Why are you pushing yourself so hard? You did 4 kms the other day. Wow! I didn’t know that! What is that in miles? 2.485 precisely. The Speaking Clock! At the third stroke it will be 5.34 precisely. Pip, pip,pip.

Deborah drove me down to a cafe and bought me a bacon and egg sandwich before letting me loose.

I strode like a champion of cliff walking. Fast and…. well fast, that’s all. I mean I shouldn’t have to apologise for just being fast, surely. My name’s not Shirley.

In no time….well it did take some time but it’s just a saying….in no time I was at Swanpool Beach, watching the elderly, but determined, bathers. Respect.

Straight off again like a greyhound after a tin hare. 10 to 1 on. Over to Gyllyngvase Beach.

Close to the end and cruising along.

Then over the hill to Falmouth. Industrial and rural.

The St Helena used to come into Avonmouth docks in Bristol when I was a young man working there. A real blast from the past.

Then round the bay into the town.

I’ve completed 378 miles, well officially, but quite a few more in reality due to diversions and inland campsites. It’s been great.

Now I’m taking a break. I’m going to complete Fowey to Poole, the remaining 223 miles, next April/May 2025.

This year I’m going to focus completely on getting fit for Everest Base Camp and the three passes in the Himalayas in September. My final trek into the Himalayas. Before then there is a lot I need to do at home, and look after my missus, who is my biggest consideration. We’ve also got a family holiday in June. It’s not sensible to finish the coast path in July. Prostate Cancer UK agree and will extend the fundraising until next May. They are very supportive.

Thank you to Sparvie, Killer, Lyons, Colin and Deborah for joining me on the path. Thank you particularly to Lyons for encouraging her friends to donate and thanks to everyone who donated to Prostate Cancer UK. You’ve raised £2,380 so far. Thank you. That makes a difference.

Last word to the idiot who is me.

Night night.

The red line below is the ground that I’ve already covered. The thick green line is still to be done. It’s a gap and it vill be closed. SCHWEIN!!!

How odd. David’s pretending to be some kind of 1930s German officer. Whatever next?

I vont to see Herr Nichols.

At de crack of de dawn dis morning Deborah drove down de coast an dropped me off at Porthallow.

Oh Christ! He’s doing some kind of dated Afro-Caribbean mimicry, of an accent which only ever existed in the vocabulary of white 1960s Calypso singers like Lance Percival. Wouldn’t get away with it now. Didn’t even black himself up. Not like the Black and White Minstrels. They were good. Sunday night on BBC TV.

The forecast was for thunderstorms later so I legged it quickly.

I had checked the time of the tides as my first challenge was to get round to Gillan Creek, three and a half miles away, whilst the tide was low. At the point of low tide you can wade the Creek, but if you miss it then you have to add on another two and a half miles walking upstream to the nearest bridge.

The honeysuckle was flowering in the more sheltered south facing cliff sides.

And although I’d missed breakfast I managed to keep up a reyt good pace. Gillan Creek seemed quite full of water when I got there, this should be low tide!

Walking upriver I saw St Anthony in Meneage on the far bank. That is the village that one can wade across to at low tide. Oh heck!

I certainly wasn’t going to walk over two miles more than I needed to so I ignored the coast path and walked up the shore. And an opportunity to get wet was revealed to mine eyes, which had seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, in the beauty of the land, sea and sky.

I took off my boots and socks and began to paddle, then swish, then wade. I was hoping that it wouldn’t extend to,”then swim”, but I had too much electrical equipment to submerge myself. By carefully plotting my path I was able to keep the water at thigh level. Weaving up and downstream it took ten minutes to find a route that didn’t wet my bollocks.

Q. How can David be so crude in a blog that anyone in the entire world can read? A. Because he’s got no filter, he’s out of control, he’s an elderly bigot and he thinks he’s important.

The significance of St Anthony on this pilgrimage is that I’ve been listening to the Sensational Alex Harvey Band for the last 200 miles and St Anthony is one of his most eclectic tracks. It’s about the temptation of St Anthony, a 4th century celibate, who took off into the desert in Egypt and was tormented by devils and temptresses. Harvey screams out his name. ST ANTHONY!! It is remarkable.

