New Forest to Three Trees (campsite)

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.