Songline On Sea

Breakfast was served till 10.00am and rooms vacated by 12 noon so had a lie in and then administered to my bites. If I get the chance I enjoy reading the local newspaper. I knew it wouldn't have the incident I witnessed last night of someone who had jumped out of a second storey window but there were many similar tales. I spoke to 2 men who both said they were Bognor boys borna and bred with a stubborn pride or was it resignation? Everyone is a character or a caricature which I enjoy observing whether having coffee on the pavement or in the endless post office queue. I have to say I rather enjoyed the experience. Bognor is not shy of its so-called holiday centre, which used to be a Butlins, and which is very much part of the town. It had a few famous years as a spa town when George IV used to come but now it is either the beginning or end of Sussex-on-sea which stretches to Brighton - 2 days march away. It was not far passed the rather pleasant Middleton-on-Sea to Littlehampton before which is a long shingle beach and sand dunes populated by single men whose heads occasionally popped up like desert rats. Littlehampton is where my piano professor, Joan Last used to live. I had arranged to meet Brian Timms at the new oddly shaped cafe on the seafront. Brian and Ann moved here a couple of years ago and I am staying with them a couple of nights. Brian was my pianist for the U3A East Grinstead's choir and Ann is a very good soprano. We spent a lovely evening together.

I had a brief chat with the hostel owner. He spoke English with a very heavy accent despite having moved here with his parents from Singapore at the age of 6 - he's now 51. After the first night in the hostel, I woke up with bites all round my neck. James said he had heard buzzing. After the second, I had more bites and after the third, even more. A chat with Kaya confirmed they were flea bites, the worst of which came from the top I wore during the day which I had left too near the carpet. I never knew how horrid flea bites were till now! It was then a bus to Chichester, then another to West Wittering back on the coast. This is a place I shall definitely return to. The hard sand stretches for miles and is great for horse riding. The shingle eventually covers the sand before a long spit at Pegham which is closed off because of nesting birds. It is a long walk round so called Pegham Harbour which ceased being a harbour years ago. Now it is a bird watcher's paradise. I tried for accomodation but I had asked in a pub requisitioned by the bookies from Goodwood who function as something of a travelling circus. Bognor was a lot further than I thought especially along the seafront where I had expected a path but ended walking on shingle. By Bognor I was exhausted and it was almost 9pm but hey, - the second place I asked, the Royal Hotel had a room which he even reduced to £35 for me. I had considered sleeping rough but once again was mercifully spared.

The hostel in Portsmouth/Southsea is run more than efficiently by a Malaysian couple, the gentleman finding it impossible to relax. James will say I am over relaxed and irritatingly slow. He, however started his day with a tight schedule which was to get to East Croydon for Army by 8pm where his girlfriend was to meet him and wait incidently. All day he was looking at his watch and forcing the pace, I even had to eat my lunch walking. We left the hostel without breakfast but found a little cafe on the promenade going towards the ferry to Hayling Island. Passed the huge building which houses the Royal Marines Museum, Southsea fizzles out. The short crossing is in an area as remote as anywhere though not in 1944 when a lot of the floating harbour parts were made for the D-Day landings. Mike, our ferry man was a very nice man who suggested Hayling Island had had its day. We found it rather pleasant especially walking up the west side on the old railway. Over the bridge to the mainland is the very pleasant hamlet of Langstone where at last we got a coffee. Through the delightful Emsworth the map looks rather biological with tonsil-like landforms hanging down with broncial-looking channels coming up between them, the last of which goes up to Chichester. I found it hard to believe we were now in my home county of West Sussex. James got as far as Bosham before catching the train and I have to confess being sorely tempted to hop on it too, for I could have been in East Grinstead in a couple of hours. Instead, I hopped on a bus for the last 3 miles to Chichester since by then I was way off the coast and I fancied attending Evensong at the Cathedral. I got there in good time to find that Evensong was being said but stayed anyway. Afterwards, I spent an hour looking for accomodation but there was absolutely none due to it being Glorious Goodwood Week. The girls of Chichester were out looking glamourous and totally unsuitably dressed for the rain in anticipation of Ladies' Day tomorrow. I had learned that the 700 bus goes every half hour between Chichester and Portsmouth so I'm back in the hostel for a third and positively last night.

James moaned about having a dreadful night with me snoring and the German gentleman above me talking a lot of German in his sleep. We walked into Southsea for a leisurely breakfast and on to the historic Dockyard - a top visitor attraction. We started with a boat trip around the Naval Docks which had ships from the Faulklands and the newest flagship, not yet ready for active service. We watched 2 films, one about raising the Mary Rose and another about the Battle of Trafalgar. Visiting HMS Victory, Nelson's flagship and the boat on which he died was the climax of the visit. I didn't want to do anything more energetic so we went to watch the new Harry Potter film. This was a seriously boring disappointment. Aki drove us quickly back to our friendly pub in his taxi and that was my day off. I enjoyed Portsmouth more than Southampton but maybe that's because I had James' excellent company. We walk to Chichester tomorrow and will be in my home county of West Sussex.

I did not mention yesterday the excitement of the Hythe Ferry. It has been a crossing since Saxon times but now leaves from the end of a long pier which you can travel along on a little train. Whilst waiting, I was lucky to witness a brand new cruise liner setting out for sea trial around the Isle of Wight. The sight of it passing so close was awesome, sitting so tall in the water gliding passed with youthful pride. It was raining hard as I peeped out from my efficient room in the Etap Hotel on my 62nd birthday. i discovered that the 3 hotels in the complex are all owned by the same company so started the day by having a peep in each, the set off to explore Southampton. The cruise liner was docked just beside me so went as close as possible to have a look. It then followed me for the whole day as it went out with the high tide in the afternoon and I walked the coast to Portsmouth. Southampton gave a similar feeling to Plymouth at forst but once in the shopping area and the spanking new West Quay Shopping Mall I had found the heartbeat of the city. I was ready to head off but it started raining again so sheltered with Bob who was not doing very well at selling the Big Issue, maybe because his dog was at the vet. he buys the copies at 70p and sells them for £1.50. He sells about 10 per day at best which is not a huge income but his living costs sleeping on a cardboard bed in the carpark are non-existent. At last I crossed the Itchen River sing my way passed several invitations to ring the Samaritans into Woolston where the old shipyards have been cleared for new developments. I was offered shelter in a yatchtsman's car during the next storm. He described at length what happened to the city's sewage which I had not expected nor asked for but it turned out his job was in sewage. At Netley there used to be a massive hospital during the war, now all that remains is the chapel. There was a short ferry ride across the RIver Hamble with a rather eccentric ferry man in a bright pink boat. By the time I got to Lee-on-Solent, James had arrived in Portsmouth longing to see me so I hopped on a bus for the 3 miles to the Gosport Ferry which left almost immediately, got into a taxi and was at the Backpacker's Hostel in Southsea by 7.40pm. We found an excellent pub where James, who lives with Kaya and me in East Grinstead bought me a birthday dinner and much liquid.

