishing soon and enjoying the comfort of home. Autumn is in the air and the leaves are turning in preparation to drop as I am.

I got a lift back to Harlech from Dr. Betty Williams who was taking Bill on a mission to inspect some venues with regard to disability access. On the way they stopped to show me a pilgrim church. I passed several churches today which were stopping places for pilgrims going to Bardsey Island from the south. Harlech is a little place with much interest - a castle, nice shops and a beach. The beach is now three quarters of a mile away so the castle is no longer on the coast. I didn't go in but enjoyed the view and a dramatic sculpture close by. I then had a coffee in a splendid bakery where I got pies for lunch and an Eccles cake which has been following me all day. There is lots of evidence of early settlement here which as usual are well above even the old coastline but at Dyffryn there was something special - 2 ancient burial chambers. At Tai-y-bont I went down to walk along the beach for the last 4 miles to Barmouth. It continued to rain very heavily on and off but now I stopped being protective and sheltering and just carried on getting soaked in a gale-force headwind that rendered Brolly unusable. There were several streams that I was able to vault across but one defeated me. This was due to a mechanical digger that was clearing a large channel through the shingle. I approached the digger being operated by Rob on the far bank and asked him where I could cross. He swung the bucket of the digger across to me and told me to sit in it which I did. He then lifted me through the air over to the other bank. It was a most exhilarating experience, a first for me and one which I doubt many people have experienced. I've had a hot bath and a large meal with Bill who is looking after me very well.

I saw my fourth full moon briefly last night in a crack of the angry sky which unleashed torrents of rain through the night. This had one benefit. On my trip up the Ffestiniog Railway the waterfalls were full and fabulous just before Blaenau which is as far into the mountains as the lovely narrow gauge railway goes. This was the centre of the local slate industry and was why the railway was built. It was raining at first but remarkably cleared at the top. There was water all over the place but this landscape can cope with it all and in the end it just disappears into the sea. The walk to Harlech was fabulous across a toll bridge, round a sea wall on the edge of the marsh to Ynys, a tiny village which used to be a port to provide materials and fuel for Harlech. There were great views across to Portmeirion which looks very good across the Dwyryd Estuary. It was only a few miles then along the main road to Harlech with its castle on a massive rock looking back at Criccieth Castle on its cone shaped rock. I met Bill Pritchard at the end of Evensong at St. David's, Barmouth. He had kindly offered me hospitality so I had hopped on a bus at Harlech and will return there tomorrow. I'm finding out a lot about the area from Bill who is a keen observer from having been a journalist and before that 15 years in the Merchant Navy and oddly was at the same school as me in Taunton where he had only stayed one week where as I stayed for 8 years! Barmouth is Birmingham-on-sea and is 80% English - so too is Harlech, though the laird chooses to live in Shropshire. The local school in Harlech is Welsh speaking with most of the pupils coming in from the surrounding villages. The result is that those English who can afford it send their children away to school. I was disturbed when I was passed by some youths, one of which kicked a bottle into the school grounds. 'It's OK' he said, 'It's my school'. It made me feel very uneasy.

This was really a day off but I still walked six miles to Portmeirion and back. I was ready to do absolutely nothing apart from hanging around the hostel where Lawrence of Arabia began his life, reading the papers and watching TV. By midday I had to do something and not waste the opportunities that exist around here.

The two main things are the Ffestiniog Railway and Portmeirion village. I walked down to Portmadog and bought a first class ticket for tomorrow morning on the railway, then walked across the causeway and round the point to Portmeirion. What a place! How do you describe it - a folly, a model village, a hotch potch? Whatever, it is impossible for the place not to make an impression, the buildings, the position and the whole bizarre idea.

The tide was well out and the weather on edge. I had to leave to get back for Last Choir Standing. It was four miles back, the first bit of which was a lift from a nice Frenchman. Then the heavens opened and I had no alternative but to walk and get soaked. I just made it. It has been a great day of sport and music on TV and now I have just been told that it was 120 years ago today that Lawrence was born in this very house. The football season has started.

I saw James off on the 8:54am bus to pick up his car in Nefyn and drive home. He didn't get back to East Grinstead until 8:00pm and is now officially ko'd. I have done another long 15 mile walk along beaches and around points and feel exactly the same. After 10 days without a break tomorrow is going to be a much needed day off - a decision made easier by learning that tomorrow's weather is scheduled to be awful. Today was okay as a walking day and the rain held off until 8:00pm by which time I had got to the hostel in Tremadog. I had thought of camping out in the largest area of campsites I have ever seen between Criccieth and Porthmadog but I had no food and the weather turned colder.

