Last night was colder than cold. This sleeping bag only comes out in summer now. Very little sleep so I’m making this the last leg, finish in Eastbourne and pick it up again from there later in the year. Be glad, for the song has no ending. Thanks Mike and Robin. May the long time sun shine upon you both. Their songs place them back in childhood, like The Iron Stone, where Robin finds a meteorite on a beach and takes it home. ‘A man told me it came from the moon’. Beautiful, and that finishes with Mike’s sitar and Robin’s guitar duelling to the final note. Incredible String Band. 

Now, with a breakfast inside me I felt stronger and was looking forward to another cold but sunny day. The downs were rolling, like giant green waves.



I had booked a B&B to reward myself tonight. Hooray.

The views opened up.

The gorse is coming out now and it smells fabulous. Bottle it. And the wild garlic in the woodland smells great too. 

Dropping down to Jevington there was an old church that drew me in to pay some respects.

And there in a sunny plot against a wall was the grave of Lord Shawcross, an MP but more famously the chief British prosecutor at Nuremberg. 

And round the corner was the house where Banoffi Pie was invented nearly 50 years ago. 

A last look back at the Way.

And a look forward to the end by the sea. 

Before finally the route dropped down to Eastbourne. 

The end of the South Downs Way was the end of this walk for me. 

It was 100 miles on the Way and 170 in total in miles on my route from Sandbanks. A great walk in difficult conditions. And a classic view from my B&B. 

Thanks for following my blog. It helps a lot that you’re with me through thick and thin. I’ll be blogging back in June, trekking along the north Brittany coast with my daughters Tone and Georgie. That will be a gas. Cheers my dears and………….

Night night.

Housedean Farm was a nice site. Freaking freezing but that’s more Mother Nature then the farm. During the night my breath condensed on the inside of the tent and froze. I got out for a pee at 2 am and the tent crinkled at my touch, and the stars twinkled overhead. Not bad for 30 miles south of the Smoke. You’d expect more Cockney light pollution.

I stayed in the tent in the morning to get a bit more sleep as the sun warmed it up a bit. 

I’ve been getting terrible pain in my knees at night and I think it might be because the sleeping bag is too narrow to move, rather than the cold. I’m ok if I get on my back and bend my knees but that doesn’t help me get to sleep. There were two Malaysian lads at this site, camping in a Zephyros 2, being a two person version of my Zephyros 1, but with a slightly bigger ground area (better planned). I think I might splash out when my tent goes west and get a Zephyros 2 and a broader, three seasons sleeping bag. And definitely bring my air mattress when the ground might be chilly. As long as I’m not adding too much weight. It would help me move around in the night with a bit more space. Turts a lot so needs to be addressed sometime.

A tin of cold beans for breakfast saw me right. Heinz baked beans with fiery chilli peppers. Dog’s doo dahs. 

The walk immediately climbed the Downs above Lewes. 

Great views again across to Lewes and beyond.

And back north westwards to the Brighton and Hove Albion ground, nestling in the countryside. 

I really love this photo. Looking back northwards with a bit of sun lighting up the streaks of different colours across the landscape, and the shadow deepening the dark green to the back right. Love it!

I was enjoying walking too, despite the cold wind. Sometimes it’s a ‘grit your teeth and get on with it’ experience. Today the air was fresh and very clean. The load was light on my back. I’m ok doing this for a few years yet, barring serious illness or further injury. Then I might have to resort to some rucksack delivery service, whilst I walk unhindered; before finally sinking into dotage and inaction in front of daytime tv; then to be imprisoned in the viewless winds, and blown with restless violence round about the pendent world. That’s my Saturday nights taken care of! Thanks Will.

Then going forward, southwards to the sea. 

Oh what a poetic day today is proving to be. Or not to be.

The route ahead was clear with the Way dropping to the River Ouse and then kicking up the Downs to the left of this picture.

The path began to look like something from The Wizard of Oz. Follow the yellow brick road. Eyup Tin Man. 

Then the drop down and a lovely little church with a fresh water tap outside for dried up walkers.

And onwards to the Ouse, and the smell of seaweed at low tide. 

This is turning into one of my best days walking. On the far side of the river was a Youth Hostel with a cafe. One jacket potato with cheese later and I was running up that hill. No problem. Thanks Kate. 