It was an odd day with highs and lows rather like the weather. I made a leisurely exit from Lymington as befitted a Sunday and during the day sang my way across 3 big rivers. There has been no coastal walking whatsoever, the Solent Way taking me through beautiful Hampshire countryside with young pheasants being fattened up for the shooting season and New Forest ponies about the lanes noisily eating their Sunday lunch. The nicest part of the walk was from Bucklers Hard to Beaulieu (pronounced Bewley) where Lord Montagu has his country seat. Bucklers Hard was a boatyard which had its heyday in Nelson's time when many famous ships of the British Navy were made using wood from the New Forest. The walk from there up the river was magical despite the beginning of a deterioration in the weather. In Beautieu I only had time to view the palace from the outside which was impressive enough. Neither did I have time for the famous Motor Museum. I had still 4 miles to cover across country to the ferry at Hythe. It was already 4.30pm, raining, the walk on a busy road, and no buses on a Sunday so I hitched. Ann and Mark drove passed me in their Landrover, turned around and picked me up next time round. They took me right to the pier. This was one of those good pieces of luck of which I seem to have many. I arrived 20 minutes before the last ferry across to Southampton. It took me a lot more walking than I would have wished to find a room eventually in the Etap Hotel. The hotel rubs shoulders with the Novotel and Ibiss Hotels on the edge of the once badly bombed city. It is empounded with a McDonald's and a TFI Friday as the only choice for supper. I shose the former which I ate as a TV supper in my room. This is where I shall wake up on my 62nd birthday. Last year it was a walk from Fleetwood to Blackpool. This year Southampton to Portsmouth. Next year?...

'Speaking of Angels...'
I arrived in Lymington, for a long time more important as a port than Portsmouth, at 8pm. I looked for accomodation until 9.30pm and gave up. I had a fresh half bottle of whiskey, bought some fish and chips, sat on a bench and explored my options. The problem is that it is the New Forest Festival so the small town is heaving and all accomodation taken. My final options were to go to the police station and ask to be arrested, try the hospital next door with a bad knee (true), or sleep rough. Sleeping rough seems the best option so I went for the secong time to the Angel Inn to have a pint and write this blog. I ordered a pint of Pedigree. The bar staff remembered me and asked if I had found anywhere. I said no and was going to sleep rough. The manager looked triumphant and said a room had turned up due to a late cancellation, so for £39 and angel has belatedly come to my rescue yet again at the late hour of 10.30pm. It was delightful staying in Christchurch with John and Penny and getting to know them a bit better. I was most grateful, well looked after and made most welcome. They had an engagement in town so delivered me to the Priory to set off. To get out of Christchurch requires crossing 2 rivers, one of which is yet another Avon. I helped, I think, Brad into the water with his new boat and then walked the long stretch to the spit at Hurst Point which is where the Solent Way Path starts. I walked across the saltings which of course is all flat to where the ferry to Hurst Castle goes from. Jonathan was just setting off on his last 15 minute crossing to the castle so I hopped on. I told him what I was doing after which he phoned ahead and arranged with Patrick for me to visit free of charge as long as I signed the visitor's book. This seemed a good arrangement especially as Jonathan then took me to see the Tudor part of the castle and to watch him take the flag down. It was a very brief visit but more may follow as Jonathan organises concerts there so my little imagination started going into overdrive. It was another 5 mile walk to Lymington across the marshes waling on sea walls with wading birds all around beneath a huge sky. The Isle of Wight was very close and close to this project as I had walked most of the way round it in 2006 anti-clockwise. It was that walk that had convinced me that I preffered the sea on my right which is why I chose to undertake this project walking anti-clockwise. Portsmouth tomorrow, thankfully after a night in the Angel Inn, rather than who knows where!

John and Penny Priest had kindly offered me hospitality for 2 nights. They actually live in the very pleasant seaside town of Christchurch next door to Bournemouth. They used to live in East Grinstead where they both sang in my U3A Choir up until 2 years ago. They are both very active people who keep up their singing in local groups including the Priory Singers who sing occasional services in Christchurch Priory. It so happens they were rehearsing in the Priory tonight so I went along to sing with the tenors. What a magnificent building. It claims to be the biggest parish church in the country and one of which I was not previously aware. Today was a short one since I didn't get up till after midday. Penny and John had both been out doing things so were back for lunch as I was eating breakfast. I got the bus into Bournemouth to visit the Russell-Cotes Gallery. Russel-Cotes had bought the splendid Bath Hotel at the end of the 19th century which presumably gave him and his Victorian wife money to travel the world collecting many treasures. He had the house specially built which he gave to his wife as a birthday present (it's my birthday on Monday!). In it, they housed their huge collection, then gave it all to the town when they died. It was well worth the visit. I had not realised that so many people live in this area. It is ideally placed to go in all directions even by boat to France. The climate is apparently the best in England. There are lots of flowers, trees, everything is clean, busses galore and of course, the excellent Bournemouth symphony Orchestra. Penny and John love it here and I can see why so many people choose to come and live down here. The local TV is Meridian which stretches into Sussex. The Southwest is now behind me and I feel the gravitational pull of London already.

Those who come to join me walking need to be patient as much of their time is spent waiting for me. Alan had finished his hostel breakfast by the time I arrived which was seconds before the official finishing time. He was then packed and ready to go an hour before I was. Then before leaving Swanage seafront I needed a decent coffee. He says I get faster as the day goes on which is also true of my walking. I walk about 7 hours a day so it doesn't matter when I put those hours in during daylight. There were two other males in our dormitory who spoke English. One was from Bradford who I liked and Alan couldn't understand why. The other was a deep-throated Baptist from America with large ears and wearing ridiculous cycling gear who for some reason Alan seemed able to tolerate. We were to meet them both later in the day. The weather was great today and so was the walk. Swanage was very pleasant and gave Alan the opportunity to remember holidays there as a young child. The chalk outcrops of the Pinnacles and Old Harry Rocks are stunning. The Needles off the Isle of White were visible from there. Then it was 10 miles of walking along beautiful beaches. First Studland Bay which is a great family beach until the naturist section where the sight of 18 people playing beach volleyball coincided with discovering an ulcer beside an upper-left molar. I blame them! Sitting in the dunes was the American with his ridiculous 10 year old cycle outfit on which he was walking in. Just in front of him, an actor and a one-woman film crew were making a programme about the Southwest Coast Path, and guess what - Alan, who actually spoke to him found out that they had bumped into him at the start of the path just round the corner and interviewed him. When I got there 10 minutes later, there was no one. I felt my ulcer get bigger! After the 90p ferry ride across the narrow entrance to Poole Harbour for which neither of us were charged, we were at Sandbanks around whose fringes sit some of the most expensive properties in the world. We walked passed them impressed but unimpressed. After a mile, we found some grass overlooking the harbour which we were actually allowed to sit on and ate an Eccles cake each. Alan then left on the open top number 50 bus back to Swanage and I walked on another 5 miles passed Boscombe Pier where John Priest picked me up to take me to his and wife, Penny's house in Christchurch where I am to stay 2 nights. Day off tomorrow.

