But not for someone of young, middle age like meeee!!!!!!! Got up in the morning , slaving for bread sir. Thanks Desmond. The first real exposure of my white generation to the sound of reggae. We’d had ska but not reggae. Then loads of bands blew it up, and Bob Marley was king. I wasn’t a reggae expert but he was the biz. 1973, Concrete Jungle on Whistle Test. Unbelievable.

I have to do over 26 miles today to reach Dieppe, to get a train to Rouen, to stay at my friends Francis and Annie Carrere, to have a day resting. And today it is raining and I can hear thunder as I set off. I am waterproofed up and can’t see anything to photo. So here is a photo of me two days later smiling at you. Scary as Phuket. I might have plastic surgery.

I was following a main road but managed to cut across country on an unused track which led me, on a mini-pilgrimage route, to the Chapelle St Laurent on a hill above Eu.

As I arrived at the Chapel there was a flash of lightning behind it, like something out of the Omen. Sadly I didn’t get it on camera.

But at a height, holding on to my metal walking poles, and with metal dental implants……..I was electro vulnerable. Dive, dive. I took a narrow path down at great speed!

Now I’ve seen some scary shit in my time……….I hope you don’t mind me using rude words but it gives my blog street cred and increases the audience to two. Now I’ve seen some scary shit in my……..oh you do mind! Sorry. Now, I’ve seen some scary things in my life but when I blew up the photo of the church tower with the cross on top, this face was peering out, smiling like someone evil.

A hot chocolate in Eu was just what the exorcist ordered and I was ready for the next stage. The weather was starting to clear a bit and warm up.

I stuck to quiet country roads and as the land rose then so did I!

As the land rose then so did I? No wonder you’ve only got 2 viewers with drivel like that you gormless prick! Let’s spice it up you asshole. Sorry you two viewers for the street language.

I really forced my way forward along tough country roads and pushed myself to the extreme carrying a heavy rucksack up massive inclines. I thought I might die but was saved by my exuberance and a will to live to see my true love Maggie again.

That’s my boy! I can see this getting a seven figure contract in Hollywood. By the way, which one is Pink? Thanks Roger.

Potatoes were growing.

Oats too, or barley or summat.

This tedium of reporting replicates the joyless tedium of some of this very long day’s journey. But the bright parts are sublime. Nice church.

Today was all about getting it done and getting to Dieppe. It was a long, harsh walk. But after 12 hours I finally made it over the 26 miles to Dieppe port.

What a great town.

I made the 8 o’clock train to Rouen and then took the metro to the Carreres. Justine, our friends’ daughter was there and cooked me a nice, welcome meal. And then I slept.

Don’t think about my apparition.

Night night.

For a start we lost on penalties last night so I wasn’t joyous, secondly it had been the most enormous thunderstorm and going for a piss in the night had led to rain getting into the inner tent. Finally I didn’t sleep good. Or well. Or well good. So this morning was received in an unwelcome manner.

I would see how far I could get with this very grim demeanour, but I was hoping to reach a hotel in Friville, 19 miles away. My rucksack had mysteriously put on weight overnight. Unhelpful baston.

Another hot day coming up, but it only served to stew my misery, until I happened upon a bank of poppies.

I was circling round the bay of the Somme, which was a bit like the Wash around the time of King John. The King was counselled against taking a shortcut through this tidal marsh. He didn’t heed this advice, the tide came in and his Crown Jewels, his genuine Crown Jewels (not the slang version), sank in the mud. Never to see the light of day. He was at war with his barons, Scotland and France, shortly thereafter contracted dysentery and died in Newark. Poor baston. Newark ffs! The ultimate in bad luck.

I had seen a map of a route through this tidal estuary, the Somme not the Wash, and had a quick look around at where I thought it might have started. If I could take this short cut and stilll avoid my Crown Jewels, the slang version, getting trapped by the tide and the treacherous mud whirlpools then I could save 10 Kms. The tide was low, but I asked a couple of people, who looked at me with fear in their eyes. No monsieur, c’est trop dangereux. Vous avez besoin d’un guide.