Looking back and southwestwards the Ouse met the sea at Newhaven. I remember our many crossings to Dieppe and back from Newhaven with fondness. Particularly one where I sold a lot of my record collection to be able to afford the boat train from London Victoria to Rouen, via Newhaven-Dieppe, to see Maggie, who was living there in 1974. 

I don’t think I’ve been a bad husband. But my Report would likely read – ‘could do better’. Snoring and farting are two areas for targeted improvement. A reduction of 80% over the next year is essential. Oops! Just let one go! Dint do owt. Dint do owt Maggie. Dint do owt. Yet the invisible malodorous mass suggests otherwise. 

I hate walking through herds of cows. Frightens me. Maybe it’s one of them that did it.

I motored it up the long slope to the top, and the path switched from eastwards to heading south towards the sea.

 And towards Alfriston where I was to spend the night. 

The woman in the village shop was really helpful, heating up some steak and ale pie and packing it in a thermal box for when I got the tent pitched. I also got an amazing tub of olives, sun dried tomatoes and other antipasti stuff. A great meal in the tent before an early dart.

Night night.

 Thanks Richard. 

But it only refused to shine in the morning. After a cold night I packed up the tent, photographed this cherry blossom and walked into Steyning for a decent full English breakfast. 

Today is a long walk so let’s get on Davey boy! 

It’s alright for you mister, but I’m aching, carrying a heavy rucksack and closer to the underworld than the early world, so ‘boy’ is a misnomer. 

No, Davey boy. Davey ‘girl’ would be a missnomer. 

Boom boom. 

The Methodists have a lovely little pad down here. Almost excessively lovely for the creed.

And a bit further down the road an elephant with six legs was trying to trample some irises.

I cut across to a gap in the Downs, where I was able to join the Way without having to climb the escarpment twice. Then climbing up the route I got a decent look back at Steyning just to the right of the Downs in the middle distance.

It’s great walking long distances. Take your time or speed up. Divert to somewhere of interest or crack on. See places you otherwise would never see. Sleep in cold tents with inappropriately thin sleeping bags. 

OK, I’ve got to get a good quality warm sleeping bag that doesn’t take up too much space in my rucksack. Expensive I know but needs must.

Looking to the north the North Downs we’re getting clearer, but not clearly defined in this photo.

Breaking over to the brow of the ridge the south coast was there again. 

And on top of the Downs a glider pilot was having a joyride in the wind; the cold wind that was strong on earth never mind in the sky. He slung it around like a good un. 

The view north east was great, outlining the hills that I would be walking over, and dropping down to the plain.

There is a steeply sided dry valley running down from the ridge called the Devil’s Dyke. Photos are good but can’t quite do it justice. This is the top end and the photo after this one is where the Dyke runs on and turns left onto the plain.

This is great and if it were not for the bitter easterly wind the walk would be idyllic. This next shot is looking back from a mile away westwards to the Devil’s Dyke coming down from left to right.

The sun was strong but it was slowly sinking and I needed to make it to Housedean Farm near Lewes. Before dropping down into the valley that the campsite was located in I took this photo looking westwards. The South Downs to the left and the North Downs to the right. 


My route dropped down and I legged it before the sun disappeared. The slanted sunlight produced some lovely views of the Downs.

There was no-one in charge present at the campsite so I pitched up and got into bed, with a box of chicken thighs that I’d bought from a village store a lot earlier. Hope they’re alright. We’ll find out later!

Night night.



Great, but short, stay with Chip and Fev. From my perspective our paths didn’t cross for a long while when kids were born and growing up. But we get together and it’s normal and continuous. Got up earlyish at Rustington and walked down to the sea with Chip. Looks like Baptiste! Whatever he looks like he’s my mate.

A nice seafront, even in overcast weather.

We went home and Fev cooked me some lovely eggs on toast for breakfast whilst I packed. Then me and Chip drove up to Arundel to restart the trek together. It’s quite a place historically. 

Chip left the car at the rail station and we walked up the West Bank of the River Arun, northwards towards Amberley. We came across an unusual pair of ducks in a drain at the side of the track. Lovely and exotic. A bit like Maggie and Fev! Might be a pair of Mandarin ducks. 

