I’m happy. I made it to the start of the southwest coastal path in Minehead yesterday, along the beach and the esplanade.

The place where I started out my trekking four years ago when I retired from SIG. 

1,450 miles. From …….

To ………

Through……..

And ………

Loved it, loved it, loved it. 

What I love as much is that in four years walking in the UK and Spain, over 2,700 miles, you have donated £7,000 for charity, including my trek with Gary earlier this year. A big thank you. 

And in true Incredible String Band style you can ‘Be glad, for the song has no ending’. I’ll blog in September from Kathmandu. 

Night night.

.

Still got these tedious wordplays going – laugh so much I wet myself. Up, packed and off by 9am on the cliff path to Blue Anchor, and then the beach to Minehead. The tide was out so the beach was a good option. Another spookily perfect day.

The path climbed up the side of a hill, with a cliff face to the right dropping down to the sea. I like trees me. This one is reaching out in great curves, to catch something.

The hill peaked and gave a great view towards Minehead in the distance.

The cliff path had a diversion with a sign saying it was due to cliff collapse. That is always health and safety bulldroppings and it turned out to be the same today. I ignored it and there was nowt wrong. Breakfast on the front in Blue Anchor, to the left of this photo, then back on the path. 

The route passed Dunster, with the castle up on the side of the hill.

Then it was down to the beach for the last leg, with hundreds of beach huts, fully kitted out as accommodation. I liked this one best. Bijou 28.

Then the beach opened up.

What happened next Dave? I’ll tell you tomorrow my dear darlings.

Night night. 

I might stop these tedious wordplays. But not yet my dears, not yet. I packed my tent and was originally aiming to walk the 20 miles to Minehead. As a reminder – I’ve walked from John O’Groats to Fiddington, and four years ago from Minehead to Land’s End as part of the Southwest Coastal Path. Therefore …..Tadaaaaaa!!!!!!! I just need to walk 20 miles from Fiddington to Minehead to have completed a continuous walk from John O’Groats to Land’s End. Got it? No? How simply do you want me to explain it? Oh. You were kidding me. Ha ha!

The route today wound westwards near the coast on the north side of the Quantock Hills and on the south side of the Bristol Channel. The first few miles were country lanes and I caught a view of the Quantocks across a sweet corn field. Well, a sweetcorn field anyway.

A small village had a shop open and I got a scotch egg and cheese sandwich breakfast. Does it get any better than this? Eventually, I hit the main A39 road to Minehead, which continued as a death trap with no pavement, narrow lanes and steep sides which I couldn’t climb up to escape. I had previously taken a wrong turn on the little country lanes and continued in an erroneous direction for a mile, which needed to be rewound thus incurring a further mile. Oh erroneous me! My desire to make it to Minehead was rapidly diminishing. I made it to West Quantoxhead (nice little place with lovely church) and cut down towards the coast. 

The lane hit the sea at Watchet. Watch what? And went west into the town. Great views. Great day. 

A pint and a pizza in late afternoon and I got info on a local campsite. Early night? Fantastic. I hoiked it up to Warren Farm and got a pitch for a fiver, to the left of this caravan.

The view from behind the hedge was lovely, looking up the Severn estuary. 

I hunkered down in my little tent, put the Maccabees on the iPad and nodded off before the end of Given to the Wild. The price of an early night is a couple of hours awake in the middle of the night but it’s a fair swap. 

14 miles today, including the erroneous misdirection, which would have made a televisual feast. Eight miles to finish this brilliant, four year trek. 

Night night.

Hello chums, wife, family, random internet trawlers and anyone else who doesn’t know me. Emotional day – waaaah! I’m leaving the Bavs’ house – waaaah! They dropped me off in Street and went away. Left me on my own. Waaaah! Thanks matey boy and girl. It’s been great. This is them, Linda cooking and Martin opening lager cans. Perfect hosts.

