Today was going to be a road walk as far as I could go in the sticky heat in Somerset. No wind to cool me down and I needed to do my best to make sure I get to Minehead by Wednesday. Every mile today would be one less for subsequent days. Again Martin dropped me off where I’d finished the previous afternoon in Pensford, and I hit the road. The sun was punishing the dried fields  again.

For a Saturday morning the traffic was heavy with the end of school terms in most areas and people going on holiday. Still I kept watchful on the roadside and pressed on, coming into Somerset proper, twinned with Atlantis! 

Global warming has brought about a shift in crops with vineyards quite common down southwest and sweet corn being an established crop.

The road kicked upwards to climb to the top of the Mendip Hills, with this unusual statue of Romulus and Remus being suckled by a wolf. It was made by an Italian prisoner of war in thanks to the local community for accepting the prisoners and treating them well. In stark contrast to the execution of 50 out of 76 allied prisoners of war escaping from Stalag Luft III. Only following orders. 

The road reached the brow of the Mendips and dipped down towards Wells, with Glastonbury Tor as a pimple on the horizon. Great country.

And Wells never fails to disappoint. Look at this cathedral. Wow!

The Main Street was full of character and action.

I carried on from Wells for a mile or so and was picked up by Martin and Linda. I’d had enough in this heat and was dripping in sweat. We visited Linda’s mum in Wells and saw her brother and sister in law there. Gathering of the clan. Then we went home and Martin cooked a great dinner. Another lovely day, and 16 miles done.

Night night. 

My mate Martin ‘Bear’ Bavs came down to Avonmouth on the train from Bristol and we met up at 8.45 at the station. I promised him breakfast and we had a good one in a local caff. We were going south on the M5 over the River Avon Bridge on the walkway, turning left and walking up the river to Bristol. The tide was out but coming in, the weather was great again. Perfick.

My mate Mart was on good form and ready for a walk.

The river cuts through a gorge on its way to the sea and it is stunning.

The tide was coming in and small boats were beginning to move upriver to take advantage of a high water level run to the lock for Bristol City docks.

The gorge winds 4 miles up to the lower end of Bristol and a 19th century suspension bridge crosses the top from east to west bank in a spectacular display of Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s genius. Looking back the bridge was magnificent with a small fleet of boats waiting for access to the City Docks.

Bristol was a great place to live. We had 7 happy years there but I had to move back to Yorkshire to follow work opportunities. The docks showed me what we’d missed.

Me and Mart called in unexpectedly on an old friend at work, Foxy, who I hadn’t seen for 30 years, and then called in on Claire, Martin’s step-daughter. A great day. I was able to leave my rucksack in Mart’s car and walk further south to put more miles on the clock. Climbing up this street to Totterdown and ultimately down the road out to Pensford, 6 miles outside Bristol.

Pensford was historic looking.

Mart picked me up and took me back to their place where his missus, Linda, was cooking dinner. Great food, great company, great day. 18 miles done. 

Night night.

No breakfast again as I set off before 9am and headed south towards Chepstow. Another lovely morning and it was warm again and sunny. Looking back from the campsite the view was good. An excellent place to camp.

On my way out I cleaned my teeth, washed my hands and face and reached around for a towel. Standing in front of me was John, a young German lad me and Debs had talked to on a few occasions en route. We had a bit of a natter and then split. He was going round to Minehead to do the South West Coast Path but needed to stop off in Chepstow to buy a new smart phone. He’d washed his in a sink and it had brock. He swore he’d done it many times before and it was ok. Not now John.

The track was fast and I made good time. Stopping for breakfast before Chepstow and carrying on to spot the River Severn and the bridge across it through a gap in the trees.

Chepstow was a great town, roasting in the midday sun.

Crossing the River Wye the castle looked fantastic.

And heading up through town the pedestrian high street was impressive. 

I cut off east towards the motorway bridge over both the Wye and the Severn and dropped downhill for a mile or two. The bridge has a walkway and I spanned it. Two miles across and no more Welsh language. 

The Wye finally flowed under the bridge into the sea.

And joining it was the mighty Severn, with the last vestiges of Offa’s magnificent 1200 year old defensive line running down to the bank on the left of this photo.

Goodbye Wales. It’s been a gas. Hello England.

The route cut down the coast to Avonmouth, and after 3 miles it revealed the new bridge.

Looking forward was the industrial hub of Avonmouth Docklands with the offices that I worked in 35 years ago, in a role that I secured after three long years as a semi-skilled machinist in steelworks. I was 23 and I got my first office job as Assistant in an industrial relations consultancy. In 6 years I was Director. Great times.