The youth hostel in Lulworth Cove was a large wooden shed which slept 34 people so had to be very efficiently run - and was. An extremely large lady came into breakfast needing a stick to keep herself upright singing Loch Lomond loudly. She later came into the drying room where I was collecting my clothes saying she was glad it was me. Slightly surprised, I asked her what she meant. She said she had thought I was the laundry man in which case I'd have been in her way. I got out as quickly as possible! In the end we drove to Swanage, left the car at the hostel and got the bus back to Corfe Castle with the intention of getting a taxi to Kimmerage. Whilst on the bus Alan was befriended by a lady who gave us - him some local knowledge. We changed our plans as a result and got out at Kingston and walked down to the coast after a not very nice coffee in a very nice pub. We had to wait half an hour till the chef arrived to get a baguette since there was no shops - Alan's friend had said there was! This bit of coastline appears in geography books as an example of bands of hard and soft rocks stretching east west which give rise to the shape of the coast around Swanage. The coastal layer is all limestone which means lots of caves and quarries much of the stone going to London. We had lunch at St. Alban's Head where there is an odd little chapel which the Archbishop of Canterbury visited a couple of years ago to consecrate a new altar. Before lunch we had gone into the coastguard's lookout station to meet Jane and Les who were doing their 4 hour shift looking out to a misty sea. As they predicted, the wind dropped from force 8 to force 4 during the afternoon. It remained grey all day. The rain that was about once again spent all day missing us. We walked into the hostel after a lovely walk at almost exactly 6.30 and out again at 8pm to get supper in town having washed and cleaned everything. We had decided to eat Indian and have a nice bottle of red wine with the meal. Alan likes merlot so ordered a bottle. The waiter brought the bottle and gave Alan a little to taste. It was awful so we rejected it and chose something else. The waiter was so upset he had to be replaced but we left a decent tip and shook hands at the end. They were kind enough to run after me with my mobile phone which I'd left - I wish I could say, on purpose. I should have mentioned that yesterday, I started wearing my eighth and last pair of Merrel walking shoes. Tomorrow, I finish the Southwest Coast Path and will be in Brighton at the end of next week.

Our country inn in Porteshaam was a poor example of customer care. The weather was awful but the forecast was to clear later so we were not in a hurry. We struggled with how to handle the day and make Alan's car a help and not a hindrance. The problem was solved after I rang the Army who said that tomorrow they would be firing on their huge rifle range all day so we could not walk the 6 mile stretch which is on the map as a Danger Area. We therefore left the car at the youth hostel in Lulworth Cove and got 2 buses back to Ovington starting walking at 2pm. Sad to say the rain continued almost throughout the 6 1/2 mile walk which took us almost 4 hours. This, of course is very slow but the walking was very tough both up and down, the wind was up to force 8 and the ground so wet that we were sliding badly on muddy slopes. A highpoint was going through the open door of the very simple wooden church of St. Catherine's-by-the-sea. This gave us shelter and a chance to eat our Small Handraised Pork Pie. The label on the pie gave the number of the distributor but not the maker so I rang up and got Michaela who told me they were made in the Midlands and were available all over the country. Alan and I recommend them highly. Alan spoke eloquently on the philosophy of Medieaval religion compared with now suprising himself with the length of a sentence which went on forever. He thinks he is an Aetheist but I don't believe him. The magnificent chalk cliffs gave way to an outcrop of fossilised forest which is Durgle Door on the end of which is a magnificent natural arch. Just beyond is the justifiably famous Lulworth Cove which we first saw only faintly throught the thick mist. It cleared enough for us to at least see it but not as it appears on picture postcards. At the hostel we made our contributions to the very full drying room. Alan went off at the warden's request to help him pick up 6 teenage girls who had chosen the wrong day to attempt walking the 20 miles from Portland on behalf of a charity to save the house sparrow. We ate too much in the local inn where I tried the local ale which is called Piddles. I had an interesting text message from Vodafone welcoming me to France!

The youth hostel was an old Naval building overlooking Weymouth Harbour and Chesil Beach. The very tall, thin warden cooked a good breakfast. Having a car, we took a spin round the Isle of Portland going right to the end where there is a shanty town of huts which sell for £30,000 but are mostly held onto by families who have inherited them. We had decided to walk the inland coast path. Chesil Beach poses a problem as you can't walk the 15 mile shingle spit, you have to walk on the landward side of the lagoon. There are ridges which run west to east bypassing Weymouth. On one sits the southwest coast path on the other, the Jubilee trail. We chose to walk the latter from Portesham. We more or less found the semblente of a path as far as Upwey. The good thing about walking inland is that you pass through the little villages and passed farms many of which are both interesting and beautiful. After Upwey, we had a couple of hours to get to Ovington from where we had to catch the last bus back to Portesham where we had booked B&B and left the car. We walked up the road to find that our path no longer existed due to the Weymouth Ringroad which has swallowed it up. We had to therefore go back and round thus increasing the distance and loosing time. The result was that we almost made it but needed the help of Craig in his 4x4 to get us the last couple of miles. Craig has been a traveller with his family since age 19 and was out checking the area for possible sites to move his caravan to. Although he lives his life on the fringe of society he was most generous in helping us out in fact going well out of his way. In the end we had time to look round the delights of Ovington which is where artist John Constable spent his honeymoon in the vicarage. Behind the pretty village is a large white horse cut into the hillside with a figure on it representing King George III. It was George's patronage to Weymouth where he took to the supposedly beneficial seawater which made the town famous so they have a huge statue to him in the centre of town and this figure on the hill. A band played the National Anthem each time he got out of the water. We got the Jurassic Coast Bus back to Portesham, went to take a closer look at the delightful village of Abbotsbury, then ate and drank in a pub accomodation.