I enjoyed the walk down to Abersoch and then along the mostly beach to Pwllheli except for one moment. To round a headland I had to climb up off the beach up a scree. One of the larger rocks I put my foot on decided to slide downhill via my right shin resulting in a significant contact. I didn't want to look at it and when I did there was a raw and bloody six-inch gash. Pwllheli was uninspiring and, on close scrutiny of the map, I decided to take the train to Criccieth. This was an excellent idea as the few miles got me over a marsh, a large river and past a holiday camp that used to be Butlins and is now a Haven camp.

Criccieth is a very pleasant town with a ruined castle atop a coastal hill. Cardigan Bay was now before me with the mountains of Snowdonia arranged magnificently behind. After all the campsites it was a hard slog up and down hills to Porthmadog which didn't look very exciting, then little Tremadog with loads of pubs and eating places. The settlements inland seem more interesting and enchanting than the coastal towns.

The hostel here is where T E Lawrence was born and the warden thinks it was in the very room I am sleeping in. The warden is 48 years old and after the third time he addressed me as "young man" I challenged him. He claimed it was like saying "mate" but I said in the circumstances it could easily be considered rude - he now calls me Tom! The magic of the Lleyn Peninsular has now gone and I would guess that the experience of that area will be hard to beat.

It cost us just £2 each to camp last night at Morfa. The sun was out this morning. It stayed out all day and now there is a clear starry sky with no wind. The forecast had been bad. We had provisions for breakfast and lunch. I had an unusual breakfast of cold pork sausage in pitta bread courtesy of James. We packed up and got to the road, rounded the first corner and there was a shop and cafe. James was only a little frustrated when I insisted on stopping and shopping. He had already had to wait for me to set off, mind you, he didn't have much to pack up as he decided to throw away his tent.

Walking along the coast had been very slow yesterday and we had a lot of miles to cover so we went on the road till Porth Oer, otherwise known as the Whistling Sands. The beach was so packed and loud with children playing that hearing the whistling sands was out of the question. The Lleyn Peninsular is packed with caravans and camp sites full of people all waiting for the sun, so out they came in their droves with all their beach gear, then buying more at the beach shop. James, as an Aussie, was fascinated by the mass of colourful wind-breaks, chairs, li-los, rugs, etc. as all they take to the beach is a surf board and sunscreen.

We walked a bit more of the glorious coast path but then were on the road again to Aberdaron. This area is a must for anyone keen on camping and walking and you could spend at least two weeks exploring. It is agribusiness for the farmers on a massive scale. Many have flocks of sheep in a field in winter and then replace them with flocks of tourists in the summer.

At Hell's Mouth Bay, which is four miles of beach, we tried walking along the cliff but it was too eroded. We could have walked on the beach and watched the surfers but we wouldn't have had time to get along as the tide was almost in. There are the inevitable odd hippy vans and tents in the area.

So the last few miles to Llangian Bunkhouse was again on roads. By this time we had covered 17 miles and were feeling it. After such a day there's little more you want to do after a shower than eat, have a drink and sleep. Unless, of course, you have a blog to write!

Morfa will be hard to find on a map. It's six miles from the tip of the Lleyn Peninsular and a little short of where I'd scheduled. This is not a problem but we have a long way tomorrow to get to a hostel booked at Llangian. The trouble was that we had to visit Caernarfon Castle which I had left till James was here. As a military gentleman he would have to visit and we both enjoyed its splendid magnificence. I am quite an authority on King Edward I having seen and learnt of what he did in both Wales and Scotland. I am amazed at his energy.

We then had to have a coffee and shop for two days in preparation for the Lleyn Peninsular so it was after 1 o'clock when we set off walking from Nefyn where we left his jeep. There is a path all along the cliff tops from Nefyn which gives stunningly beautiful views of a magical coastline. Beaches of either sand or shingle, rocky outcrops and today, a cocktail of wind with a dash of sunshine.

There are lots of caravans and campsites full of families wishing summer would come. We eventually stopped exhausted at Morfa where we found a field for campers with just four of us in it but only two loos, a tap in the corner of the field where we are but no showers. Kaya, who is dancing in Germany for a few days, would not like this! James performed heroically for Queen and country in Afghanistan and carried an impressively large rucksack complete with a bottle of port but he has come with a missing part of his tent frame, no pegs and a pipe with no tobacco. I lent him one tent peg but otherwise he is pegged down in a strong wind with twigs one side and attached to bushes the other. These are moments to savour! It has stopped raining. Liz is blogging again.