It looks like there would be a crossing somewhere but it was far too dangerous to take a shortcut across the treacherous sands, and I definitely didn’t want to end up dying in Newark. Crown Jewels saved for posterity.

Like the Wash most of the land had been reclaimed for farming, the majority arable but some pastoral.

With pastoral claiming special taste in the lamb farmed here, due to grazing on the salt meadows. And the special sheep appear to have captured a spaceship, for all you UFO conspiracy theorists.

Stood upon a bridge over the river Somme, looking landward and seaward, there was no vestige of the appalling events over 100 years ago, where over a million casualties were sustained by the French, German and British forces. The Germans used gas as well. Dirty bastons. We did, and the Froggies did, but only as retaliation against the Germans.

By this time I was struggling. No breakfast and a hot sun, when a chip wagon came into sight. Fish and chips and bottled water. Luxury I tell you!

Cutting inland southward the lanes wove down through lush countryside with ancient barns.

These are brick base but the upper part of the walls are wattle and daub. An ancient method of building where a wooden, interlaced base is daubed with mud, animal dung, straw and other stuff. Incredible to see it here.

My mate Francis, who has never been the safest driver, must have been here. His vehicle has smashed through the wall of this building and just missed the crucifix – or just caught it. In the confusion Jesus obviously took the opportunity to escape but only managed to get one hand free. It’s never easy when you’ve been dead two millennia.

Or maybe the bloke who owned the house caught the driver and hung him up on this cross as a warning to others. It dunt look like Francis but he could be in disguise.

I was desperate now and couldn’t wait to get to my hotel. I arrived in Friville and the Great War memorial was epic.

So was my sleep. I was buggered.

Night night.

The red line is what I’ve done in the last few days and the blue is to do over the next 3 days before Thosdey neet. It’s hot, I’m getting tired and I want to get a train to Rouen from Dieppe and rest for a day with our friends the Carreres, before starting back.

Dieppe is significant in my life.

In 1974 I was living in London and sold dozens of LPs to get the money to buy a boat train ticket from Victoria to Newhaven to Dieppe to Rouen to see my girl who was living there. I married her not long after.

We have crossed the channel to and from there many times,

In 2002 me and my friend Nigel Stansfield drove down to Newhaven, and picked up my French mates Francis Carrere and Francis Sennenck who had come over from Dieppe. We watched the Blades beat Brighton 4-2 and had a right good boys weekend.

In 2010 I was stuck in Bratislava on business when the ash cloud came down. I had three days to get back home to see the Blades in a Sheffield derby at Hillsborough. I got lifts from colleagues and mates across Europe to Dieppe, the only crossing that wasn’t fully booked, and made it for the game.

The sun was out again and it was hot outside, as I stoked up on two Maccy D breakfasts.

So today was more about miles than smiles, as I was reverting to road walking along a route with very few views beyond woodland on either side of the road. This area is like the Everglades with water everywhere. But you can’t see much of it from the road.

Although occasionally it lets some in!

I made some friends on the way. Hello boys and girls!

I got my head down and my walking poles striding away. But the day got hotter, sweatier and more tiring. I was only aiming for 16 miles but it took eight hours. I needed to be at this campsite before 18 hundred pm and, having picked up dinner from a shop en route (that had run out of bread) I only just made it.

The lass on reception was lovely and showed me to my pitch. She popped down later to bring me an artisanal French loaf as the site shop had closed, they hadn’t sold the loaf and she gave it me. What nice people there are here.

I had the loaf with ham and cornichons, with baby tomatoes on the side. I was right happy. and I got a radio feed for the Blades Forest second leg.

We lost on pens. Then the most enormous thunderstorm struck, which lasted nearly all night. Reyt apocalyptic. Forest will fail in the final.

But I still got some sleep. So should you.

Night night.

There’s a pattern of long day, short day developing here but we’ll see how it goes. Breakfast was water and a Bounty bar, and the weather was overcast but heating up again into another sweat box of a day. I wanted to get back to the sea and as the tide was out a fair way I decided to walk along the beach.

I was glad to leave Stella Plage behind. What a dump.