What a day! The wind was up and strong enough to push us around from all directions, the sky sometimes clearing, at other times monstrous grey clouds loomed but miraculously for the whole day did not hit us. Kaya and I left our Lyme Regis apartment and whilst waiting for the bus, Jeremy Biddle rang to say he was nearby and would drive us to Seatown. Jeremy and his son, Ollie live in Wells and had come to walk for a day when I left Cardiff ages ago. He rang last night to say they would both like to come today, Wells only being just over an hour away. We were then scooped off the High Street (called Broad Street) in his Mercedes which we left in the car park at Seatown. There were then a series of very steep cliffs to climb which Ollie then went down elegantly on his little scooter. Ollie is 8 and a young dancer, has perfect balance as well as being an excellent walker. Jeremy has the longest of legs and could sometimes step straight over stiles whereas it took us at least 3 manouvers. We stopped for coffee in the caravan haven of West Bay. Shortly after the landscape totally changed. We were walking inland of Cogden Beach which runs into Chesil Beach. Inland it slopes gently down to the coast path which runs along the back of the shingle with its array of specialist vegetation. The path was sheltered and mercifully flat for a change. Shortly after West Bexington, towards us came the smiling Alan Keen from Forest Row who had parked his car in Abbotsbury. We were expecting Alan who is to stay with me till Thursday. It was a wonderful meeting. Alan last walked with me to St. David's Head memorably at the end of last year's walk. We had tea in Abbotsbury before Alan kindly drove Kaya to Dorchester to catch the train back home and Jeremy and Ollie back to Seatown. I made the mistake of walking on but only got as far as Langton Herring where Alan came to meet me. I would have been better to explore the delights of Abbotsbury which is the delightful centre of Lord Ilchester's estate. I treated Alan to supper in the excellent pub for his huge help to everyone. I had booked for us to stay the night in Portland Youth Hostel which we eventually got to at 9.30pm. We are going to improvise the next 3 days so the next few blogs could be very interesting.

We had thought from the noise in the next room to us last night that we had dodgy neighbours. In fact it was bad design that put only a thin wall between their bathroom and our bed. We didn't have time to go on an outing on the tramway which runs up the River Exe from Seaton to Colyton. Having walked a bit of undercliff yesterday we knew we were going to be in for a tough walk to Lyme Regis which is all undercliff. The cliff had come down about 130 years ago and was a favourite cycling trip for Victorian tourists so the path must date back some time. Most of the time the vegetation and trees are so thick you can't see anything else. Actually, most of the time is spent checking your next footstep. Today it was slippery after all the rain, very muddy and uncomfortable with flint and tree roots on the path. Occasionally we could see the high cliffs on our left and sometimes the sea on our right. The seven miles to Lyme Regis took us about three and a half hours and was very tiring, especially on the knees. The weather was not good. We came into Lyme Regis at the famous Cobb, where there were masses of people enjoying the first day of Lifeboat Week. There was a helicopter rescue going on but we were more interested in having some food by then. Kaya and I have a little routine. Big breakfasts, then lunch and tea together as one meal. We share a pasty and share a cream tea. I am now in Dorset and no, the cream tea was nowhere near as good as yesterday's in Devon. Lyme Regis was so busy we could find no accommodation even with the help of tourist information. We were walking out of town having given up when we found a room in a self-catering establishment. Kaya was happy to not walk any further and I was happy to be able to dump rucksack and sail along for another six miles. The Coast Path has been redirected inland because of recent landslip, which made the walking quicker. I almost made Seatown but had to get the bus that was available back to Lyme Regis. We had lovely fish and chips and then made plans for tomorrow, which sounds like it may be rather exciting - more anon.

Kim and Christine had been very naughty giving us their very comfortable bed. I was up at 8:30am. Kim and I looked out of the window at the howling wind and driving rain. I agreed with him that the best way of tackling this extreme situation was to go to bed again and start the day again later. We eventually had breakfast after 11:00am and left at midday. Kim drove us up to the observatory above Sidmouth from where we walked to Branscombe via country lanes. It was a wise decision as we saw some of the donkey sanctuary and enjoyed the delights of Branscombe village which is stretched out along the valley. We discovered by calling into the church that it was from here that the benefactors for Waddon College, Oxford had come a long time ago. Sallie was leading her team of flower arrangers. From the beach to the lovely village of Beer was a new type of coastal walk along the so-called undercliff. This is a path well above sea level along fallen cliffs. On our left were very high cliffs which changed from chalk to red sandstone in dramatic fashion. It was like walking through the Grand Canyon on one side but we were in the jungle of overgrown vegetation. We were tempted to stay in Beer but Seaton was still two miles away and tomorrow's walk is already 13 miles through Lyme Regis so we carried on. We did well by finding a reasonably priced room in a hotel. We did not do so well with eating, trusting an Italian restaurant to feed us, which turned out to be a non-event. We are hoping for better weather tomorrow.

Landlady Judy cooked a breakfast with two of everything and delicious mushrooms. Her Methodist hymnbook and bible sat by the front door directly opposite the apparently very well attended Methodist chapel. I caught the short ferry crossing across the Teign to Teignmouth where the sand is quite red. It started to rain and I was behing schedule so caught the 4 mile train journey which hugs the coast passed Dawlish and Dawlish Warren to Starcross. From there the ferry crosses to Exmouth from where I walked to Budleigh Salterton - a very pretty town even in the rain. I had tea and kept track of Kaya who had already got to a tea house on the seafront in Sidmouth. I was still 5 miles away and the rain was tipping it down so decided on taking the cycle path route which goes up the River Otter to Otterton then across to Sidmouth. The river was bulging. The little road was closed to traffic and has apparently been thus for several years. In today's conditions it was part river full of mud and trees down. By Otterton, which is full of thatched cottages I was well soaked, Brolly having a field day. A mile out of Otterton I was late, soaked and dying to see Kaya who by then was sedately having a Devon cream tea in Sidmouth, so I stuck out my left arm with thumb in a position suggesting help would be appreciated when Sally Roberts stopped. Sally was today's angel. She is headmistress of Budleigh Salterton Primary School - her husband the Headmaster of Sidmouth College. For me she was a saviour. Kaya was surprised to see me as my arrival was in the end earlier than expected. We were to stay in Sidmouth with my cousin, Kim who sells Military buttons and memoranilia on Ebay. I had not seen him or his sister, Jacqui for many years so we had a great evening catching up and trying to make sense of our branch of the Scratchley family which stems from a little village in Wiltshire. Jacqui has a husband and a tiny chihuahua, much smaller than Kim's cat, who between them performed a wonderful cabaret of animal behaviour. Christine produced a wonderful meal and Peter performed magic on his computer so we could watch Jonathan's group performing some live dubstep entertainment. What a lovely evening. Jacqui and Kim's parents used to drive me from school in Taunton to Sidmouth and back again for the odd very welcome day out and here we were this evening all together again over 40 years later.