I had a Maccydee breakfast, double sausage and egg McMuffin in Street, and then set off west along the A39. This is Somerset levels country and was underwater 1500 years ago, so it’s flat. But I was aiming for a ridge that ran 8 miles towards Bridgwater. Glad I was too, as the A39 was deadly with no pedestrian walkway and steep banks, funnelling me into a rural death trap. I split off, heading south towards Taunton, and then cut up towards the ridge. 

This is the Spleen of rural England. Well… it’s not the heart, liver or owt like that. Kidney? Anyway it’s great country. And there’s a feeling that something is laying under this ridge, waiting to be reborn. For England and St George.

I came up to the Sedgemoor drain, and impressive it is too.

And further down the road the village of Chedzoy, with a thousand year old church and a great bus stop celebrating Her Majesty’s Coronation.

I’m not sure when Her Majesty occurred to me as someone who’s existence we should celebrate but, I’ll be a nice man and say no more.

The lane up and over to Bridgwater was a bit of a slog. So hot. Anyway, it wasn’t worth it. It is an awful town, filled with gangs from elsewhere, speaking in tongues and dumping tyres, wheels and Supermarket trolleys in the river Parrett. The Council, with no respect for the place whatsoever, doesn’t seem to salvage the river junk.

It’s centre is grim…

And its people are scum, dumping stuff like this.

 Another three hours and I reached a campsite at Fiddington. Tired and hot but cool enough to have a coupla beers, fish and chips and set up my tent. Exhausted!

19 miles today, 20 miles to go.

Night night. 

I’ve been sleeping well this trip but the heat still drains one. See what I said there? One. I’m posh meee!! Sorry, One!!! So it’s a nice day with the Baverstock’s today. Martin and Linda have been so good, picking me up, dropping me off, feeding and watering me. So good that they should do it again. Hooray!!!

Anyway we’re going to Glasto today. If you don’t know that Glasto is Glastonbury then you’re not cool. Glasto, Glasto, Glasto. We had a light breakfast, drove over the Mendips and parked in Glasto town. It was another scorchio day. 

We walked around the land to the north of the Tor – Glasto Tor – and then headed up.

Can we climb this mountain, I don’t know,

Higher now than ever before.

It was busy and full of posers, rings of women meditating and poncy individuals pretending to be mystical. Nice view though.

We made our way down to Glasto town, and even low down the views were great.

Sunday lunch, Sunday roast. A good one too in the Rifleman’s Arms. Then we went to a local Rural Life museum and had some great ice cream with a brilliant view of the Tor and an Iron Horse.

Martin and Linda dropped me off at Street, the next town, and I walked the 8 miles back to Wells to give me a head start tomorrow. They picked me up and Linda cooked a great dinner of Salmon, cherry tomatoes, chorizo and broad beans. Simple and super. 

I was tired then. We had a good natter and then bed time. Another great day.

Night night. 

Today was going to be a road walk as far as I could go in the sticky heat in Somerset. No wind to cool me down and I needed to do my best to make sure I get to Minehead by Wednesday. Every mile today would be one less for subsequent days. Again Martin dropped me off where I’d finished the previous afternoon in Pensford, and I hit the road. The sun was punishing the dried fields  again.

For a Saturday morning the traffic was heavy with the end of school terms in most areas and people going on holiday. Still I kept watchful on the roadside and pressed on, coming into Somerset proper, twinned with Atlantis! 

Global warming has brought about a shift in crops with vineyards quite common down southwest and sweet corn being an established crop.

The road kicked upwards to climb to the top of the Mendip Hills, with this unusual statue of Romulus and Remus being suckled by a wolf. It was made by an Italian prisoner of war in thanks to the local community for accepting the prisoners and treating them well. In stark contrast to the execution of 50 out of 76 allied prisoners of war escaping from Stalag Luft III. Only following orders. 

The road reached the brow of the Mendips and dipped down towards Wells, with Glastonbury Tor as a pimple on the horizon. Great country.

And Wells never fails to disappoint. Look at this cathedral. Wow!

The Main Street was full of character and action.

