Thanks Richard.

Christ it was wet last night. It started a bit when we walked up to the site after dinner but then it was a 14 hour downfall. We fell asleep to the rain, and we woke up to the rain. The noise on the canvas was intense. We were camped two or three metres apart but we had to communicate by telephone, and we decided to stay in bed and sit it out. At 10.30am I rang Tone and said that we needed to be packing, which we did under cover. The rain eased and she shot off to the showers. At that point it was dry enough to take Wilson and the tent down, which I did, and carry both with my rucksack and Antonia’s to the shower block. There I dried the canvas out a bit under the hand dryer and we packed them up. What a good chap I am? Better be ‘yes’ or you’ve had it fathead! 

Taking off at 11.30 we had an early coffee, burger and merguez sausages with chips in an open stall before short cutting across country. The coastal path would be muddy, slippery, tiring and dangerous in these conditions. It was reasonably dry now generally in the open air with occasional light showers. 

The route took us down to a ford with an ancient rock slab across it.

We pushed on, beyond the available campsites, and were aiming for a cheap hotel or a campsite in St Brieuc, the end of mine and Antonia’s journey together. In view of the deluges that we had, luckily largely avoided, and which were forecast for the next 48 hours, we aimed for a hotel.

Our route took us across a gorge, fed by a dammed lake. There was a footbridge across the gorge and a road bridge over the dam.

Footbridge.

View downstream from the road bridge towards where I was standing in the previous photo.

The next three hours were yomping with our rucksacks to get to a pmu bar for coffee and beer for Tone and me respectively. Then a 1.5 kilometre detour to a supermarket for dinner, and a three and a half kms slog uphill to the Premiere Classe Hotel. Past the fields of barley (or summat else cereal).

We ate a great meal on a bed in the hotel, including the usual grated carrots and celeri, plus bread and seafood tapas. Kismet Hardy. And as it rained outside we slept inside. Cop that!

Night night. 


The weather forecast had deteriorated further and we were due to be hit in the morning, and throughout the day, by stormy downpours. Our night’s sleep hadn’t been great as the tents were pitched on a slope and we’d both slid down as the previous night’s showers hit the canvas with a loud impact. But after a late breakfast of sliced bread and apricot jam we hit the track. Mercifully the sun was shining.

We felt that we were well in the firing line as black clouds dropped rain either side of us all day, leaving us in a corridor of sun and light cloud. We expected to be soaked and ended up with red faces. Literally!

It was also a great day for views – again.

The first town we came to was Erquy, where we had coffee outside a cafe in the sun, then bought a baguette, pate and a jar of gherkins and ate them on the end of the prom. 

The clouds kept looking ominous, but we escaped! 

After Erquy we followed the coastal path down to Pléneuf Val André. In parts it was domesticated.

And in parts it was wild.

In the end, there are so many beautiful, empty and inviting beaches and bays that you become almost to accept it as the norm. 

Clean as well. No plastic on them. Eventually we arrived at Pléneuf and Tone warned me that the next road name would make me snigger like a schoolboy, happy to oblige. Pronounced ‘rude prat’. 

We got the tent and tarp up on another decent site and in a sheltered spot. 

This is what it’s like inside Wilson.

Yes, it’s open to wild animals, insects and spiders but generally I haven’t seen many. Although in a couple of places I’ve woken up during the night with my head covered in slugs when it’s been raining. Not nice. But that’s extreme and mostly just breathe deeply and enjoy nature around you.

We got showered and then walked down to the front looking for a shop to buy dinner. Not a one. Great beach though.

And we ended up having mussels and chips again, with Britanny cider. A great day.

Night night. 

The weather forecast was so grim that we decided to get as far ahead of our schedule as we could before the rain falls in. That meant moving fast and shortcutting in a sensible way. My priority is making sure I walk a continuous route from John O’Groats in northern Scotland to North Africa. The GR34 is a lovely route but I’ve got nearly 1,800 miles to do before I’ve finished and I want to complete it before I’m so old that I piss my pants every time I have to lift a rucksack. Oops. Too late! Dry pants please Maggie.