I gave myself breakfast at the hostel and some tobacco to a young Canadian determined to do as little as possible for as long as possible who I left heaped in front of the television at 11am having exhausted himself by getting up. I got nearly 800 photos onto 2 CDs at Jessop's and sent them home. The last thing I had to do in Torquay was to visit Antony Gormley's 'Field for the British Isles'. The 40,000 small terracotta figure with no arms but eyes that stare up at you from the floor have been around since 1995 and are at the moment in the Spanish Barn of Tor Abbey. Having seen his figures in the beach near Liverpool I can confirm my opinion that the man is a genius. 15 minutes looking at the field of figures transformed the building and the observer for it is you being looked at. It took me 2 hours to get out of Torquay around Thatcher Point where the millionaires of the English Riviera are encamped and which is by far the nicest area. After Tor Bay is Babbacombe Bay - nothing very special until Maidencombe which is a delightful village with a well tended apple orchard whose aroma fill the little valley. From there to Teignmouth was 2 1/2 miles of tortuous up and down. I got to Shaldon at 6.30pm to find that the ferry had stopped running. The exact information was given me by 4 energetic ladies carrying oars having just finished rowing. In Devon they row with 4 in a boat rather than the 6 in Cornish gigs. They said I shouldn't bother crossing to Teignmouth anyway as it was much nicer in Shaldon. They were right - it is devine. An estuary village with a green on which children were dancing round a maypole, a pub which served me Devon suckling pig and a B&B for £25. It has been somewhat difficult writing this blog as I am simultaniously watching 'A Fish Called Wanda', one of my favorite films, it still makes me laugh out loud. Today BABA East Grinstead closed finally and tomorrow, Kaya comes down to meet me in Sidmouth. What a great life - but what an awful weather forecast.

The weather has become unsettled with a persistent coolish breeze. The forecast suggests that it will continue which will likely effect the second Ashes Test and my walks. I stayed in bed till almost midday, then had breakfast, chilled, did some washing, then walked outside to catch the 111 bus to Marldon. A mild walk brought me to the little village of Compton. 25 years ago, my son Jonathan was born there in a converted barn so it was something of a pilgrimage. Most of the village is National Trust who have Compton Castle in their care though it is still privately owned. Sit Henry Compton was a cousin of Walter Raleigh, and like him was a Devonshire seaman and explorer. We had rented the barn so I could go and help in the new Steiner School near Totnes in the mornings, after which I helped a friend establish a biodynamic farm, then drove up to Exeter to sing Evensong in the cathedral. It was supposed to be a sabbatical rest year! What a lovely place to be born in, though I do remember it raining very hard for 2 days that November. It is raining hard again at this moment. The hostel has some long term residents, is untidy and rather out of control. Marianne, aged 61 from Sweden was clearly finding the antics last night a bit much. Today her melancoly had seriously kicked in. I could not refuse her suggestion of going out for supper - it was a cry for help. We had a very nice pub curry and a drink for £5. When I left, she stayed and I haven't seen her since! Torquay is not the place I remember visiting every other year from school on our annual choir outing - the ten-pin bowling alley - where is it? The best thing about it is the bus service. The no. 12 bus goes all round Torbay every 12 minutes. There are a lot of young French, Spanish, and Italian teenagers about and then older immigrant workers, some of which are here in the hostel. There don't seem to be many Devon people about - have they left in horror? Of the 3 towns in Torbay, Brixham, Paignton and Torquay, I have prefered Brixham.

Without saying anything, landlady Carol brought toast with the food then a fresh round afterwards. Today was Tooth Day. I phoned my dentist who frankly wasn't very interested but gave me an appointment for early September. I passed a dentist on the road into Brixham who made me an appointment at a NHS Clinic in Torquay so I had to get a move on. The coast path took me passed some nice coves and some ancient woodland. Brixham has character and history. William of Orange landed here to claim the throne and a local vicar wrote 'Abide with Me'. The local fisherman, still go trawling. I made it to the clinic with 5 minutes to spare. After filling in endless forms with my full medical history and lots of signatures I got to see a Polish lady dentist. As a trophy I produced the displaced filling from my binocular pocket and she had a little poke around. As I had suspected she said a temporary filling wouldn't be any use so gave me a prescription for a mouthwash to keep it clean. It cost me £16.50 for her 5 minutes of time but the prescription was free. Having a day off tomorrow I wanted somewhere comfortable to stay so checked out a couple of places. For £20 without breakfast I could stay in a tiny room in a Pakistani run hotel or £35 in a hotel with breakfast but the room was along a long characterless corridor. Not satisfied I wondered if there was anything on the way to the chemist when lo and behold, I passed the Backpackers Hostel. They could offer me 2 nights in an empty dormitory at £14 per night, TV downstairs, all day use and a towel. I took it. With these places you have to at least go with the flow which means putting up with people whose idea of fun may not be the same as yours. I went to see the film 'My Sister's Keeper' which made everyone cry including me. I can't make up my mind about Torquay yet - maybe tomorrow I'll be able to say more.

Jean has been running her B&B for many years so I took the opportunity to ask why the toast arrives so soon in the meal. She said that's what most people want. I would suggest a round of toast arriving with the cooked food and then a fresh round afterwards. She also advised me to first ask if a room is available, then insist on seeing it and then negotiating. Being Sunday she didn't do breakfast till 9.30am so I was not over the River Dart, by ferry to Kingswear and walking till 12.45. That seemed ok as I knew the walk to Brixham was only 10 miles, what I didn't know was how tough the walk was and that it would take 6 hours of walking time. Early in the walk I met Sally and Ralph. They were both from Worcester. Ralph has a boat in Dartmouth but they both like walking some days. They were off to visit the garden at Coleton Fishacre which was owned by the D'Oyle Carte family so I joined them. The house was designed by one of the Lutyens Group - the interior a delightful mix of Arts and Crafts and Art Deco styles with particularly fine furniture. A pianist played throughout my visit. Ralph had been quite a long way up Everest which is not my thing but I was impressed. He gave me a useful bit of information which was that if there are white horses on the waves the wind must be at least force 6. Also a tip about how to get up steep hills. Count out 10 times 10 steps, then choose a point ahead and count how many steps it takes to get there. I tried it out on the very steep hills later in the afternoon and it worked very well. Alas, I stayed chatting with them over coffee for far too long before leaving with the result that I didn't get to Brixham till 8.45pm. I only had time to down a pint of beer, eat fish and chips on the seafront, have a shower and here I am blogging to Kaya again well after midnight. Short walk tomorrow round the large bay to Torquay.