The weather was actually not bad and did not turn until 8pm this evening. The one almighty shower happened whilst I was in a church. I set off from Caenarfon at 11am which is quite good for me. I had arranged to meet James at Nefyn at 5pm so I had to get a move on. I took the coast route which gave me a chance to see the famous spit which is trying to close the Menai Strait. The Dredger works constantly across the narrow channel to keep it open. I was going well until I took what looked like a sensible short cut only to find just how much rain had fallen last night when I met one of those gates that cows go through. There was no alternative but to go through the shitty, muddy lake as fast as possible after which the effect went up to my shins, my feet were wet for 4 hours and the smell still lingers. Even the farmyard dogs left me alone. At Clynnog fawr there is a mighty church where pilgrims met to journey down to Bardsey Island off the end of the Lleyn Penninsula. Three visits to that holy shrine was the equivalent of one to Jerusalem - a good option for poorer pilgrims. From there the path goes between some dramatic peaks which spawned a lucrative slate industry. Most of the headstones in Llanaelhaearn were of grey slate - another pilgrim stop as were Pistyll and Nefyn. In each of these villages was also a Bethesda Chapel for the con-conformist workers. Most of these have recently been sold presumably for domestic use. I met up with James Dunsby. James lives in my house in East Grinstead and walked with me last year to St. Cedd's Chapel in Essex since when he has done 6 months service in Afghanistan with the TA. He is terrific company which I was reminded of over dinner on the floating restaurant in Caenarfon where I had the same delicious roast Welsh lamb as last night. It's raining hard and has turned cold which is not good news since we intend camping at the tip of the Lleyn Penninsula tomorrow night! I have developed a cough and a cold.

I did see my 24 year old American friend again, in fact I had to wake him up long after he had missed breakfast. He turned out to be a big fan of everything that is English having attended a New England boarding school where he learned to play cricket. I walked to the pier at Bangor which stretches impressively out into the Menai Strait which gave me my first glimps of Telford's magnificent Menai Bridge. It was not long till I was walking over it to set foot on Anglesea. Half way across I met a girl from London who gave me some useful information. You can not walk to Caenarfon on the road as it is too dangerous. It is possible on the beach if the tide is out but it wasn't. You cannot walk back from Anglesea on the strange looking Brittania Bridge - it is a double decker with the railway below and the road above which is to high for pedestrian safety. And finally I must visit Church Island. The island was magical even in the intermittant heavy showers. A hermit lived there way back in the 7th century when it was fashionable for some of well-to-do families to indulge in that sort of life. There were lots around this part of Wales and they certainly knew how to choose their spots on land which probably belonged to Daddy! The other thing that impressed me was the speed of the water of the incoming tide as the Irish Sea rushes through the narrow strait. I have to pay on buses in Wales and it cost me £4.95 to get to Caenarfon. I could see how dangerous the road would have been especially in the pouring rain. Caenarfon is special. Like Conwy it is a large castle plus a walled town and both built originally as King Edward I efforts to impose himself. It is the capital of Welsh speaking Wales. The sound of the language is everywhere. It is light and playful and dances in the air. It sounds happy and full of humour. When they speak English it only sounds slightly like what I would call a Welsh accent and has some Northern English inflections. I had supper (Welsh Lamb) on a floating restaurant and went for an evening stroll. The lights were on and the door opened to St. Mary's Church where Father Robert met me. They were holding a vigil for a local man who had been murdered three weeks ago in New Zealand. He was handling it in a professional manner and gave me a few tips about holy places I should not miss on my journey south. The weather forecast is not good.

Bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon makes and excellent breakfast and Merle serves everyone orange juice saying 'It is good at preventing Altzeimers'. She was a nurse. Pete drove me in his Jaguar to Conwy Bridge and Merle followed close behind probably at great speed in her Peugeot with Brolly. How could I? Crossing the river with the castle and the fortified town of Conwy before me bathed in glorious sunshine was as magnificent a sight as I have seen the whole trip. I visited and found it easy to get in the castle then very hard to find the way out. Aren't castles supposed to work the other way round? I could have done with more time but there was a long walk ahead to Bangor and it was going to be tough against a very strong headwind. I have made it harder for myself by trying to save on new maps and using an old one from 1981 which I managed to pick up. There have been lots of changes in 27 years. Going through Penmaenmawr and Llanfairfechan has required major fetes of engineering getting road and rail through the mountains which come right down to the sea. I went into a bird Hide and got caught up with an elderly twitcher who was very excited about what he thought was a juvenile something wagtail. He told me that the coast to Bangor was impossible to walk because of the salt marshes and nasty landowners so it was back to the busy A55 trunk road the other side of the railway line. This time I had to go back for Brolly who was still in the hide playing hide-and-seek. I shouldn't have been walking on the newly completed trunk road let alone cross it but it was all I could do to get to a quieter road which took me along the foot of the mountains - not my territory. I was tired even after Merle's sandwiches and orange juice (of course) so when I rounded a corner and smelt a barbecue and then met Brenda in her car just leaving and guess what, she was going my way enroute to her home on Anglesey. She dropped me at Penrhyn Castle so I still had to walk a bit to the Youth Hostel which is in a manor house on the edge of Bangor. Half an hour earlier and I would have seen Last Choir Standing - as it was when I sat down I realised how tired I was. The very strong wind all day had knocked me for six so I had a cooked meal available at this hostel and dumbly watched a family playing Cludo. I went to my dormitory to get my blog book and a young American had yanked off the hot water tap and lost his contact lense in the process. I tried to help but made it worse so ended up trying to stop the very hot water from gushing onto the floor whilst he went to get the warden. The warden came, went, and came again with tools to turn off the water which he did rather easily. I left the room with a red hand and the American muttering that he really like himself anymore. I can't wait to see him again.