The rain started but wasn’t too bad. It was a pleasant route whatever the weather.

With the exception of a strange, deathly figure at the gates of Hades. No! No! No, said the sign. But still he came.

Don’t be frightened. It were only Chip…… Oh! I see what you mean.

Anyway, we made good time up to Amberley and had some nice sandwiches for lunch at the Bridge Inn. Then we split, Chip getting the train back to Arundel and me going up the Downs.

And passing another Moggy parked up along the Way.

It was a 10 mile slog from Amberley over the hills. I took one photo.

The weather and visibility got worse. I was soaked and my hands were frozz. After 6 hours on the ups and downs, with some rest in sheltered places, I made it to the campsite at Steyning. Tent up, down to the village for a beer and pork belly, back to the tent and down in the sleeping back.

Night night.


A bloke at the campsite saw me pitching my tent and I said I kept things to a minimum and didn’t even have a mattress. He came back with the mattress he puts his dogs on in the car. Smelt alright and it gave me a good kip.

I cut across country in a straight line to Arundel, crossing the downs after 7 or 8 miles. My mate Chip was joining me for a walk the next day. Him and Fev, old school mates of me and Maggie, live on the coast near Arundel and tonight I was stopping at theirs. 

The morning was cool and misty, as it had been for nearly a week. But it gives a good background and effect when you see country houses like this one.

Winter still hung around the lakes scattered about the area, like a grim and miserable guest outstaying his welcome. 

Loved these flowers by the roadside.

And this tree’s roots look like something from Lord of the Rings. Just brilliant.

The sky was clearing a bit as I approached the South Downs, and a touch of sun would be very welcome for these hardy vines. Lots of them!


The River Arun cuts through the Downs and on the valley floor I saw Amberley, which I would be walking to tomorrow with Chip. The sun was nearly there.

It was a decent 14 mile walk and I got into Arundel just after 4pm. Quite a classy old place with the Catholic Cathedral and a historic high street running down to the river.

The sun was really beginning to get his hat on and was coming out to play. Chip picked me up by the bridge over the Arun and the views there were lovely.

We went back to Rustington to their new house and had a very pleasant evening, catching up on each other and the kids and listening to Fev’s amazing playlist.  Until I got tired. Yawn.

113 miles done. Around another 60 to go. 

Night night.

Great night in a guest house. I haven’t got a mattress with me so to not sleep on the cold ground was very nice. Good breakfast unall.

Today was a journey from Petersfield 5 miles to South Harting by road, up a tough climb to the top of the Downs and 10 miles along the humpback ridges. Then two more miles downhill and along the plain to Graffham campsite. A good 17 mile slog. But first step was a domestic exit from Petersfield.

Which led to a fair road walk to South Harting. Typified by this place.

And then a long, hard trek up a steep and narrow country road. To a vantage point looking back at South Harting in the neither cool nor warm spring haze.

The ridge switch-backed up and down along the 10 miles I was riding it. 


There was always a haze, stopping clear views beyond a limited horizon, but what could be seen was beautiful.

Then came a stronger cloud cover and fewer walkers and cyclists on the Way. As well as the Devil’s Jumps appearing in all their stark and historic glory. Ancient graves containing heads of tribes which pointed in a line directly to the point of the setting sun on midsummer’s day. 

Carrying on into the late afternoon the sun was strong, although it was about to fight a losing battle. Is this a line of hawthorn blossom, or summat else? 

From a vantage point above Cocking, and looking back westwards at the part of the Way I had already covered, I got this great snap.

The track disappeared into woods, with the cloud coming down, and the eerie screech of the occasional cock pheasant. And nobody around. Good. They’re either on bikes messing up the path, or they’re ignorant southern bedwetters who don’t return your greeting of ‘good afternoon’ and don’t look you in the eye. Hah! Sorry Mike and Lyons. They’re probably northerners down here on holiday or down to pinch your jobs.

This cock pheasant scooted off quickly.

And then more barrows. Don’t even think of what the Barrow Wight did to the hobbits!

Finally I reached my drop off point and made the long descent to Graffham, seen here across the chalky field.

And onward to the distant campsite. A welcome end to the walk. Luckily the local shop was still open and I picked up some Saint Agur blue cheese and tinned mackerel in white wine. Dinner fit for a king.