The weather was holding up and as we left the village a car came past and the woman passenger leant out of the window and wished us good luck. It was the woman who I’d phoned the previous day! 

We headed down to the coastal path, following the red and white striped waymarking signs.



The route dropped down to a long inlet, with an amazing, ancient ruined settlement, with a wall the shape of a ship.

And here’s the bow.

The coastal path scoots out on the other side of the long inlet and back, for three kilometres which we saved by climbing up a steep side and over the back to St Germain, where there was this great, chunky old church.

We crossed the bottom of the next bay on a main road and, as we were halfway across a car hooted us and a woman leant out of the passenger window smiling, shouting and waving. It was the woman who I’d phoned the previous day. I hooted with laughter and waved my walking poles until they disappeared round a corner. We carried straight on across the Fréhel (pronounced Frail) peninsula through the village of Fréhel. Antonia couldn’t resist a photo of a Fréhel old man. Ha bloody ha. 

Rocking on to Sable d’Or Les Pins (Golden Sands) we pitched our tent and tarp before walking into town. And hiring pedal go cart type efforts. Great fun! Even if old Tone had to steer with her unbroken hand. 

The views were great, as usual.

And then we had oysters for starters in a nice restaurant, and mussels in cream with really nice chips for main course. An angel was crying on my tongue. Fantastic. 

The rain had started whilst we were in the restaurant but we had beaten it to the campsite and to the pedal karts. Good timing.

Night night.

The storm had cleared in the morning but there were a few trees damaged and down which we would see along the way. To save time we got a cab back to the airport and set off to walk the same route we would have done the previous afternoon, had it not been for the storm, in addition to the walk scheduled for today. Even pulling some short cuts we were looking at 32 kms, a good 20 miles, with our rucksacks. But the weather was fine.

The going was hard as Antonia not only has a broken hand but she developed a problem with her heel during the day. For my part I hadn’t done any training and the rucksack was digging into my shoulders. But then we’re as hard as nails!

The first stage was to get to the coast and we did that effectively, once we’d established where we were!

Doesn’t our Antonia look lovely? Before we reached the coast the heavens opened up and it belted down, whilst me and Tone dived into a coffee shop and ate pain au chocolate and a coffee eclair. The rain cleared as we stepped out and made good time for our first view of the sea, in the distance.

The headland on the left hand side of the photo above is St Jacut de Mer, and forms a thin peninsula. We cut across the land to the other side of the bottom of the peninsula, with a great view of the sea.

We walked down to Le Guildo, with a stunning perspective on the bay, just as a woman drove her van up and tipped hundreds of live crabs into the sea from the wall in the picture below. Tone reckoned that she hadn’t sold them at the Saturday market and put them back to keep them alive and for her fisherman friends to catch later.

To explain where we were, in the photo below we had cut across from the airport south of Dinard to the sea just south of St Briac. We’d then cut over the bottom the St Jacut peninsula and started walking up the coast towards St Cast. Simples. The inset, darkened map of France shows, with a red dot, where this area is. 

I love walking on my own but I really love walking with my missus and my kids. Preferably individually so they don’t gang up on me. 

We were now on the GR34 coastal path which runs for 1,250 miles (1,800 kms) around Britanny,  which is that big lump sticking out to the left of the red dot. A lot of miles I know for a small area of land but it bends and weaves around bays and peninsulas. And it climbs up and down to tiny hidden creeks and coves. A tough but beautiful route to follow.

The weather forecast for the next few days was grim, with stormy showers expected, so we wanted to make good ground whilst the weather was fine. The route was great with lovely opportunities for shots.

And finally turning up at the start of the bay before St Cast.

Every turn around a cape of land revealed another beach after beach after beach. Empty at this time of year.

We found a bar in St Cast that cooked us Croque Monsieur and chips, a great bread and cheese concoction, then we headed for the local supermarket, stocked up and aimed for a campsite on the western coast behind St Cast. I rang to let them know we were coming. Halfway there a car pulled up and the woman passenger asked if I had phoned them half an hour ago. She was the woman I had spoken to and she told us the quickest way there. Tent pitched, showered, dinner of bread and Camembert cheese and an early night. A bit sore and weary but a great day. And a great view from our dining room, despite Tone pulling her tongue out at me!

