Delabole to Rock – Around the Clock, My Cock (Second Blog Today)

When we lived in Bristol me and Maggie (aka the wife) used to say ‘Or royt moy caaark’ in exaggerated Bristolian accents. In fact we still do it because Bristol was a key part of our lives, meeting lifelong friends like the noisy bastard neighbour Bavs. It means, are you alright my friend. Bristol was a friendly community in the 70s and early 80s. We loved it.

I woke at 6.30 and the noise of rain on my hut roof drove me back to sleep. This process repeated itself at 8.30, 10.15, 11.20 and 12.35. My sleeping bag was warmer than the alternative.

At 1pm I couldn’t wait any longer and packed my gear. It had been so wet I couldn’t get out for a pee so I’d been peeing in my plastic drinking mug, usually the home of my teeth at night, and chucking it out of the opening. My teeth were resting, uncleaned and undisturbed in my mouth.

The hens and goats were sad to see me go.

Bye bye sanctuary.

I waterproofed up, no photos today I’m afraid, and set off along the road through the village. After a couple of miles another farm shop came along and the breakfast here was as good as the one near Boscastle. The tea was the best I’ve had for years. Loose tea captured in a strainer. A wow taste. I didn’t want to leave.

But I had to. The coast temporarily appeared to my right during a break in the low cloud.

And then it was head down and aim for Rock. Avoid the cars, keep alert, keep safe. I don’t like this. I want the coast path back and I’ll get it tomorrow. Needs must.

At 7pm I arrived at the site. Hungry and wet. Derek, the site manager, was a star. He found a dryish piece of land for my tarp and saw that I was knackered. He asked if I was charity walking. I told him the story of Chip and I was so exhausted I burst into tears.

He invited me to join him and his missus for dinner. Did I like pasta and chorizo??? Is the Pope Catholic? I pitched the tarp and whilst I did it he brought me four cans of Malaga lager. Before I got over to Derek and Jo’s place another bloke from the site came over and asked me if I was walking for charity. He gave me £10 and said that it would pay for my ferry and some food tomorrow. A lady in a caravan invited me over for coffee in the morning.

It was an expensive site. More than I expected, but the managers and residents were decent, kind, generous and nice. It touched me deeply.

So did the pasta.

It turned out that Derek and Jo spend winter in their camper van within a couple of miles of Rincon de la Victoria, one of our faves in Andalusia. Small world.

I slept well. The rain had abated and I was aiming for Newquay tomorrow.

Night night.