His temptation was captured by Hieronymous Bosch.……

and Salvador Dali.

And here I’d landed in St Anthony in Meneage. And here was its church.

And a list of Vicars going back to the 13th century. Before which the role was provided by monks from a nearby abbey.

I had to drag myself away. I knelt in front of the altar and thought that I felt the presence of Christ warm my chest and calm my mind. I’m not remotely religious but I’ve felt spirituality in the past and this was a further blast.

I had to go. Outside was a container for dog shit. Usually he’s full of bull shit. A tyrant.

Then another three and a half miles dash to Helford on the south bank of the Helford River estuary. I dashed it, really quickly. I was hungry.

The thunderstorms didn’t manifest themselves and I made it to the ferry. To attract it over from Helford Passage, I had to open up the red circle.

Hey presto.

Looking back Helford looked nice.

A crab sandwich in the Ferry Boat Inn and then off again like a whippet.

Until I met Debs and Flo on Durgan Beach. Looking back up the Helford estuary was stunning.

Debs took some of my gear, as it was clearly not going to thunder. Which enabled me to get further speed on to make it round another 4 miles to Maenporth beach, where she picked me up.

Dinner at the campsite and an early night. Great day! Hooray!

Night night.

One can walk from Par to Fowey in half a day round the coast path, one can. I was feeling the pinch a bit physically and was way behind on my blogs, which I like to write. Self-indulgence city Arizona. But people read it and some like it and it makes me happy. Yes I’m boastful. “Did I tell you about my treks?” Nowt wrong with that. Boring, baldy, butthead.

Sharing the path with David (aka Killer) was great because it worked before in Nepal (did I tell you about my treks) and we know each other well enough to be comfortable.

I must admit I did wonder about how it would be with Colin, who I’d never met before, and Lyons, who I knew but who was still a bit of an unknown factor. But it was great and we had a good, hard walk.

The four of us, Colin, Lyons, Deborah and myself had breakfast in Par, five if you include Flo – Deborah’s dog. Then Colin and Lyons headed back to their homes, Deborah went off to put my washing in the launderette and I strolled from where we left off yesterday over to Polkerris.

It was another beautiful, sunny day and I felt a bit drained when it came to clambering up the cliffs. It was only an hour’s walk to Polkerris, and the beach was packed and shrinking as the tide was coming in.

I was perched on the terrace of the Rashleigh Inn, logged on to the Wi-Fi and blogging away. Deborah joined me and we had late afternoon lunch/dinner and went back to the campsite to prepare for an early start.

Night night.

And all of a sudden it is tomorrow! Great sleep again in Deb’s tent and up at 7am for an early walk. But before I did we had to dismantle the tents and pack for a move back to Falmouth. No problem, whip the tarp down and Deb will do the rest!

I cut across the fields to the Saints Way, an ancient route from Padstow to Fowey for early Christian travellers from Ireland travelling to mainland Europe. This saved them sailing round the difficult waters of Lands End.

And luckily it leads on to the Coast Path, where I dropped down to the Rashleigh, had a cup of tea and a bacon bap and climbed back up the cliff. Mevagissey showed up bright white in the morning light. Top left of the photo.

This was a longer walk than yesterday, but not by too much. The only noise was from the birds, particularly the Skylarks. There was an air of unreality in the……in the…. air! Silence save the sound of Skylarks, a morning haze embracing the day and no-one on the path. A clear distance from the real world. Stepping back into the thirties.

In the distance St Austell sprawled along the hillside dividing the north and south coasts of Cornwall.

Built in 1832 this tower on Gribbin Head was to aid the navigation of mariners and save lives at sea. Talking of Saving Lives at Sea, Killer says we collected over £60 for the RNLI plus over £300 sponsorship. Pretty good going.

Folk started to appear walking in the opposite direction to me. Most coast path walkers are women of varying ages, most are on their own. There are not many men walking on their own, or in groups. Any men are usually walking with their wives/partners.

Most people walk in the same direction round the path as I am, but part way through the day you do meet people coming round from your end point to your start point.

From Gribbin Head I got my first view of Polruan and the entrance to the Fowey estuary.

Looking back the most beautiful of beaches were almost empty.