I met my mates Chris and Rob in the Miles Arms and we had a good natter and a laugh. This is them at the front after getting soaked in Swindon at a Bristol Rovers match, in a launderette, swigging beer and drying out their clothes. The match was abandoned due to rain and they made the national press.

Good lads. I found my Airbnb and got my head down. A good day capped by meeting good friends.

Night night.

An ok sleep and an early start. I walked up the Main Street through the town and had a really good breakfast. Loads of tea and great sausages. Toast with jam. Yummy. And I was sat outside so I listened to Richard Hawley on my iPad. Truelove’s Gutter. What an album. 

I like it here. The cafe owner was a Chinese woman in her fifties perhaps, a pleasant person. Her son and daughter worked in the cafe; Dad was obviously Caucasian and they were a lovely, polite and decent pair. The son was earning pocket money to support himself at Stirling University. Good luck lad.

I walked down to just around the corner from the bridge I needed to cross. For a laugh I asked a bloke which way it was to the Bridge on the River Wye. He guided me the wrong way! Must’ve not liked war films. I had to wait until he’d gone before I ignored his directions.

I recognised the bridge as I’d driven past it many times back and forth to Cardiff.

Looking upstream the boys’ school was out rowing.

I decided to give Offa’s Dyke Path a miss today and follow the Wye Valley Walk down the river bank. Good choice.

The river was clear and low, with hundreds of swans cruising on the water.

A couple from the campsite had a boat and paddled past me rather elegantly. 

A pleasant journey with trout jumping and wildlife crashing through the trees away from me, though I couldn’t see what. Probably deer. I hope the couple don’t get washed out to sea like this old gimmer in a village en route.

The walk wasn’t too long. Just 11 miles. However the last mile was up a really steep hill to the campsite. It was knackering. I put up the tent, got a shower and slept for an hour. Then I got up and went down to the valley bottom again for food and drink in the local. It was quiz night and inevitably I got invited to join a team… The Young Ones and Dave. We won and my contribution was the best. In fact I’m brilliant. Who thinks I’m brilliant, put your hands up? Fair enough. But I’m not bad for a 58 year old….. Have we been here before? 

A pleasant night with an extremely hard climb back to the tent. Made it in the dark. 

Night night.

Am I the best looking bloke you’ve ever seen? Come on, tell the truth. 

Fair enough. But I’m ok for 58 aren’t I? Yes! Ha ha! I’m 64! You said it, you can’t take it back. Anyway, the campsite reception was shut when I set off this morning so no breakfast for me. In fact I only ate a small tin of mackerel in tomato sauce and only drank water all day. And carrying a rucksack hurt without energy-providing carbohydrates. Anyroad up. I got away at 10am after a long sleep. Still tired though, must be yesterday’s efforts. And scran would help. Starving.

Lovely view as I pushed off. Today was undulating farmland. Pretty but not spectacular.



Well, it’s been a good walk. Great route, a little behind (one day), enjoyed it so far. I missed another turn and shot off on a side road. When my head goes down, because there’s a heavy pack on my back, I don’t look up frequently enough. 

This is a typical view on this walk. Lush farmland but not spectacular. Better than Attercliffe.

I still feel iffy walking through fields of cattle or horses. They might hurt me sergeant major. 

This is rich country. Lovely churches, castles and houses.



I wasn’t surprised to come across a village previously owned by the Rolls family of Rolls Royce fame. There is a Rolls golf club, bet it’s posh, and some very nice 19th century country houses. I saw a woman in her garden with a pheasant feather in her hair. She seemed like a decent cove so I complimented her on her garden and house. She told me it was owned by the Rolls family who rented them to local people. They fell into financial difficulty and had to sell the houses, but there were sitting tenants in them. Yanks bought them and when the tenants died they sold them on. They bought the family home as well, called Money Laundering House because the owners are never there. The woman had bought her house 20 years ago. 

Golf club looked swish as well. It had a sign saying it was serving refreshments until 3.30pm. I don’t think it meant serving me.

In the village I topped up with pure water for a pure life. It tasted good as well. 

It was a slog today but I made it in decent time to Monmouth. The campsite backed on to a tributary of the Wye. Nice little site.

Monmouth is quite a historical spot; a bit trendy too with the country set. 

I went in the Robin Hood and bumped into a gobby bloke who I’d met in a previous site. He said he was injured and couldn’t finish the last 20 miles. Poor man. Snigger, snigger. A Welshman from Fremantle in Australia. Fremantle’s great, Sydney and everywhere else are crap. Yeah, right. 