The beaches are great here. I’m not quite sure what determines whether they are pebbles or sand. In fact I’m not sure. In fact I couldn’t be less sure.

In the far distance was Berck and I was heading there. Finding campsites that take tents is difficult. They’re happier to close showers and toilets rather than have to comply with restrictive covid related legislation. Finding them so I can get a good day’s walking isn’t always possible, so Airbnb has been useful, and it will be today. Only 10 miles but walking on sand isn’t always easy. Or pebbles.

This stretch of coast must have billions of razor clams buried in the sand. Their cast-off clothing is everywhere.

A cooling breeze got up and it was more than welcome. This weird looking bugger was flowing in with the tide, watched by an equally weird looking bugger.

To get miles under your belt you need to road walk. To get memories under your belt walk the mountains and coast.

Looking back the tide was coming in fast.

Right good day.

Eventually the beach gave way to Berck and I was able to buy dinner at Aldi and eat it in my Airbnb. A compact day and an earlyish night. My dreams were bizarre. Hope yours aren’t.

Night night.

It was to be a long day today. Over 21 miles in a hot sun. Bring it on you bed wetting boo boys.

What does that mean Dave?

No clue mate, just wanted to sound macho without having to face any risk by doing so as this blog is retrospective recording. As such, I know the outcome by the time I’m writing it so I can portray the day in a way that makes me look manly. In fact…….hold on a minute mate will you before I finish this reply. I just need a wee wee.

There, that’s better, now what was I saying…….? Oh that’s right – have a look at these potty cats.

Bye Boulogne.

Today was a tarmac day. Pounding pavements as fast as I could to make up some ground. And not many photos. Sorry.

However one village had a right big street market.

Fifteen sweaty miles later another village had something half worth photoing.

And just around the corner this bloke bunged up the equivalent of the world’s most amazing garden gnome. Is he religious?

Then my fatuous nature was cut down by the most emotional and humbling experience of this trek. The Etaples Commonwealth Great War Cemetery. My jaw dropped.

I was drawn in and couldn’t stop looking at the headstones. These were lads. And lasses – 20 female nurses killed by the Germans.

These lads were never identified.

These died just a week before the end of the war.

I staggered out weeping and wailing. It did for me.

I crossed the river in Etaples and pounded the last four miles, dehydrated and sad.

The room was crap, but I ate well before I slept and slept deeply.

Night night.

Today was to be a decent half day stroll to a hotel, 10 miles away, in Boulogne. We’ve been there many times, most notably with our friends Rick and Lisa 35 years ago when we ate lunch at La Matelote restaurant. It is Michelin starred and we had a fabulous seafood meal, swilled down by champagne. What a treat. But even in those days it cost £200! Christ knows what it would cost now.

Looking up the coast the day was beautiful and the wind had dropped. How lucky am I.

Heading down the coast I followed the road for a while to Ambleteuse then cut down through the dunes to the shoreline and the sea. Many loved before us, I know that we are not new. Thanks forever and beyond Leonard for gifting us your songs and soul.

The track passed to the left of this dike.

And the views of Ambleteuse looking back were just lovely.

But most amazing was this 300 and odd years old fort – Fort Mahon. Standing proud and defiant to the waves. I love this stuff.

The pebble shore was tough to walk across, and quite draining. But the views of the sea and the dunes made it more than worth it.

I saw this poor bugger on the beach. Drowned in air and dried. If it had still been wet I could have eaten it. Inconsiderate cephalopod!

I got to the end of the shingle beach and looking back to Fort Mahon the view was great.

Next stop was Wimereux, a delightful town which was the British Army HQ in 1919 and the centre for the German Naval Command, before they lost the Second World War, in a crushing defeat.

It was a sunny day in this seaside town.

Heading back from town to the coast the view back along the front was lovely.

I carried on, heading along the coastline rather than the more sensible coastal path on the cliff tops. It was exciting, I could go up the cliffs when I wanted and the tide was going out. What could go wrong? Well firstly the coastline was made up of boulders for 4 miles. Starting just beyond this breakwater.