Approaching Fowey estuary entrance the view across several headlands was inspiring.

Then, just after noon the path rounded a corner and I saw Debs and Flo walking down the road to Readymoney Cove, not far from Fowey.

And caught up with them at the beach.

She’d parked the van at the top car park in Fowey, so we climbed up the hill, took a photo…..or two or three……….

and then drove down to Falmouth. Tent up and an early night. Tomorrow is an early start to catch the low tide. I’ll explain tomorrow.

Night night.

We’ve had several sacraments on these three days. Cleansing of the soul through hard physical exertion. An outpouring of Holy Spirit – cyder. Anointing of the Sick – or at least applying plasters and medication in required areas. Eucharist – we had a bit of bread but certainly some wine.

And now, the end is near. Thanks Frank. But a fair way to go today. Probably the longest walk. And tonight the last supper for Colin and Lyons will be cooked by my sister, Deborah. Hooray!

We, Colin and me, had a crappy nighty sleepy. There was a party 20 yards up the campsite from our tents and it was noisy, lengthy and totally inconsiderate. Until 2.30am. We were camped in a coppice, and the rooks started to scream before 4am. ST ANTHONY!!!!!!!!

We got up at 7am and walked past the place of the party people, who had left their bottles, food and detritus lying around. I called out to them the name of St Anthony, who had resisted greater temptations than them in the Egyptian desert. Without making a racket. Not even Brahms third racket.

Lyons’ B&B let me and Colin in for breakfast. And it was great. Then we were off.

And as you can see from the photo below: the coastal path follows the coast; the coast falls and rises. That means, we’re in for more pain. Hooray!

However. Which is a great word, and even better in a Northern Irish accent. Highever. Neat. However, Lyons was able to leave her ruckie and I was able to leave mine at her B&B for my sister Deborah to collect later this morning.

I’m beginning to feel the strain and may have struggled to make it to Par with my ruckie. These were mega drops and climbs. In very warm and still weather. Sweat city Arizona.

Colin chose to carry his rucksack. I salute you.

It was slow, hard work but we ground on and on. Lyons even managed a smile. Sat down, rehydrating, in the sun with beautiful views. What’s not to smile about?

This is hard but well worth it. You really feel, at the end of the day, that you’ve achieved something. And you have. It’s a fabulous experience. But so is playing air guitar. Strum it Colin!

There were the occasional woodland glades that provided shade from the hot sun.

But the coast was always there to remind us that this is a coastal path.

We arrived at Charlestown, and enjoyed a long cold drink on the quayside.

We were umming and arring as to whether to finish here, as we had more than fulfilled Colin and Lyons’ challenge. But they couldn’t let it go. They had to make it to Par, the finish line.

And we ended up together at the Par Inn. If you can’t make it out, the blue writing on the bottom of the number 16 shirt in the frame reads “Prostate Cancer UK”. What a coincidence.

Deborah picked us up, took us to her tent, fed us on fabulous Iberian scran and we drank nice wine. Lyons got a taxi back to some decent digs and we carried on drinking wine until sleep overtook us.

A great night.

Night night.

Pals are people who are comfortable with each other as they are, and generally wouldn’t want to change their pal. Pals enjoy each other’s company. Chip was my pal. Still is.

If you haven’t done so yet then please donate to Prostate Cancer UK.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/blade-goes-west-again-60145?utm_campaign=lc_frp_share_transaction_fundraiser_page_donation_received_-_nth_donation&utm_content=1fefe79d-7dc0-4340-b3ff-ea7cb46c5828&utm_medium=email&utm_source=postoffice&utm_term=1716093332804

We woke at 7am, well, at least I did. Colin is an early riser and woke me up at seven. By 7.55am we had disassembled our accommodation, packed our ruckies, washed, cleaned our teeth and were on the road. Colin’s keen on frequent showers and I think he slipped another one in whilst I was snoring. I like showers when I’m in but don’t like getting in. Or getting out. It’s like getting in the sea. Then once you’re in and used to it you don’t really want to get out. So my showers are less frequent than Colin’s. And less frequent than most folk on the coast path. Not that I follow them and log how many times they go to the shower. That would be stalking.