The weather was as bad as the forecast. I arose at 9am and shared a bagel breakfast with all the household except Pete who had already been at his computer since 6am preparing medical lectures soon to be delivered in New Zealand. I was last equal with Jeremy in making a physical presence at breakfast. Wendy was ahead of us all the way and all the day when it came eventually to walking together. As we were attempting to leave the house we were halted by the car windscreen wipers which didn't work so Wendy kindly waited for the RAC and we went on to start the walk in the rain. Today was a glorious walk around 2 Ormes and Llandudno between. From Llandudno, Little Ormes Head looks like an elephant and Great Ormes Head like a crocodile. The elephant is the wilder of the two but only needs an hour to climb around. The crocodile is grander, longer and more touched by man having a toll road all round and a tourist bus. Wendy joined us in Llandudno when the rain stopped. We had great fun exploring the esplanade and its hotels ad then the town with its arcades and cafes. We had lunch at one where the waitresses were a strange mixture of being both rude and polite. We sat outside where the seagulls were not just rude but downright aggressive and thoroughly unpleasant. A lady sat at a keyboard and played half of many pieces of music equally badly from Mozart to the Beatles. It is still a fine town with a very fine pier, though it no longer has ferries to the Isle of Man and Liverpool. Going round Great Ormes I realised the last cliff I had climbed were way back up in Scotland. On the west side, Anglesey was clearly visible and from the top Ireland can be seen on a clear day. We had a drink in Conwy where a wedding reception was taking place which reminded me that at this time last week I was with Kaya in Melrose to witness a very happy occasion. What a great deal happens in a week on a trip like this. We had a splendid dinner where Merle cooked a splendid joint of Welsh lamb and we indulged in many interesting conversations, too many to mention in this blog but all hugely enjoyable and edifying.

I woke up in 23 Llys y Tywysog having spent the night comfortably on a futon. Christopher used to be a hotel proprietor in Blackpool so he cooked a wicked breakfast for me and Paul. I saved the toast from turning into a major fire which was the least I could do after their generosity. i had trodden on my specs whilst packing to leave so the first place to stop after Paul had kindly driven me into Rhyl was the optician. Rhyl looked a little better in the morning sun. Sea, beach, and people need sun as the final and essential ingredient in the holiday coctail. The walk was not long via Abergele and Llandulas to Clowyn Bay. The very rare natterjack toad was yet again elusive but there were some interesting sea plants growing on a shingle beach in front of the endless miles of caravans. I met up with Wendy and Jem at Colwyn Bay. They have driven down from London to walk round the Great Orme tomorrow and we are staying the next 2 nights with Jem's brother Pete and his wife Merle. I got a sneak preview of what is to come over the next couple of days on the way to their lovely house near Conwy.