I stuck at it and was able to look back after an hour and see progress. But it was clear that I wouldn’t be able to get up the cliffs. It was either carry on and hope it came out somewhere or turn back. Nobody else was trying it so what answer did that indicate? Onward!

There were fascinating features in these boulders. This is a rock of solid iron, spewed out from the earth’s core millions of years ago.

And this is an impression of a mollusc that left an impression many millions of years ago. What a cracker!

Keeping my eyes on the ground to make sure I didn’t slip, otherwise Eyed Beef Act, I got closer towards Boulogne, but there was still nobody else here.

And looking back again I’d come a long way from rock to rock.

It suddenly flattened and I could see a staircase up to a German gun emplacement. Thanks lads. Right considerate of you.

As I got closer I got more confident that I could get up to the top.

Looking back from the top it was a great vista, all the way back to Wimereux and beyond.

Now I had to put my foot down to get to my hotel before the Sheffield U kick off. Along the prom…..

Past the old sailing ship……

And into town. Checked into the hotel and logged on to the Wi-Fi, and couldn’t get a feed from SUTV! Bloody bugger!

We lost anyway. So I went up to the old town and had some dinner. A great walk, great dinner and good day.

Night night.

There’s enough here in Calais to remind you of the history attached to this place, right through to the pointless and brutal German invasion in the last world war. Executing men, women and children. Sorry, I’m not a big fan. But we’re all friends now, or we will be when they apologise for bombing the John Street stand at Sheffield United.

Rant over. I can’t help it, love’s always been my game.

Calais to Audresselles reminded me of the lovely German actress Marlene Dietrich, who opposed the Nazis, and it scans so beautifully with her song, Falling in Love Again, if you say it at the right speed and pitch. Evocative of many people and things, lost and passed.

The hotel in Calais was nice and the staff delightful, even giving me bacon and eggs for breakfast. Then I set off for the coast, through a park with an incredible framework and statues. These are big statues of Churchill and de Gaulle walking forward together through frames representing a small part of France, building up to it’s re-completion. Fantastic symbolism. And de Gaulle has bird shit down his back.

And bird shit down his front.

Winnie remained unsullied.

I like Calais. It’s more than ok, but not quite Hastings. But its history is fascinating. This is Tom Souville, a privateer (pirate) born in Calais and educated in Dover, who filled the French coffers during the Napoleonic years. The flag is a white cross on light blue background, the flag of Calais.

It’s a fun town as well.

But its source of cash is the sea.

Across the sea the white cliffs of England were just visible, to the right of centre on the horizon.

This lad can see it.

I set off at a pace behind the dunes. I felt fit and ready to cover distance. This gull is stalking a German fortification. Too late mate, we won. Again.

After 3 miles behind the dunes I crossed to the seafront and kept up a good pace on the sea wall for several miles.

It was windy, which masked the heat of the sun. In no time I was in Sangatte. Isn’t it weird that this is what we relate to? We have our place in the world and rarely reflect on the magnitude of the Universe. It takes 1.3 seconds for light to reach earth from the moon. It takes 12.9 billion years for light from the star Earendel to reach earth. Our brains can’t fully absorb this. Mine can’t. Best to concentrate on the next step.

Which saw me looking in a window at my reflection. Dint take long for my reflection to come back.

The sea wall ended in Sangatte and I had to cross a difficult pile of boulders to continue walking on the shore. A bit hairy after my fall, particularly with my rucksack, but it was ok. Then I cut up through town and out into the hillside away from the coast.

Up and over the top of the hill by Cap Blanc Nez and a great coastal view the other side, right along to Cap Gris Nez.

There is a continuous line of German gun positions. But some have fallen from the cliffs and are subject to battering by the sea and claiming by the sand. The ones still in the cliffs provide refuge for refugees, although I stopped and talked to three coppers who were trying to keep them away from the Junkers bunkers.

The dunes were becoming impressive and looking back Cap Blanc Nez was beautiful. Although the bloke in the wet suit seemed to be trying to fly somewhere.