Fish and chips and an early night. 18 miles today, 96 miles overall so far. Not bad for a 58 year old good looking bloke eh? You can’t take it back.

Night night.



Last night was the last night with my sis and Debs took me back to Hay on Wye to start my walk back to the tent, across the Black Mountains to Pandy. We stopped en route at a roadside fantastic cafe and had a good breakfast. It’s good for me. I last all day on breakfast and I’ll make sure I get one every day in Nepal. Can’t wait!! But hold on Smiffy. This is the most beautiful walk in the UK innit?

Well, it compares with The Scottish Highlands. Let’s face it, we live in a corner of a beautiful country and if we get off our botties and push out to the extremes we get serenity. And this trip I’m getting the weather too! And look at this poppo. Lovely.

I set off from Hay at 10.30 for an 18 mile trek, climbing up 2000 feet and making good pace (hopefully) across a 15 mile ridge in the Black Mountains, following Offa’s Dyke Path. 

The first stages were difficult, quite steep and up to a ledge before the final push up to the top. Looking back this is the ledge above Hay.

Looking to the right the mountains looked magnificent.

And looking ahead the steep face up to the top was a bit intimidating in the warmth.

The wind was blowing from the west and an acrid burning smell came across from a moor fire a few hills away. Good luck firefighters.


The climb was reasonably ok and a wind and clouds were beginning to develop to cool things down. Without a backpack my pace was better than I thought, and the top was reasonably flat. Excellent. And there were hundreds of wild horses in dozens of herds scattered around the top. 

It started to rain and I legged it fast. Really fast. The views either side were brilliant. Left and right. 

What a walk. Unbelievable. Loving it. But I got wet and cold and all good things come to an end.  I got into Pandy at 16.30. I did 18 miles, including hard going, in 6 hours. Cop that! 

Night night.

Nice steaks on the barbie last night cooked by my sister. We can argue quite well. Harsh arguments, by email, text or even face to face; using naughty words. But on these last two walks where she’s helped me out setting up camp, transferring kit and cooking nice scran we’ve not argued. I know how to wind her up but I’ve only been playful on this trip and she’s not blown up. Must be getting old. Well, obviously we aren’t getting young. Nobody is, but it’s good to spend some time together. 

She gen me a lift to Gladestry, after making ham sandwiches for breakfast. She also gen me a spare sandwich wrapped up.  Up the hill and a final look back at Hergest Ridge. Again in the sun. But I am too much in the sun, since I banged my head. Particularly when I passed the hamlet of Newchurch.

Sorry. I can’t stop looking back at Hergest from different perspectives. It’s got something that Mike Oldfield recognised. You can feel it walking on the top. 

Anyway, onward and upward and downward and upward. I dropped down over rolling fields to the hamlet of Newchurch. 

And I took a wrong turning along a country lane instead of cutting south over a hill. By the time I realised, I was just too far to turn back. Two cars passed me. One offered a lift and the other asked for directions. Interactive traffic! Not a busy route. Nice views though.

I sat at the roadside and ate my packed lunch! I got a signal on my iPad and mapped out my route to Hay on Wat. What! Who cares? In the sun, free as a bird and strolling the merry way and jumping the hedges first. So I drank the clear clean water for to quench my thirst. Sweet thing, sweet, sweet thing. A sugarbaby floated by. With champagne eyes. How good was Van the Man! No question mark needed. And I caught sight of Hay on Wat. 

Only 11 miles today. Should have been 10 but got lost. Well, maldirected, not lost as such. Per se. No no no. Not lost my precious! 

The Lord of the Rings trilogy of films was really good. It didn’t follow the book religiously, thank God! Boom boom. But it was true to the spirit of each character and the story. Gollum was down to a tee. They all were.

I crossed the River Wat by Hay and looked down from the bridge. An old dear and a ratty little dog were playing on the bankside. It were Debs! She came up to take me to another new campsite. The river – Wye really, but Wat is fun – is lovely.

We drove over the Black Mountains to Pandy, found the campsite and pitched up. Another Indian takeaway, another pleasant evening and looking forward to a great night’s sleep. 

Night night. 

Breakfast in Kington and off to Discoe. Setting off quite late nowadays, ten or half past. As long as I get the miles done I’m not too bothered. 