I carried on from Wells for a mile or so and was picked up by Martin and Linda. I’d had enough in this heat and was dripping in sweat. We visited Linda’s mum in Wells and saw her brother and sister in law there. Gathering of the clan. Then we went home and Martin cooked a great dinner. Another lovely day, and 16 miles done.

Night night. 

My mate Martin ‘Bear’ Bavs came down to Avonmouth on the train from Bristol and we met up at 8.45 at the station. I promised him breakfast and we had a good one in a local caff. We were going south on the M5 over the River Avon Bridge on the walkway, turning left and walking up the river to Bristol. The tide was out but coming in, the weather was great again. Perfick.

My mate Mart was on good form and ready for a walk.

The river cuts through a gorge on its way to the sea and it is stunning.

The tide was coming in and small boats were beginning to move upriver to take advantage of a high water level run to the lock for Bristol City docks.

The gorge winds 4 miles up to the lower end of Bristol and a 19th century suspension bridge crosses the top from east to west bank in a spectacular display of Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s genius. Looking back the bridge was magnificent with a small fleet of boats waiting for access to the City Docks.

Bristol was a great place to live. We had 7 happy years there but I had to move back to Yorkshire to follow work opportunities. The docks showed me what we’d missed.

Me and Mart called in unexpectedly on an old friend at work, Foxy, who I hadn’t seen for 30 years, and then called in on Claire, Martin’s step-daughter. A great day. I was able to leave my rucksack in Mart’s car and walk further south to put more miles on the clock. Climbing up this street to Totterdown and ultimately down the road out to Pensford, 6 miles outside Bristol.

Pensford was historic looking.

Mart picked me up and took me back to their place where his missus, Linda, was cooking dinner. Great food, great company, great day. 18 miles done. 

Night night.

No breakfast again as I set off before 9am and headed south towards Chepstow. Another lovely morning and it was warm again and sunny. Looking back from the campsite the view was good. An excellent place to camp.

On my way out I cleaned my teeth, washed my hands and face and reached around for a towel. Standing in front of me was John, a young German lad me and Debs had talked to on a few occasions en route. We had a bit of a natter and then split. He was going round to Minehead to do the South West Coast Path but needed to stop off in Chepstow to buy a new smart phone. He’d washed his in a sink and it had brock. He swore he’d done it many times before and it was ok. Not now John.

The track was fast and I made good time. Stopping for breakfast before Chepstow and carrying on to spot the River Severn and the bridge across it through a gap in the trees.

Chepstow was a great town, roasting in the midday sun.

Crossing the River Wye the castle looked fantastic.

And heading up through town the pedestrian high street was impressive. 

I cut off east towards the motorway bridge over both the Wye and the Severn and dropped downhill for a mile or two. The bridge has a walkway and I spanned it. Two miles across and no more Welsh language. 

The Wye finally flowed under the bridge into the sea.

And joining it was the mighty Severn, with the last vestiges of Offa’s magnificent 1200 year old defensive line running down to the bank on the left of this photo.

Goodbye Wales. It’s been a gas. Hello England.

The route cut down the coast to Avonmouth, and after 3 miles it revealed the new bridge.

Looking forward was the industrial hub of Avonmouth Docklands with the offices that I worked in 35 years ago, in a role that I secured after three long years as a semi-skilled machinist in steelworks. I was 23 and I got my first office job as Assistant in an industrial relations consultancy. In 6 years I was Director. Great times.

I met my mates Chris and Rob in the Miles Arms and we had a good natter and a laugh. This is them at the front after getting soaked in Swindon at a Bristol Rovers match, in a launderette, swigging beer and drying out their clothes. The match was abandoned due to rain and they made the national press.

Good lads. I found my Airbnb and got my head down. A good day capped by meeting good friends.

Night night.

An ok sleep and an early start. I walked up the Main Street through the town and had a really good breakfast. Loads of tea and great sausages. Toast with jam. Yummy. And I was sat outside so I listened to Richard Hawley on my iPad. Truelove’s Gutter. What an album. 

