Sidmouth to Lyme Regis

Now today was going to be a long slog but a spectacular one. Sid to Beer to Seaton to Lyme. 17 miles and maybe more. But we were well prepared for it. Che dropped us on the High Street and we found a cafe that provided a superb breakfast. I had bacon, egg and black pudding on two islands of bubble and squeak. Croissants? Cop this you Frenchies!

Sorry Francis. There’s nothing wrong with Croissants but this English breakfast was fandabidosi. Sorry Chantal.

The people working in the cafe were funny. The discussion with customers drifted into a historic landscape of Dick Emery type humour. Nobody was offended and everybody laughed. But those days are gone.

Walking out of Sidmouth was good.

We made half decent time, but it had been a long car journey and we got up a bit late and we had a rip roaring breakfast. So we were behind time. We made some of it up by dropping down and cutting along the beach. Then we found a path that cut up into the cliffs.

This was more tiring than tiring. But we finally ended up at Beer where we were able to have a quick snack.

And then on to Seaton. I felt buggered. I thought that Colin was ready for further action but I was knacked. It was decision time. To pull the plug or put our feet on the gas? Where are utilities when you need them?

We decided to climb up the first cliff and see how we felt. It was horribly steep and took us up through a golf course.

The decision would be irrevocable as the next section of walk to Lyme Regis would take between three and a half and four hours according to the warning sign. There were no exits or paths to the sea or inland. It is the undercliff path, that runs for 7 miles through collapsed cliffs. It is highly challenging, particularly if you set off at 16.00 hundred hours.

We decided to go a bit further before deciding.

Then we were into it. Seven miles of really weird but interesting walk. Occasionally we saw sea cliffs inland of us.

Occasionally we saw views seaward.

But most of the time it was marching over small drops and climbs under a cover of jungle. Occasionally lightened by birdsong but largely silent and oppressive. It was slowly darkening and we saw no-one else on the track after the first half hour.

Up and down in still, warm air we knew we were being observed by someone or something the whole way through. We punched it and got out of the other side after three hours. Down to the bowling club with the Cob behind it. Quintessentially English. Makes older people like me proud of what we were and what some of us still are. British!

We legged it along the front. I sent a quick greeting to our friend Linda, whose ashes grace the hillside leading down to the sea. God bless darling matey.

Che picked us up from a pub and we went back to a really good chilli con carne. With Tempranillo and a good night’s sleep after 18 miles of slog.

Night night.