Discoe was soon left behind in the valley in the photo above, hidden by the trees. The country is really lovely in this part of the UK. Rolling hills with dramatic mountains occasionally showing up. Just beautiful. The weather makes a big difference, although the sun is a devil for walking, even without a rucksack it’s hard, hot and sweaty. As the actress said to the bishop. 

Look at the photo below. Five miles from Kington in the middle of the Welsh Marches and it’s fantastic.

The geographical feature of the day is Hergest Ridge. An impressive lump of rock around 5 miles long and high enough to keep small herds of wild horses safe from humans. Offa’s Dyke Path runs right along the spine of Hergest Ridge, which was immortalised as the title of Mike Oldfield’s second album in 1974.

The hike up was tough but the top was flat with great views.

And horses…….

Walking southwestwards the Ridge narrows and drops down in stages, with a final flourish falling into Gladestry.

Looking back it’s just lush.

OK Mike Oldfield you honoured a great ridge. But only by choosing it for the title. The album was crap.

Some nice houses round here. Look at this one.

Debs picked me up in local Huntington and she’d got a barbecue for us. Yippeee!!!

14 miles done today, 49 in total. Still a little behind. Boom boom!

Night night.

Well, it’s a lovely walk, via Knighton, and it’s 15 miles so I’m losing strength. Day one, 20 miles with a rucksack. Today 15 miles without. You’re turning into a wee pansie Mr Smith. And I don’t mean that in a homophobic way at all. I don’t do that stuff.

We (me and my sis) had breakfast in Clun and she dropped me off where I’d finished. Good old kid. We found the drop off location by a dead tree which we’d spotted when she picked me up, and due to a leaf of bracken that I’d picked and left in the road, like Gandalf. 

Anyroad up, I like trees me! 

Brilliant inum? But for any Lord of the Rings readers dunt the last one look like the evil willow that trapped Frodo? Thank goodness for Tom Bomadil.

It was another run of steep up and down and up and down. Looking forward…..,

And looking back.

It’s hot and as soon as I break into a sweat I get flies on me head. My new hat seems to attract the buggers. Great word innit? Buggers, buggers, buggers, buggers. 

I’ll throw in these photos at random. Oh, this when I got closer to Knighton and rain was coming in, which never caught me. Ha ha!

And this is the RAF cruising round and protecting Knighton from the Germans. Sorry, I meant Russians, but I like Russians. Sorry…. doesn’t mean I don’t like Germans. Oh bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger.

Met my sis for a pint in Knighton but then shot off towards Discoe. One big up, one slow down and I’m there; there there. 

But what’s this in the middle of nowhere? Dunno.

I needed to drop down this hill to my sister, waiting in her van to take me back to a relocated tent. How brilliant is that?

And here she is! What a daft monkey!

A takeaway Indian, a reasonably early night and here we go!

Night night my loves.

I’m behind again. I finished the last walk in Welshpool and intended to get the train from Leeds, walk 12 miles south in the afternoon, pitch my tent and crack on. Train delays and the England semifinal put these plans in the bin so I got a room in an Inn and watched the match. Then set off yesterday morning with great sadness but national pride. And a South Yorkshire back three to be proud of, including two Blades ex-players and fans. Thank you England.

Anyway my first stop from Welshpool would be Montgomery, a classic Welsh Marches town. I needed to cover 20 miles today with a loaded rucksack so I road-walked up the Severn valley floor to gain time. The Severn is lovely at this stage of its journey.

Montgomery was a very attractive little town. Friendly folk too.

It was warm. Very warm with my back pack and I had a right sweat on. The next 4 mile stage was down to Mellington Hall. Lovely houses on the way and great gardeners. Cop these roses.

At Mellington Hall I reconnected with Offa’s Dyke Path, which I’d left in May, and looked ahead to the seriously steep hills and valleys between there and Clun. My sis, Deb had taken time off and was pitching her tent there. And she would transport this bloody, heavy, sweaty rucksack for four days. Hooray. But then she goes. Boo. 

The hills loomed.

I got up the first hill, eventually, and the line of Offa’s Dyke, an 80 mile defence line against the rebellious Welsh, became clear and high and continuous for the rest of the day. 1200 years old and still impressive through woods, down valleys and up hills. Amazing.

The rest of the walk to Clun was up and down, radical slopes and bigger sweats.

After 20 miles I was on my last legs stumbling down a lane when an old dear came up behind me and hooted. My sister! 

We marked exactly where she picked me up so she could drop me off there tomorrow. Thanks babe. 

The campsite in Clun was great. Deborah had found it and put the tent up and cooked a lovely meal. Clun is a fantastic town. Classy and historic. 

Night night.