Night night. 

That’s a world long jump record boys and girls! Friends say, “Dave, we know you’re walking from John O’Groats to Africa but why do you keep jumping from Spain to England to France, and filling in the gaps later?”

I of course reply, “Something here inside cannot be denied.” This is a photo of me saying that.

Any road up, I want to walk some of the north coast of Britanny now and for the next two weeks, and I’ve got company. Antonia, our middle daughter, is joining me for the first week and Georgie, our eldest, for the second. Three hundred kilometres of coastline walking and we’re back under canvas again. A tent for the girls and a brand new tarp for me. I’m calling it Wilson. Hooray! Wilson is back. 

I took a train to Antonia’s place in Cambridge and we got a flight yesterday from Stansted to Dinard. We were landing into Dinard when the plane suddenly powered fully up and climbed rapidly back into the sky. There was a massive tempest over the airport and within seconds the runway was flooded so we had to abort the landing. I of course took this in my stride as a seasoned flyer, and shat myself. We circled round and round for over half an hour and then finally landed smoothly onto a wet Britanny. 

We had planned to walk a fair trek that afternoon to a campsite on the coast but the wind was wild and the world was soaked, so we walked up towards Dinard on an old railway line.

Even with the ropey weather we passed some beautiful sights.

We got a cheap hotel room and went to a local supermarket for our dinner. Antonia got side tracked!

Nevertheless we had some decent scran and turned in for an earlyish night.

Night night.

Last night was colder than cold. This sleeping bag only comes out in summer now. Very little sleep so I’m making this the last leg, finish in Eastbourne and pick it up again from there later in the year. Be glad, for the song has no ending. Thanks Mike and Robin. May the long time sun shine upon you both. Their songs place them back in childhood, like The Iron Stone, where Robin finds a meteorite on a beach and takes it home. ‘A man told me it came from the moon’. Beautiful, and that finishes with Mike’s sitar and Robin’s guitar duelling to the final note. Incredible String Band. 

Now, with a breakfast inside me I felt stronger and was looking forward to another cold but sunny day. The downs were rolling, like giant green waves.



I had booked a B&B to reward myself tonight. Hooray.

The views opened up.

The gorse is coming out now and it smells fabulous. Bottle it. And the wild garlic in the woodland smells great too. 

Dropping down to Jevington there was an old church that drew me in to pay some respects.

And there in a sunny plot against a wall was the grave of Lord Shawcross, an MP but more famously the chief British prosecutor at Nuremberg. 

And round the corner was the house where Banoffi Pie was invented nearly 50 years ago. 

A last look back at the Way.

And a look forward to the end by the sea. 

Before finally the route dropped down to Eastbourne. 

The end of the South Downs Way was the end of this walk for me. 

It was 100 miles on the Way and 170 in total in miles on my route from Sandbanks. A great walk in difficult conditions. And a classic view from my B&B. 

Thanks for following my blog. It helps a lot that you’re with me through thick and thin. I’ll be blogging back in June, trekking along the north Brittany coast with my daughters Tone and Georgie. That will be a gas. Cheers my dears and………….

Night night.

Housedean Farm was a nice site. Freaking freezing but that’s more Mother Nature then the farm. During the night my breath condensed on the inside of the tent and froze. I got out for a pee at 2 am and the tent crinkled at my touch, and the stars twinkled overhead. Not bad for 30 miles south of the Smoke. You’d expect more Cockney light pollution.

I stayed in the tent in the morning to get a bit more sleep as the sun warmed it up a bit. 

I’ve been getting terrible pain in my knees at night and I think it might be because the sleeping bag is too narrow to move, rather than the cold. I’m ok if I get on my back and bend my knees but that doesn’t help me get to sleep. There were two Malaysian lads at this site, camping in a Zephyros 2, being a two person version of my Zephyros 1, but with a slightly bigger ground area (better planned). I think I might splash out when my tent goes west and get a Zephyros 2 and a broader, three seasons sleeping bag. And definitely bring my air mattress when the ground might be chilly. As long as I’m not adding too much weight. It would help me move around in the night with a bit more space. Turts a lot so needs to be addressed sometime.