We marched quickly down to Meva and met Lyons on the quay. Nowhere was open for breakfast. However a local bakery had some pasties and did coffee, so we bought some and sat on a bench on the quayside eating our scran.

Another lovely morning. We finished breakfast and caught one of the rare buses that ventured from Meva down to Gorran Haven. Almost immediately the roller coaster of yomping began.

We shared a bit of Lyons’ kit in mine and Colin’s rucksacks, although she is such a proud and stubborn bugger that she wouldn’t consider sending on her own rucksack by taxi to the next destination. Having rested her legs, plastered her blisters and got an early night she was good to go.

There are so many coves and some are inaccessible at high and low tides. The walk today was difficult. Soon eclipsing the difficulty of yesterday. It was sweaty and steep. Q. How cool is this scene? A. Very.

Arriving back in Mevagissey gave us the opportunity to buy provisions for a barbecue on the beach tonight.

Colin and Sandra have been more than generous. They’ve paid for meals and drinks and Colin picked up the bill for the Wet Fish Shop. Hooray!

Setting off again after shopping we had more weight to carry but we were not too far from Pentewan Sands.

However as soon as we passed beyond this headland the path started to undulate wildly again. It was a killer when we thought that it would be a smooth run in to Pentewan.

At long last, our tribulations were over and we rocked in to Pentewan Sands campsite, pitched our canvas and escorted La Lyons to her B&B.

Safely checked in, and feeling the lightness of being without rucksacks, we headed to the far corner of the beach by some rocks.

Stranger on the shore. Thanks Acker. Lyons reflecting on life.

Disposables and driftwood make super BBQs. And so did we.

A modest repast of green beans, corn on the cob, jacket potatoes, asparagus, baby tomatoes, 9 scallops, 3 dressed crabs and a big chunk of hake. We ate like kings and queens. We cleared up our barbie, dumped the rubbish and me and Colin went to the clubhouse for an early nightcap. Lyons went to find her bed in her B&B to lie on. Boom boom.

An early night for us, 9.30pm, applauded by the sky.

Night night.

After a vegetarian breakfast, which included eggs, we shouldered our respective ruckies and set off down a country lane and permissive path to Portloe. Our arrival over a stile excited a field of bullocks, who chased us back to where we’d come from. We looked for an alternative bullfree path, couldn’t find one so I rather bravely climbed back over the stile and shooed the cattle away. Nearly cacked meself.

Portloe wasn’t far beyond, and almost immediately the path started to climb and fall.

Colin seemed fit and comfortably managed the path with his rucksack but Sandra, who wasn’t so fit, began to struggle with the unusual intensity of yomping up hill and down dale. The effort involved jellied her legs and she lost balance a couple of times, falling safely on the grassy inland side of the path, rather than the rocky drop to certain death.

I’ll claim you next time Lyons.

Nevertheless, either through stubbornness or inner strength, she got up and carried on. I thought this would end in us reaching a road and trying to find a phone signal to hail a cab, but I was wrong. She might have gone down but she wasn’t out.

The views were lovelier at each turn.

We tried to reduce the severity of the inclines and declines of the coast path by walking higher up the cliffs, but this just resulted in us taking a much longer route. So we dropped back down to the sea, and back up, then down. Then up.

We were heading for Gorran Haven today, where we would get a bus to Mevagissey. Progress was slow and painful, past East Portholland, up over the cliffs again and down to Caerhays Castle.

We were in danger of missing the last bus to Mevagissey. The last train to Clarkesville etc etc. When the opportunity presented itself we cut through a farm on a public footpath, taking a chance that we might be grabbed by the bullocks again. Smutty innuendo is the nature of my game.

How fantastic are the views?

At last Gorran Haven crept upon us and we found the bus stop in time to grab a lager in the local. The bus took us within a couple of miles of Meva, where we alighted and found a local campsite.

Tent up sir! Tarp up sir! Quick march down the long lane to Meva, Mevagissey, King of the Wild Frontier! Well, flower of the Cornish coast at least.

We enviously offloaded Lyons’ gear in her Airbnb bijou apartment next to the quayside. Not for me and Col these airs and graces. We’re kids under canvas. But it did look nice.