Last night a large filling from my back left molar came loose, this morning it came out. I rang my dentist at home for advice to find from his answer phone that it was Saturday so ring Haywards Heath in an emergency - fat lot of use, I'll ring him Monday. I read more about the Trout Sisters of Hallsands over breakfast and was so interested in this shingle stretch that I went to the post office, bought some booklets on the villages and mailed them home. On leaving Torcross there is a large Sherman tank as a reminder that the American Army were here practicing for D-Day in 1944. All the houses along here were requisitioned for the soldiers so 3,000 locals had to leave for almost a year. It was interesting walking along the shingle bar with the sea one side and a large lake the other. I like the plants which grow on the edge of shingles - I'm quite familiar with them now having come across them several times. It was raining hard by the time I got passed Slapton to Strete. I had picked up some interesting pebbles so mailed them home. The pebbles come from Dartmoor and are pushed onto the beaches by the longshore drift. The coastal path goes inland of the road so I stayed on the road for a few miles. I passed through some wonderful Devon farmland between Stoke Fleming and Dartmouth resuming the coast path at the castle. It wasn't a day for wondering round a damp castle in damp clothes but I did go into St. Petroc's Church for just long enough to miss the ferry into town which unbeknowns to me at the time at 5pm. It was a nice miles walk anyway around Warfleet Bay and into Dartmouth from the south. I expected to find a B&B quickly and easily but in fact it took over an hour which is not what you want at the end of a day in the rain. I had spoken with Jean at her Camelot Guesthouse but she only had a double and wanted to charge me £40. I didn't want to pay £40 so we struck a deal that if the room was still vacant in an hour she would reduce her price. At that stage I thought I'd find somewhere else but didn't so went back to Camelot hoping the room was free as it was my only option. Fortunately it was so Jean kept her word, reluctantly, I might say, and I was mightily relieved that my gamble had paid off. I went to a nice Indian restaurant to celebrate after a shower and my daily foot massage which I find essential. It was a waterproof socks and Brolly day today. Brolly is well though a bit sore after being turned inside out briefly by a strong gust of wind - she doesn't like that!

Another long, tough, but beautiful walk today influenced to some extent by one spell of heavy rain during a mostly grey day. I had a cooked breakfast in the hostel but the garden and museum didn't open till 11 o'clock by which time I was on my first ferry of the day. There is one from South Sands to Salcombe town centre which is fun as you have to board it with the help of a sea tractor. I got money, did some shopping and caught the next ferry which took 5 minutes to cross and on which I was the only passenger. The whole stretch today was very remote with no houses for 12 mile. The first part to Prawle Point, the most southerly point of Devon was lovely. The rocks kept changing from Devonian sandstone to Schist which makes rough walking and has a very green colour. Rounding the point where I saw a peregrine falcon the landscape changed. Above the wave-cut platforms were a raised beach on which was good farmland but suject to heavy erosion. Turning the next headland which is Start Point everything changed yet again. the heavily eroded cliff fall steeply into the sea which looked deep, dark and rather intimidating. There was a ghostly feel about walking down into Hallsands. It is the village where only one house remains, the rest having been consumed by the sea during a heavy storm in 1917. This coincided with a lot of dredging out at sea for shingle to build the new docks in Plymouth. The 3 Trout sisters refused to be evacuated. Whilst out fishing, one of them rescued a crew member of a boat torpedoed by a German U-boat. In gratitude the family of the saved man gave the Trout sisters money to build the very grand Prospect House which still stands beside the old village today. Hallsands, Beesands and then Torcross which is where I found a B&B are all shingle beaches requiring massive sea defences. The river behind Torcross seeps under the shingle and has created a large lake behind the bar which has closed it in. Cheryl, my landlady says they have been warned that within 50 years, the river will break through and Torcross will disappear. There is a very strange feeling to this stretch.

It was the most perfect of days. Jane for the last time cooked me breakfast and then drove me back to Bigbury to catch the ferry across the River Avon which only operates between 10 and 11 in the morning. This has nothing to do with the tide, rather that Marsh, the ferry man is also harbour master at Bantham and is therefore very busy. I noted his highly developed feet whilst he was telling me that 'Avon', means river, so they just call the river, Avon. There were two magnificent figures from the front of boats, one being from a boat which Lady Franklin made in memory of her husband, Sir John who discovered the North West Passage. I set off to discover what the coast was like to Salcombe. The first part was nice and easy passed Thurlestone where there is a magnificent natural arch in the bay which Turner famously painted. The 7 mile stretch from Bolt Tail to Bolt Head, I had read claimed to be the prettiest stretch of the whole Southwest Coast Path. Having done over 400 miles of it, I was finding it a dubious claim but it just got better and better. There was a wonderful stretch of Devon downland, then craggy outcrops, dramatic cliffs, and then rounding Bolt Head into Salcombe Estuary was simply stunning. The weather was fantastic, the wind behind me. I was in good time with the Youth Hostel already booked so I had time to dawdle and still arrive before 6.30pm which is when I like to finish my days walk. The hostel is shared with the National Trust and is surrounded by wonderful garden full of tropical plants. IT was built in 1913 but the owner's son went to war in 1914 and was killed in the first few days so they gave the house up as a hospital for woundded soldiers in which they themselves worked throughout the war after which they sold it. The man who bought it planted the garden over a 10 year period and then gave it to the National Trust. The day was still going well as I was able to order pasta and roasted vegetables for supper in the hostel which was delicious. I spent an hour washing myself and some clothes, watched the news and planned to write the blog with a coffee and a little whiskey. Then tragedy. I made the coffee, put in the sugar which was sitting out in the kitchen, stirred and went to reception to look at the map. I put the coffee to my lips and took a large gulp to find that what I thought was sugar had been salt. I gave a yell of horror which made the warden appear who I who I blamed for the disaster. At first he was going to charge me for another cup but I went on about how many miles I had carried that precious bag so in the end, maybe to shut me up, he gave me a very nice new mug. The hostel is very quiet. Last night a caravan, tonight a mansion, tomorrow - I don't know yet.