A tin of cold beans for breakfast saw me right. Heinz baked beans with fiery chilli peppers. Dog’s doo dahs. 

The walk immediately climbed the Downs above Lewes. 

Great views again across to Lewes and beyond.

And back north westwards to the Brighton and Hove Albion ground, nestling in the countryside. 

I really love this photo. Looking back northwards with a bit of sun lighting up the streaks of different colours across the landscape, and the shadow deepening the dark green to the back right. Love it!

I was enjoying walking too, despite the cold wind. Sometimes it’s a ‘grit your teeth and get on with it’ experience. Today the air was fresh and very clean. The load was light on my back. I’m ok doing this for a few years yet, barring serious illness or further injury. Then I might have to resort to some rucksack delivery service, whilst I walk unhindered; before finally sinking into dotage and inaction in front of daytime tv; then to be imprisoned in the viewless winds, and blown with restless violence round about the pendent world. That’s my Saturday nights taken care of! Thanks Will.

Then going forward, southwards to the sea. 

Oh what a poetic day today is proving to be. Or not to be.

The route ahead was clear with the Way dropping to the River Ouse and then kicking up the Downs to the left of this picture.

The path began to look like something from The Wizard of Oz. Follow the yellow brick road. Eyup Tin Man. 

Then the drop down and a lovely little church with a fresh water tap outside for dried up walkers.

And onwards to the Ouse, and the smell of seaweed at low tide. 

This is turning into one of my best days walking. On the far side of the river was a Youth Hostel with a cafe. One jacket potato with cheese later and I was running up that hill. No problem. Thanks Kate. 

Looking back and southwestwards the Ouse met the sea at Newhaven. I remember our many crossings to Dieppe and back from Newhaven with fondness. Particularly one where I sold a lot of my record collection to be able to afford the boat train from London Victoria to Rouen, via Newhaven-Dieppe, to see Maggie, who was living there in 1974. 

I don’t think I’ve been a bad husband. But my Report would likely read – ‘could do better’. Snoring and farting are two areas for targeted improvement. A reduction of 80% over the next year is essential. Oops! Just let one go! Dint do owt. Dint do owt Maggie. Dint do owt. Yet the invisible malodorous mass suggests otherwise. 

I hate walking through herds of cows. Frightens me. Maybe it’s one of them that did it.

I motored it up the long slope to the top, and the path switched from eastwards to heading south towards the sea.

 And towards Alfriston where I was to spend the night. 

The woman in the village shop was really helpful, heating up some steak and ale pie and packing it in a thermal box for when I got the tent pitched. I also got an amazing tub of olives, sun dried tomatoes and other antipasti stuff. A great meal in the tent before an early dart.

Night night.

 Thanks Richard. 

But it only refused to shine in the morning. After a cold night I packed up the tent, photographed this cherry blossom and walked into Steyning for a decent full English breakfast. 

Today is a long walk so let’s get on Davey boy! 

It’s alright for you mister, but I’m aching, carrying a heavy rucksack and closer to the underworld than the early world, so ‘boy’ is a misnomer. 

No, Davey boy. Davey ‘girl’ would be a missnomer. 

Boom boom. 

The Methodists have a lovely little pad down here. Almost excessively lovely for the creed.

And a bit further down the road an elephant with six legs was trying to trample some irises.

I cut across to a gap in the Downs, where I was able to join the Way without having to climb the escarpment twice. Then climbing up the route I got a decent look back at Steyning just to the right of the Downs in the middle distance.

It’s great walking long distances. Take your time or speed up. Divert to somewhere of interest or crack on. See places you otherwise would never see. Sleep in cold tents with inappropriately thin sleeping bags. 

OK, I’ve got to get a good quality warm sleeping bag that doesn’t take up too much space in my rucksack. Expensive I know but needs must.

Looking to the north the North Downs we’re getting clearer, but not clearly defined in this photo.

Breaking over to the brow of the ridge the south coast was there again. 