Night night my subjects. 

Holden Farm was a good place to camp. It’s worth paying £10 for a campsite to get to use decent toilets and washbasins. I don’t like wild camping that much. I’ve done it a fair bit in Spain when it’s been the middle of nowhere but always with my machete or pepper spray handy. It helps you sleep easier even though it’s a very safe country. I got a reasonable start at about 9am and pushed on towards Meonstoke, a village about 4 miles away.

The route was across country and a bit wet and boggy, but enjoyable. I had to make it to a place called Meon Springs where one of my mates, Mike Edwards now retired, from Interface, my second last employer, was going to meet me. It’s his fly fishing haunt and it was coincidentally on the South Downs Way. We’d arranged for 1pm. The weather was holding up, with some nice views.

I got to Meonstoke at 11.15am but hadn’t had anything to eat or drink so I got two coffees at a pub that was open and a bag of crisps. Then set off at a pace to meet Mike. I passed a Queen’s Diamond Jubilee beacon which looked ordinary but no doubt breathtaking on the night when they lit up all around GB.

And the day was getting lovelier.

I pushed it to get to see Mike because he’s a Portsmouth fan and I thought they might be at home. But they were away at Wycombe Wanderers and they did them 3-2. Mike was there when I got there. In his seventies and looking good for an old bar steward. Good to catch up on the last 15 years, and get a sandwich and coffee. Good bloke.

The chalk streams around here are brilliant. Look how clear this is.

What’s just as great are the churches and the houses. Cop this church! The leaning gravestone tickles me, but you’re bound to disturb something when you get out of bed at midnight to visit your old haunts.

Cop this for a house. Using plenty of the local flint as building material. 

I really love wild primroses at this time of year. Watch someone point out that they are not, in fact, primroses. But I think they is. 

And of great reassurance to anyone worried about an interrupted supply of pharmaceuticals, wine and cheese after Brexit, these south facing chalk slopes are doing their best on the wine front.

I made it to Petersfield to the guest house before 7pm. A good walk today, around 16 miles. I’ll treat you to a photo of me. How lovely.

Night night. 

The night was cold, and wet, but not as wet as previous nights. I like my tent but my sleeping bag is very thin. It rolls up really small because there’s nothing much in it. 

In the damp nothing much was worth photographing on the first leg, from Three Trees to Winchester. But Winchester is at the very heart of England. England was unified at a battle in Dore, a suburb of Sheffield, when Wessex and Northumbria had a scrap in 886 AD or something round then. It didn’t last long but a while later Alfred the Great defeated the Danes, against massive odds, and made Winchester the capital of England. Great job Alfred.

It’s a decent place dripping with history.

I had my first and last meal of the day here, an all day full English breakfast with chips. Yessss! Then departed on my second leg of the day from Winchester along the South Downs Way, one of the UK’s national trails, to Holden Farm. 

This is rolling chalk countryside that isn’t going to be dramatic but will continue to be quintessentially English and beautiful. 

There was nobody on the Way, apart from a handful of cyclists. It was a reassuring countryside, compared to the unusual quiet and uncomfortable feelings generated by the New Forest. 

Holden Farm was a good campsite, good facilities and no unwelcome noise, apart from me – snoring.

17 miles today, 66 so far in total. Doing well, my legs and lungs are behaving and the only slight concern is my feet. Sore soles as my boots were sodden the last couple of days so I road walked in my trainers. No worries. I’m hard as nails me!!

Night night.

Before we go any further, I have to announce a discrepancy and issue an apology. My photo of a rose, which looked like a rose to me, is not a rose. It was a Camelia Japonica. It isn’t even a member of the rose family. Well spotted if you did. Nice to know that people are reading the blog – cheers. It’s nice to get feedback. Here’s the photo of the rose from yesterday.

The morning was wet and cold. I packed the rucksack inside the warm  toilet and then dismantled the tent very quickly. There is an effective waterproof cover on my rucksack and with my less than waterproof jacket on I made a half decent fist of the day. But my route was subject to a detour at the first challenge.

After half an hour my socks and boots were wet and this was the wettest horse I have ever seen in my entire puff.