Those following on a map will recognise the distance and be impressed but truth is I only walked the 8 plus miles from Talacre to Rhyl which is the coast. I felt justified in missing out Connahs Quay, Flint and Mostyn having experienced the Dee Estuary from the Wirral side. I was disappointed not to walk into Wales just outside Chester but I was on the no.11 bus. Going backwards to the start of the day at Chester's Backpacker's Hostel, I was up before the 3 Bulgarians tired out from working in a local chicken factory and the loud American whose voice I could hear whilst taking a shower on the floor below. He then snored loudly so it was earplugs time. I did walk all around the wall of the city in the only sun that shone today. It confirmed my opinion that Chester is a must-visit on anyone's tourist route. So, cut to the end of my bus trip which was Talacre. It was the first of a series of large holiday camps along this coast which stretches to Rhyl and which is a playground for Liverpool and the potteries. At Prestatyn I stopped for tea where I met Christopher and Paul. They were struggling with the Times crossword and I struggled fighting my corner against two gentlemen of the same age but who knew each other very well and for a long time. It was fun. Christopher was unsure about inviting me to stay at his house in Rhyl but at least gave me his phone number just in case. I got to Rhyl then phoned so here I am, a few drinks later after champagne and whiskey. It is very kind of them to give me hospitality because Rhyl made me decidedly nervous. I went to the Co-op and there was a scene with a drunk. I went next door for a meal in the pub and the police came in to get witness statements on the drunk. I went out for a smoke and was asked by a youth for a cigarette. I refused on the grounds that he was already smoking and was accused of being one of them. Two elderly people left the pub shaking their heads saying that Rhyl was finished. Can the millions to be spent on refurbishment solve the obvious problems?

My itinerary will be back on course tomorrow after the last 2 days around the Wirral. I can only imagine I'd planned to walk across the Wirral to Wales but in fact I walked round which I'm glad about. Hoylake and West Kirby may not be well known places but between the two is the Royal Liverpool Golf Course, yet another home of the Open Championships and has some very fine houses. Most of today's walk from West Kirby to Neston was along the disused railway now popular with cyclists and dog walkers. Cyclists are very bad about dinging their bells and there's no code about which side they pass you on when coming from behind. They can see me but obviously I can't see them so I need a ding! Neston is a very pretty estuary town. It used to be a ferry port for Ireland when the channel of the River Dee was allowed to do its own thing but 20th century man pushed the channel towards Wales by building an enormous steelworks so now there is a mile of grass in front of the small town. The steelworks are gone and have been replaced by an equally enormous industrial estate and on the marsh the military do target practice so it was no go for walking. Flint, my original destination had no accomodation and it was pouring with rain as I left Neston. A bus to Chester turned up so I hopped on and within an hour was sitting in the choir of Chester Cathedral listening to Byrd's Five Part Mass being sung at a Eucharist Service for the Feast of the Transfiguration. The visiting choir were quite superb. I booked in to the Backpacker's Hostel, then went to eat and explore a city I neither knew, or knew I'd be visiting. What a great place. The Rows are a network of covered shopping malls above the street level shops below. Sophie, my waitress at Pizza Hut lives on the north coast of Wales and speaks Welsh as well as French and German. She speaks Cheshire English in Chester, Scouse in Liverpool which is for fun and shopping and Welsh in Wales. Carlisle is in a very similar position in relation to Scotland and is also of course very Roman. Chester's Roman Wall is more in tact and I intend to walk it before going into Wales. Gymnast, Beth Tweddle, is a local girl presently in Beijing to compete on the floor and bars.

It was a bit tough to start walking again as Kaya left and it was raining hard. We had enjoyed being in Melrose for a close friend's wedding. Graham from East Grinstead married Julie from America on Saturday after quite a few of us had climbed a mountain in the morning and drunk whiskey and eaten Scotch pies at the top with the groom. Kaya and I enjoyed Liverpool for a couple of days. We were amazed on the one hand at all the new buildings going up but equally at what still needs doing especially an area called Kensington which we passed through between the end of the M62 and the city centre which consisted of several miles of boarded up houses - what an entry into the City of Culture 2008. There are though, the excellent Tate Liverpool, the Walker Gallery and 2 magnificent Cathedrals. I crossed the Mersey on the ferry whose history goes back to the 12th century when Benedictine monks operated it from their monastry on the Birkenhead side. People think of Liverpool and Birkenhead as one but not up here. Birkenhead is the older and is the principle town of the Wirral - a world away from Liverpool, the young pretender. It was though, quite dreadful and apart from the splendid Victorian Harrison Square and its museum, I was pleased to leave. I saw a photo in the museum of my ex-grandfather-in-law who was Liberal MP for Birkenhead for 16 years. It was probably a lot better in 1910 when the docks and shipbuilding were alive. Walking north out of Birkenhead was a lengthy series of esplenades to New Brighton on the easterly tip of the Wirral. I was walking the same speed as a football floating in the water going out on the Ebb Tide. Was this a sign that the tide is going out this season for the two famous Liverpool clubs, I hope not Everton. New Brighton was supposed to surpass its south coast namesake in elegance but Mr. Harrison died so the money ran out and it never recovered but there were some lovely properties I passed. Along the north coast of the Wirral, the weather had conspired to provide very clear views back to Liverpool and Southport, and forwards to Wales across Liverpool Bay. I'm staying in a B&B in Fred's very nice house - a retired bank manager. I have a few miles to catch up tomorrow.