I like it here. The cafe owner was a Chinese woman in her fifties perhaps, a pleasant person. Her son and daughter worked in the cafe; Dad was obviously Caucasian and they were a lovely, polite and decent pair. The son was earning pocket money to support himself at Stirling University. Good luck lad.

I walked down to just around the corner from the bridge I needed to cross. For a laugh I asked a bloke which way it was to the Bridge on the River Wye. He guided me the wrong way! Must’ve not liked war films. I had to wait until he’d gone before I ignored his directions.

I recognised the bridge as I’d driven past it many times back and forth to Cardiff.

Looking upstream the boys’ school was out rowing.

I decided to give Offa’s Dyke Path a miss today and follow the Wye Valley Walk down the river bank. Good choice.

The river was clear and low, with hundreds of swans cruising on the water.

A couple from the campsite had a boat and paddled past me rather elegantly. 

A pleasant journey with trout jumping and wildlife crashing through the trees away from me, though I couldn’t see what. Probably deer. I hope the couple don’t get washed out to sea like this old gimmer in a village en route.

The walk wasn’t too long. Just 11 miles. However the last mile was up a really steep hill to the campsite. It was knackering. I put up the tent, got a shower and slept for an hour. Then I got up and went down to the valley bottom again for food and drink in the local. It was quiz night and inevitably I got invited to join a team… The Young Ones and Dave. We won and my contribution was the best. In fact I’m brilliant. Who thinks I’m brilliant, put your hands up? Fair enough. But I’m not bad for a 58 year old….. Have we been here before? 

A pleasant night with an extremely hard climb back to the tent. Made it in the dark. 

Night night.

Am I the best looking bloke you’ve ever seen? Come on, tell the truth. 

Fair enough. But I’m ok for 58 aren’t I? Yes! Ha ha! I’m 64! You said it, you can’t take it back. Anyway, the campsite reception was shut when I set off this morning so no breakfast for me. In fact I only ate a small tin of mackerel in tomato sauce and only drank water all day. And carrying a rucksack hurt without energy-providing carbohydrates. Anyroad up. I got away at 10am after a long sleep. Still tired though, must be yesterday’s efforts. And scran would help. Starving.

Lovely view as I pushed off. Today was undulating farmland. Pretty but not spectacular.



Well, it’s been a good walk. Great route, a little behind (one day), enjoyed it so far. I missed another turn and shot off on a side road. When my head goes down, because there’s a heavy pack on my back, I don’t look up frequently enough. 

This is a typical view on this walk. Lush farmland but not spectacular. Better than Attercliffe.

I still feel iffy walking through fields of cattle or horses. They might hurt me sergeant major. 

This is rich country. Lovely churches, castles and houses.



I wasn’t surprised to come across a village previously owned by the Rolls family of Rolls Royce fame. There is a Rolls golf club, bet it’s posh, and some very nice 19th century country houses. I saw a woman in her garden with a pheasant feather in her hair. She seemed like a decent cove so I complimented her on her garden and house. She told me it was owned by the Rolls family who rented them to local people. They fell into financial difficulty and had to sell the houses, but there were sitting tenants in them. Yanks bought them and when the tenants died they sold them on. They bought the family home as well, called Money Laundering House because the owners are never there. The woman had bought her house 20 years ago. 

Golf club looked swish as well. It had a sign saying it was serving refreshments until 3.30pm. I don’t think it meant serving me.

In the village I topped up with pure water for a pure life. It tasted good as well. 

It was a slog today but I made it in decent time to Monmouth. The campsite backed on to a tributary of the Wye. Nice little site.

Monmouth is quite a historical spot; a bit trendy too with the country set. 

I went in the Robin Hood and bumped into a gobby bloke who I’d met in a previous site. He said he was injured and couldn’t finish the last 20 miles. Poor man. Snigger, snigger. A Welshman from Fremantle in Australia. Fremantle’s great, Sydney and everywhere else are crap. Yeah, right. 

Fish and chips and an early night. 18 miles today, 96 miles overall so far. Not bad for a 58 year old good looking bloke eh? You can’t take it back.

Night night.