Today we were able to eat breakfast outside looking over the sea from Jane's caravan. I left just after 11 o'clock as I had an appointment with the tide. I had to wade across the River Erme an hour either side of low tide which today was at 1.15pm. The walk there was easy and then more difficult. The easy part was thanks to Lord Revelstoke who in the 19th century constructed a carriageway all around his bit of coast for his pleasure. It is now part of the Southwest Coast Path so now gives the likes of me great pleasure. I was at the river crossing with enough time to have a cup of tea in what used to be the village school until the 1930s. I was now in the Fleet Estate who own this lovely estuary. I checked with an elderly couple sitting the other side of the river that I was crossing in the right place, then it was off with shoes and socks and an uncomfortable wade across the stoney riverbed with water up to my knees. Against the next 5 miles stretch to Bigbury I noticed I had written 'tough walk' on my O/S map which pretty much described it. The hilly section kept changing from slate to red sandstone. We had planned for Jane to drive to Bigbury and walk towards me. She me me for the last section during which we met a very unusual Polish gentleman. I had seen him a week ago on a very hot afternoon when he was carrying a heavy rucksack but wearing no top and a pair of very short ripped shorts. He had walked passed without even acknowledging me. This time when he saw Jane he fell to the ground and spent 10 minutes showing her his photos. During the day he had seen rare crickets, moths, butterflies, an owl and lots of rare plants. He knew the Latin names of everything. His very short shorts were now ripped both sides which made me wish he hadn't sat down as the view was not pretty. I occasionally chipped in to see if he might notice I was there. He didn't so I suggested to Jane we leave - she was clearly relieved. We had a Devon icecream by the beach in front of the ghastly caravan park at Bigbury which is not an exciting place. They do however have a magnificent view towards Burgh Island with the famous Art Deco hotel and the Pilchard Inn dated 1336 facing them. The tide was in far enough to make it necessary to cross on the sea tractor which we did in the company of Victoria and her mother who were splendidly dressed in 30s costume and arriving for the Wednesday dance. Rooms at the hotel cost between £265 and £550. We were not even allowed to have a peep inside instead we had a quick drink at the Pilchard and caught the sea tractor back which had just delivered the nervous looking band from Bude. We went back to the Dolphin Inn in Newton Ferrers where we had a splendid fish pie for supper. It was a full moon last night but tonight it rose magnificently as red as the sun and enormous over the sea just after 10pm.

Not much to write today. Didn't get up till 11 o'clock and had a long leisurely breakfast. Jane's caravan is in a wonderful position overlooking the sea towards Bigbury where I shall be walking tomorrow. I did a very thorough clothes wash for Jane took me to look at Newton Ferrers where there is a wonderful row of old cottages along the edge of the estuary occupied by retired military gentlemen. THe other side in Noss Mayo are retired teachers and doctors. This evening we drove into Exeter where there were a group of about 20 singers meeting to do a preliminary read-through of music they will be rehearsing and performing in Estonia next week - Jane is one of them. It was fun reading through some pieces I have not come across before. It was strange being in a car again but nice to see the edge of Dartmoor and countryside I am reasonably familiar with having spent a year down here in 1983 helping in the new Devon Steiner School and singing daily services in Exeter Cathedral.

I was worried about giving my card details to what felt more and more like a dodgey hostelry in Plymouth so I went up to the Hoe to ring my card company to check if any dodgey dealing had happened overnight. It was OK but it felt odd doing it with Sir Francis Drake looking on with a huge bowl beside him. The ferry to Mount Batten went from the Barbican end of Plymouth which proved to be a much more interesting end of the city and was where I had breakfast. The weather was very unsettled with a strong wind. The ferry crossing was quite short which I shared with a group of divers from London who were hoping to explore a couple of the many wrecks around here but the rough sea was preventing them. There were more forts to pass on the way to Wembery which was an easier walk than I had expected. This was fortuitous as I did not know that the ferry from Warren Point to Noss Mayo stopped at 4pm. I got there at 3.45pm! Just before I had met an elderly lady walking with poles and both knees heavily strapped. We had a conversation about knees and were able to share similar medical data. Martin had a nice bit of medical advice which he remembered from his doctor father - 'Up with the good, down with the bad' - which accurately describes how I walk but sadly she had 2 bad knees. The Yealm Estuary (pronounced yam) is especially beautiful. Having crossed on the ferry I had tea in the Ship Inn (Martin take note) at Noss Mayo which is a place I would be happy to spend the rest of my days. I still had a couple of hours walking left in me so phoned Jane Hills (London Choir) to say I would walk to her caravan at Stoke Beach rather than her picking me up. It was only 3 1/2 miles. Jane was a head teacher in London and has had her caravan at Stoke Beach for years as a retreat. Fortunately she is very sociable and loves cooking so she had contrived firstly to be here but further to plan and prepare a lovely meal for me and a soprano/doctor friend from nearby. It was a splendid evening. Tomorrow I'll have the day off wich was scheduled for today in Plymouth.

We were up early this morning, packed up and dispensed with breakfast largely because we didn't have any. Three miles down the road we had coffee at Cawsand where Martin left on the 11am ferry as planned. He has been excellent company for 6 days and an excellent walker who exercises usually at Harrow-on-the-Hill at lunchtime and daily Yoga. I readjusted to being on my own again by dawdling my way along to the Cremyll Ferry very slowly. The walk through Kingsand, Mount Edgecombe Park and past Picklecombe Fort reminded me of 2 summers I spent here with my 3 children over 20 years ago. I saw the present generation of elderly people sitting on the same seats as their predecessors at Cawsand. The west and east sides of the Rame Penninsula are very different. The chalets on the west side we found had evolved from small huts illegally put up over 100 years ago, then developed and redeveloped so that now they have a leasehold value of over £150,000. Shantytown as a description fits rather well. The west coast of the penninsula and Edgecombe Park however belong to the history of Plymouth Sound which is all about the British Navy, Francis Drake, and wars with Europe. Entering Plymouth on the short ferry trip was like arriving in England, the romance and remoteness of Cornwall giving way to a city which has lived in the forefront of British history for a long time and suffered its consequences. I had a bacon roll at 2.30pm then found a B&B by the Hoe. It is owned by a man from the north, managed by a Malaysian lady married to a Chinese gentleman, the door being opened by a temporary employee from Uganda. I watched the Wimbledon Finals, went out to look for food and fell into the local Wetherspoon for their SUnday roast with wine for £5.99. Martin took my tent back to London as there is a lot of hard walking still to do but also quite a lot of hospitality starting tomorrow with my visit to Jane Hills (London Choir) caravan.