Eventually my fast pace took me to the small coastal town of Wissant, and a friterie (chippy) where I ate chips and burger in the sun. Lovely. I then headed inland again across the base of the cape towards Audresselles, where I hoped to get a campsite for the night. I passed Fartz. Not bottom burps but a lake called Fartz. Right up my street. Anything for a cheap laugh.

Looking back towards the coast I’d made progress.

In no time at all I’d covered another ten miles and put my tent up. Two tins of mackerel from the local shop and an early night. Aw, don’t it look forlorn.

Night night.

It was a long day today, although I arrived at the campsite at 17 hundred hours pm. But I am very tired. I kept up a good pace for 7 hours (plus a break for burger luncheon). Over 20 miles and it was warm and very windy and up and down. I’m getting older but I can still move like Jagger. Like he did 2 hours after his cardio surgery. But I matched him for one brief moment in the infinite life of the Cosmos. That makes me something doesn’t it God?

Yes David. It makes you an aspirational prick and a grotesque underachiever who will, inevitably, be consigned to the fiery depths, which are administered by my fallen angel, for eternity upon your demise.

Not read the bible God but I think your prognosis sounds rather favourable. Am I right?

Am I right my Lord?

Lord?

I’ll update you on today tomorrow and tomorrow tomorrow. God willing. Love and stuff.

Night night.

It starts off ok with ‘the rover is over ‘ but then it just kind of falls apart after Dover. Anyway I’m not over from Dover today, I’m over from Leeds, Seeds, Deeds, Weeds, Feeds, Heeds, Needs, Reeds. Or, as their football fans would have it, Leeds, Leeds, Leeds, Leeds.

I’m midway through my John O’Groats to Tangiers trek and my next phase is to walk from Calais to the Pyrenees in the south of France. This is the first leg from Calais to Le Havre, down the northern coast.

I came over on a flight to Paris, at around the same time that Juliet (youngest daughter) and her fiancé George were flying to Ibiza, so we spent a couple of quality hours together in the airport.

You go your way I’ll go mine. Thanks Bob.

My way was to get a flight to Paris and a train from Paris to Calais, although it took 3 trains to get here. The views were fleeting, from the TGV.

I got here despite the shambolic signage and misinformation from SNCF attendants, and because of the efficiency of the trains.

Calais appeared. Timeless and still with a British feel. It was ours for centuries.

I’m in a hotel tonight; I expect to be in my tent for 12 of the next 15 nights so a hotel tonight is great. Tomorrow is the start of my Gallic trek!

Night night.

I sat on a bench yesterday and a man’s voice came from underneath the seat reading out a letter to his wife, written in 1914 on his way to death in Flanders. Folkestone was the big departure point for millions of soldiers pulled out of their fields and factories and thrown into hell. This was a very effective art project, the recorded voice triggered by me sitting down. It was moving.

And this is a tribute to those who fought in WWI. Poor buggers. Just lads, that’s all they were.

Anyway, how much would you now give to be transported back to January 1968 on to the beach at Cannes when Captain Beefheart played the mesmeric ‘Electricity’ and the thunderous ‘Sure n’uff n yes I do’ to cameras from a bewildered French tv station. Priceless.

If you can see this photo clearly then you weren’t really there!

The morning was cool, to the extent that I needed to wear my jacket as I strolled down to the harbour.

It’s an appealing town with some history and a touch of class, in addition to a darker underbelly of Class A and homelessness. Lovely surroundings however.

Dover is my last stop before the long stretch through France, and it was a decent route along the shore and then up a very steep ascent over the top of the cliffs.

There are some nice little coves which you wouldn’t imagine down here in the busy southeast.

Then the climb, which took a long time, inadvertent rhyme but that’s just fine. Although technically fine doesn’t rhyme with time. Working part time in a five and dime. Thanks Prince.

And away….over the top and along the coast. Then looking back from the top. How impressive.

Coming down inside the cliffs I had a first view of Dover harbour. After more than 2,000 miles of walking across the UK I was close to the end. Which is more than these wagons were.

Dover looks great from here.

And I was down and past these yachts moorings before one could say hoorah!

I’ve finished John O’Groats to Dover via Lands End (and Eastbourne). Now back home for a week and then on to Calais. Le grand depart.

Night night.