The statue is the start

The next day I struggled across the side of Exmoor and eventually made it to Lynmouth. This wasn’t good. My shoulders were bruised from the weight of the rucksack. I felt very negative and decided to break the next day’s planned walk in two.

I struggled to the Hunters Inn and pitched my tarp in a field. I nipped down to the Hunters and ordered a sandwich and a pint for me tea. The landlord looked at me like I was mental and I couldn’t work out why. I sat down and read the map, ate my sarnie and supped my pint. My hand rested on my head and I felt some peeling skin. It had been warm but not that warm. I peeled it off, and looked at it. I’d had my new cap on for half an hour and somehow a small round sticker with 2 in the middle had transferred itself from the new hat to the middle of my high forehead. For 4 hours I’d walked around as number two! To my embarrassment I’d talked to quite a few fellow travellers (mostly German for some reason – don’t mention it) but they’d looked at me as normal. Quite a methodical, process-oriented nation I suppose.

It was Saturday the 9th. Bertha hit in the night. Tarp nearly got washed away, but we were ok in the end.