Breakfast in the campsite was oatcakes, cheese and dates which Martin has carried around for days. It has rained overnight but the campsite was great only charging £2.50 for walkers. We walked into Looe which wasn't far, crossed the narrow estuary for £0.40, did our shopping for the day and got on the coast path again. The walk to Seaton was tough then the walk to Portwrinkle was even harder and frankly not that interesting. I wondered why I felt so tired until thinking back realised I had not had a day off for 2 weeks. It seems like there was nothing in Portwrinkle until we came across the Whitsand Bay Hotel where we had an even more expensive cream tea at £7.50 but enjoyed the comfort and ammenities of an excellent establishment. Martin was tempted to stay with the offer of dinner, bed and breakfast for £90 per person. It did not fit with our schedule which is to get to Plymouth for him to catch the 1.00pm train back to London. The next section of the walk we saw described as a black hole for walkers of the Southwest Coast Path. We understood why when we set off on the road towards Rame Head. The path is forced inland by a large area of MOD property after which everything felt different. There were travellers by the roadside selling things and then what looked like hippy travellers a littler further on. Getting back to the west facing stretch towards Rame Head where I imagine the beaches attract surfers, all the dwellings were merely glorified chalets, no pub or churches and only one cafe which closed at 4pm. It was by then nearer 8 o'clock. We entered Whitsand Bay Holiday Park and were allowed to pitch our tents on the basis that we were walkers and only wished to stay one night. We encamped around the edge of a 1860 Battery built in case Napoleon III invaded, bought a bottle of champagne and drank it with our fish and chips in the bar. This is a lonely bleak stretch of coast which has in the past been part of Devon. The landscape has changed and feels more like Devon where we shall be tomorrow.

We had the best breakfast in our Fowey hostellery with lots of delicious fruit. We were in the delightful company of Will and Laura who has told us of it last night. They were like the Bonnie and Clyde on the run from Shepherds Bush for a few days testing out Cornwall's four poster beds! I had my heart set on a day at sea since we are coming up to Drake and Raleigh country with a trip up the Fowey Estuary in the morning and a sea trip to Palperro in the sfternoon. Martin was horrified that I should suggest not walking for a day. We had a lovely 45 minute trip up the Fowey seeing Daphne De Maurrier's house, the famous recording studios and the present day China clay loading station which moved away from Charlestown in the 70's. There was a Finnish ship being loaded which we later saw out at sea. On enquiring about a boat to Palperro Martin was delighted to hear that it was not possible today because the sea was too rough so we took a ferry across the river and got walking. It was a perfect walking day with a brisk wind behind us and a clear blue sky. The scenery was once more stunning but, oh dear, the going was tough. The 6 1/2 miles to Palperro took us almost 5 hours! On the way we met many one baby families with the young fathers doing the carrying - is it baby day, or something? We were having our third break at the top of yet another hill when hurtling down the path opposite came a man running wearing only shorts with a very tanned body. He must have been in his 70s. He was walking as he got up to us and only stopped long enough to say he was just doing a quick 8 mile circular run. It looked like a daily activity for him. Palperro is a beautiful village in a well sheltered cove. The cream tea was overpriced but we got some useful information. We had to find where we could camp. They are necessarily all inland a little upon the tops of the hills where it is almost flat. We had to walk about 4 miles but are now encamped in a very good site where the friendly people adjacent to us kindly gave us tea and seats as we put our tents. We showered after which Martin demonstrated that he has no handwashing skills whatsoever. A fellow camper told me that heavy rain is forecast for tonight. We have already had a shower and the sky looks threatning. Martin is trying to redeem his washing problem by doing the drying. He was better tonight at putting up his tent except for it being the wrong way round for the slope that we are on. Pity about Andy Murray not winning his Wimbledon Semi Final. At least we can all relax on Sunday, though!

There was very loud thunder early in the morning. The Ship Inn where we stayed was at the lowest point in the town. It flooded. It was a good job we came down late to breakfast because they were still mopping up. They are flooded at least 3 times a year so the floor is all stone and the electricity all well up the wall. After a damp breakfast we had to get 2 important things - a new notebook and reading glasses. Boots had nothing so I was forced to buy cheap glasses for £2.99 at a gift shop by the harbour. It was still raining when we left so walked on the road to Charlestown. Charlestown was the creation of a 19th century entrepreneur who developed it as a place to export tin and copper and later China clay. We visited the museum to get out of the rain and got bombarded with too much information about heritage and especially shipwrecks. However, it was the main port for shipping China clay out from the mines above the nearby St. Austell. We walked to the rather austere villages of Par and Parmear through Cornwall's industrail area when we had to decide whether to camp or walk on to Fowey. The campsite was all caravans in an unpleasant location so we constructed a route to nearby Fowey across country via a walk called The Saints' Way. THis was the nicest path of today's walk and although the mist had rolled all over us we enjoyed the novelty of going across rolling countryside. On walking into Fowey we were hailed by a couple who said they had seen us three times today already in a rather accusatory tone but proceeded to tell us of their rather nice B&B which is where we are now staying. This blog is being written in a very pleasant Oriental restaurant where Martin and I are feeling well tired.

First I am absolutely exhausted after possibly the hottest and most humid day of the whole trip and secondly, I am printing this blog in very large writing because today I have lost my glasses. We were out of the carpark there an elderly lady with her wippets asked whether we had been eating rabbits, when all of a sudden Tom Allan said 'Goodbye, got to catch the bus back to Falmouth' and was gone. He had said very loudly one word in his sleep 'Ready'. I asked 'Ready for what?' and that was the end of the coversation. We asked in the Luggar inn for coffee but were refused by reception. Not to be defeated we got a German waiter to serve us on the terrace of Portloe's delightful harbour. They charged £7.00 for a coffee which sounds a lot but we had in the meantime made good use of the bathroom and filled out pockets with fruit. The walk was hard and uncomfortably sweaty. In the process of wiping my brow with Hankie my glasses must have fallen out. We were having tea at East Port Holland (Bible Christian) having passed West Port Hooand which was Weslian Methodist. I rang back to Portloe but it the end had to conceed that the glasses were probably and may still be somewhere on the South West Coast Path. I now rely on Martin who is dictating the printed blog to Kaya. We saw the impressive Caerhays Castle, rounded Dodman's Point where we met a 70 year old lady on a 700 mile walk going the other way. Later we met a husband and wife who were carrying their 5 months old baby from stages all around the coast Path. It was still unbearably hot when we eventually Mevagissy. martin had jokingly said there may be something going on, and sure enough we his Feast Week, arriving during the triathalon event. It was all very exciting and colourful. We found accomodation at the Ship Inn, ate and then walked about the delights of the lovely fishing town and tonights everyone was dressed as bucchaneers on their way to the disco. It's raining.