So did the scallops and fish pies that we had for dinner before leaving Lyons to the magnificence of Meva, and making our way a mile and a half uphill back to camp.

We’d covered over 12 miles, plus the trek back to camp for me and Col. Good effort over difficult paths.

Night night.

David left this morning and I was meeting Sandra and Colin this afternoon in Portloe. I finished short of Falmouth yesterday but I had to crack on today, so this left a gap between Porthallow, where we finished yesterday, and Falmouth, where we slept last night. I’m going to have to fill this gap next week.

David dropped me at the quay in Falmouth, after we had a decent breakfast in the guest house that we stayed in. I made the 9.15am ferry to St Mawes.

Looking back Falmouth was overcast.

And immediately on arrival in St Mawes the tiny ferry to Place Bay was waiting to take me, and several other coast path walkers, on the second leg.

On landing I was the first off and away…. Over the hills and down to the sea on the Roseland Peninsula.

Then turn left and leg it along low cliffs above nice beaches.

The first place of note was Portscatho, which was an expensive and beautiful village. I had a flat white …… oooh get me!

Then set off again to meet Ray, the manager in charge of the local coastal watch station. He was expansive about a distinguished aeronautical career in the RAF and for Aerospace. A decent man of 78! Looked younger than me and certainly more slender. Nice man.

The cliffs were still reasonably low, so no massive climbs, and I made progress.

After 6 hours walking I made it to Portloe, a beautiful, tiny harbour, and our rendezvous location, the Ship Inn.

Colin and Sandra left the car they came down in at our last campsite near Par, and came down by taxi. It was good to see Sandra, who I hadn’t seen for 25 years or so since we worked at Interface. And Colin, who I hadn’t met before.

We walked inland to Sandra’s Guest House accommodation and the owner offered to drive me and Colin to our campsite. On the way she said that she had a field behind the guest house, we could camp in that and have breakfast tomorrow in the guest house.

Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Yes please miss!!!!!

We walked down to Veryan, the nearest village, had some very nice pub grub for dinner, and back to the guest house for an early night.

Sorry to see Killer go but happy to have new company. I must be getting sociable in my old age!

Night night.

Today was the last walking day with Señor Kilby. He’s been down here for 8 days and it has been great walking, fishing, eating, drinking and having a laugh together. Although laughter is limited, as this is a serious enterprise. Honest!

We’ve covered 75 miles, climbing the equivalent of halfway up Everest, and raised money for the RNLI in the process.

We got up early, 7am for me and some Godawful hour for Señor, packed up the tents and our gear into the car and drove up to Helston for the last time.

Breakfast in Wetherspoons, the big one for £8, and then the bus back to Coverack. It was overcast and drizzling but the sun occasionally sneaked through.

It wasn’t a long day today. Five miles to Porthallow and another two back to St Kaverne for the bus to Helston.

What a great name for a boat.

We made very good time over reasonable undulation of land, as opposed to the snakes and ladders we’d been playing for the last 8 days.

It was a strangely industrial area this little corner of the Lizard. Abandoned industrial, with empty quays and old quarries.

Within no time whatsoever we were in Porthallow. The end of our walk of the coast path together. And coincidentally it is exactly halfway point on the path. I’ve done 315 miles and David’s been here for the last 75, which were the most beautiful.

We got a lift with a lad going to Helston, drove to Falmouth, checked in to a Guest House, did my blog and laundry (all in a quandary) and David’s going to buy me a curry. HOOOORAAAY!!!!!

Tomorrow Colin and Sandra join me for a few days. It will be good to see them.

Night night.

Thanks Joe. But we still didn’t know.

Last night on the campsite we had a drink before resting within tent, and there were a few locals in. Discussing Eurovision and life.

The Swiss entry won larst noit. A non-binary or summaat.

Oi don’t even know what that means, non-binary. Wot’s binary?

Non-binary is someone who doesn’t know if they’re a maan or a woman.

Surely they know if they have a willy or naat.

Oi don’t think it’s about thaat. In the big cities they have this wokery and you get in trouble.

It started raining at 5am this morning and it was so heavy that the tent started to leak. The wind picked up. Should we walk or should we stay now?