I tried to get into a march with my walking poles pushing me along but after a while my hands were too cold to hold the poles. Oh misery me! But I’m from the country that produced Shackleton, Scott, Fiennes and Billy Sharp. I girded my exposed loins – damn these floppy shorts – and plunged onwards. Only to nearly poo myself at the cattle blocking my route, a bit like Shackleton might have done.

I cunningly waited ten minutes for a car to disperse them from the road and then legged it. The rain didn’t consider stopping. These horses are next to the path, completely flooded.

After 7 miles I hit the main road from Salisbury to Southampton, and got off it after I’d been splashed by lorries for the tenth time. An old dear directed me to a hardware store that had a cafe in it. Noon and I hadn’t etten owt so two coffees and a chocolate slice did the trick. Thanks Country Consumables. 

If anyone talks about trout and barbel fishing in England then at the front of their tongue will be the River Test. Legendary. And completely in spate.

I made it to Romsey, just 5 miles short of Three Trees campsite, and coincidentally twinned with Paimpol in Brittany, which I’ll be walking through with one of my daughters, either Georgie or Antonia who are minding me in turn on the Brittany coast path in June. Brilliant. I love em.  Stunning innem? 

Love Jet unall, our youngest. Wouldn’t have done Nepal without her.

I went into the local NatWest in Romsey and I gev them a sob story and they gev me £200. Rock on Tommy. On the road out of Romsey I saw this house, with ducks and a muddy river outside the door. Nice place.

How’s this for Art Deco?

And finally, before Three Trees, and hopefully a better night’s sleep – faggots, peas, mash and gravy. Absolute dog’s doodahs. 

Night night. 



No man is an island. Thanks John. 

A cripplingly cold night without too much sleep in my tent. I didn’t bring my gloves (despite our old lass’s entreaties), my scarf, long trousers or my waterproof coat. My waterproof jacket failed the trades descriptions act. My undergarments are soaked. Prick of the month!!!! Well, soaking wet prick of the month. As well as the two mates dangling next to……. OK OK OK. No need for smut. Apologies my dearest friends.  

I’d remembered to buy a tin of beans so I had cold beans and water for breakfast. Luvley. Today was a bit on roads but mostly on tracks and footpaths for 14 miles across the Forest north northeast from Burley to Nomansland, which is a village close to Canada, another village. Strange area!

En route the forest started as heath, then became forest and then became forest and heath. Oh such change, I think I need a rest. And first views of the free roaming horses of the New Forest. There’s thousands of them. Good as gold as well. Don’t mess you about like bulls can. 

Cloudy and a bit showery but sunny spells as well. Not too bad to begin with. There are some posh houses coming out of Burley, and one with a Morris Minor convertible. My first car was a Moggy. Tank we called it, XNU362. Born in 1955. What a star. 

The spring is not ahead of the North. Leaves and flowers are at the same stage, with the exception of some bluebells being out down here.

And a rose bush. How beautiful is that? 

I found the track I needed to head north off the main road and ploughed on through the forest. I’ve got used to my rucksack now, which is about 14 kilos, and I don’t notice it. I feel physically very good, I got discharged last week by the consultant over my calf muscle tear that I picked up in Nepal and my chest is fine now I’m trekking. Oh happy day, ooh happy day, oh happy day, when David walked etc….

There are a few birds singing but apart from the horses I haven’t seen any other wildlife. This forest is a couple of hundred square miles at least and it feels strangely devoid of rabbits, squirrels, badgers or deer. People only pass me every hour or so and they’re on bikes. It feels unusual. 

My track crossed a road and there was a memorial to Canadian soldiers who had been based near here in the run up to D Day. I know I’ll disappoint my sister, but the messages placed there from grandchildren and children of those who didn’t make it back made me cry. And yes Maggie I am taking my Citalopram, so that’s not to blame. They were just young lads. Poor little buggers thrown into a horrific situation. Sleep well dear boys. 

From here I cut across country without any clear paths. It’s called getting lost. With thick cloud blotting out the sun, and no compass, it’s easy to get lost in a forest.

But I broke on through to the other side. Thanks Jim. 

Nomansland is a small village with no shops and a pub that opens at 6pm. I pitched my tent, had an hour’s sleep and went up to the pub for a pint and ham, egg and chips. Heavenly.

And then back to my snowy tent. Another cold one I fear.

Night night.