And on top of the Downs a glider pilot was having a joyride in the wind; the cold wind that was strong on earth never mind in the sky. He slung it around like a good un. 

The view north east was great, outlining the hills that I would be walking over, and dropping down to the plain.

There is a steeply sided dry valley running down from the ridge called the Devil’s Dyke. Photos are good but can’t quite do it justice. This is the top end and the photo after this one is where the Dyke runs on and turns left onto the plain.

This is great and if it were not for the bitter easterly wind the walk would be idyllic. This next shot is looking back from a mile away westwards to the Devil’s Dyke coming down from left to right.

The sun was strong but it was slowly sinking and I needed to make it to Housedean Farm near Lewes. Before dropping down into the valley that the campsite was located in I took this photo looking westwards. The South Downs to the left and the North Downs to the right. 


My route dropped down and I legged it before the sun disappeared. The slanted sunlight produced some lovely views of the Downs.

There was no-one in charge present at the campsite so I pitched up and got into bed, with a box of chicken thighs that I’d bought from a village store a lot earlier. Hope they’re alright. We’ll find out later!

Night night.



Great, but short, stay with Chip and Fev. From my perspective our paths didn’t cross for a long while when kids were born and growing up. But we get together and it’s normal and continuous. Got up earlyish at Rustington and walked down to the sea with Chip. Looks like Baptiste! Whatever he looks like he’s my mate.

A nice seafront, even in overcast weather.

We went home and Fev cooked me some lovely eggs on toast for breakfast whilst I packed. Then me and Chip drove up to Arundel to restart the trek together. It’s quite a place historically. 

Chip left the car at the rail station and we walked up the West Bank of the River Arun, northwards towards Amberley. We came across an unusual pair of ducks in a drain at the side of the track. Lovely and exotic. A bit like Maggie and Fev! Might be a pair of Mandarin ducks. 

The rain started but wasn’t too bad. It was a pleasant route whatever the weather.

With the exception of a strange, deathly figure at the gates of Hades. No! No! No, said the sign. But still he came.

Don’t be frightened. It were only Chip…… Oh! I see what you mean.

Anyway, we made good time up to Amberley and had some nice sandwiches for lunch at the Bridge Inn. Then we split, Chip getting the train back to Arundel and me going up the Downs.

And passing another Moggy parked up along the Way.

It was a 10 mile slog from Amberley over the hills. I took one photo.

The weather and visibility got worse. I was soaked and my hands were frozz. After 6 hours on the ups and downs, with some rest in sheltered places, I made it to the campsite at Steyning. Tent up, down to the village for a beer and pork belly, back to the tent and down in the sleeping back.

Night night.


A bloke at the campsite saw me pitching my tent and I said I kept things to a minimum and didn’t even have a mattress. He came back with the mattress he puts his dogs on in the car. Smelt alright and it gave me a good kip.

I cut across country in a straight line to Arundel, crossing the downs after 7 or 8 miles. My mate Chip was joining me for a walk the next day. Him and Fev, old school mates of me and Maggie, live on the coast near Arundel and tonight I was stopping at theirs. 

The morning was cool and misty, as it had been for nearly a week. But it gives a good background and effect when you see country houses like this one.

Winter still hung around the lakes scattered about the area, like a grim and miserable guest outstaying his welcome. 

Loved these flowers by the roadside.

And this tree’s roots look like something from Lord of the Rings. Just brilliant.

The sky was clearing a bit as I approached the South Downs, and a touch of sun would be very welcome for these hardy vines. Lots of them!


The River Arun cuts through the Downs and on the valley floor I saw Amberley, which I would be walking to tomorrow with Chip. The sun was nearly there.

It was a decent 14 mile walk and I got into Arundel just after 4pm. Quite a classy old place with the Catholic Cathedral and a historic high street running down to the river.

The sun was really beginning to get his hat on and was coming out to play. Chip picked me up by the bridge over the Arun and the views there were lovely.

We went back to Rustington to their new house and had a very pleasant evening, catching up on each other and the kids and listening to Fev’s amazing playlist.  Until I got tired. Yawn.

113 miles done. Around another 60 to go. 

Night night.