Walk! From The Lizard to Coverack, but the weather was very windy and very wet. We drove to Helston and got a bus up to the Lizard, after a half-decent Wetherspoons breakfast.

APOLOGIES FOR DAVID’S USE OF F WORD LANGUAGE IN THIS VIDEO. WE WERE IN AN EXTREME METEOROLOGICAL SITUATION. NOT FOR CHILDREN! YOU CAN TAKE THE MAN OUT OF ESSEX!

This is our view of Lizard Point looking back. It’s the southernmost tip of the UK mainland.

If anything, the weather got worse. The sea was wild and the reality of the role of the RNLI was brought into sharp focus by the conditions, in which they regularly have to launch.

Nevertheless we stuck to the path and made sure that we were careful along the cliff top sections. We were very wet. However many waterproof coverings you have there is always a way that the water gets through to you. It did.

We walked for 6 hours non-stop, although the condition of the coast path deteriorated along this less-frequented section. The photos make the situation look quite calm but the weather, in reality, was rough. You don’t want to get your phone out to take photos. It might blow out of your hand, it will get soaked and you just want to get where you’re going quickly.

As the afternoon moved along the rain eased and the wind dropped slightly. We were quite muddied up by now and were pleased to see a sign indicating that it was only 1 mile on the path to Coverack.

It was the most difficult mile of the path so far. It dropped down on slippy boulders, through very thick and soaking vegetation, and crossed along the cliff side on boggy land. There was no maintenance of this section at all. It took us nearly an hour to cover the mile, climbing down the boulders and working our way through the high plants. By which time the weather had improved.

Luckily we had arrived before the last bus to Helston. It sounds very American. Last bus to Helston! Last train to Clarkesville! Last exit to Brooklyn! So we hunkered down near the only bus stop.

We waited for the 16.02, which turned out to be the 16.22, which turned up on time. Daft out of date schedules. Then all the way to Helston, and on to Porthleven in the car, and on to the Ship Inn on foot for fish and chips followed by the Villa vs Liv match on the big screen at the campsite pub.

A long, wet, windy, muddy, slippy and difficult day.

That’s when the tough get going!

Night night.

Thanks Mark.

Last night we drank Rattler. It’s quite a fruity local draught cider, so it doesn’t feel like alcohol. Until you’ve had one or two. There was a singer on in the pub on site, and we had a good evening singing along.

It was overcast this morning, but the low cloud cover drifted in and out. We set off walking from the campsite at 8.30, and by the time we got into Porthleven the bakery was open and sold us quiche, and a cafe became open and sold us coffee. And away…

At 9.20 the locals were jumping in from the quayside in the sun. Hardy folk.

And the waves were crashing on to the cliffs and the jetty.

As we headed southwards along the coast the cloud cover lowered and thickened and the temperature dropped. It became atmospheric and then bloody cold. Cold, I tell you! It’s great isn’t it – I tell you!

It was actually a good temperature for walking today, as we were covering 14 miles and climbing 2,500 feet. The first few miles were on a reasonable level and we covered ground quickly. Then the path started to climb, fall and climb.

It may have been over 200 years ago that HMS Anson ran aground, but the sadness and enormity of the event remains palpable on the cliffs overlooking the site of the disaster.

The ebb and flow of the low cloud resulted in some amazing views. Like this one.

This was tough climbing. Until we found a beach cafe and had bacon baps and coffee. Reinvigorating!!!

Three exclamation marks always make the difference.

David took the opportunity to take the RNLI donation box around the outside seating area, as there was a big bunch of motorbikers, and they were generous in their contribution.

The sky cleared.

There are warning signs at the dangerous drop areas, but I’ve learnt my lesson.

We were aiming to get to the Lizard before 3.30 and catch the bus back to Porthleven. It was hard work and the coast path signage wasn’t great so we took two wrong turns, and that cost us. Five minutes to be precise. We arrived five minutes after the bus left. So we went round to Lizard Argyll’s football ground, David joined the club for £2 and we had some beer and watched football on tv.

We caught the 5.30 bus to Helston, missing the last connection to Porthleven, but we jumped straight onto a taxi for the last two miles.

A great day’s walking, with a burger for Dav and some cheesy chilli chips for me to finish it off.

Night night.