A great breakfast and a sunny getaway from the Strathy Inn. Looking across the valley was an old graveyard facing the sea to the left of the shot, so that those resting could lookout over where many of them worked, and where some of them died. 

  
There was no alternative to the coast road. Paths start from the road but end in nowhere, leaving off-road walkers no option but to retrace their steps. It wove close to and away from the coast. As it worked its way westwards it was noticeably quieter and the villages grew further and further apart. The sea peeped through some gaps.

  
At times cutting through fragrant valleys of gorse flowers. I’ve cursed gorse in Spain when it’s ripped my legs to bits; but it gets my blessing here for its fragrance.

But the dreich was turning to rain and I wanted to finish the walk quickly. No chance. It was 23 miles to the Youth Hostel in Tongue where I had earmarked to camp. I got a text – it was the Strathy Inn – I’d left my charger in the room. Idiot. They couldn’t bring it as the only car was in Thurso for the day. I’d covered 8 miles and Melvich was only two miles away. I said I’d get a taxi back from there but I wasn’t hopeful that there would be one. I tried hitch-hiking but no takers. Heather, the owner of the Strathy, Facebooked her mates and elderly Anne (the absolute diamond) volunteered to bring my charger over to Melvich. When she arrived she refused any money for petrol and said she was glad to help somebody in need. What a great old kid! Thanks Anne. 

The Post Office was open so I topped up with sandwiches and cans of beans for the next couple of days. The views were still wonderful.

  
But ahead the clouds were strengthening. I didn’t like the look of things.

  
There was nothing else to do but get my waterproof jacket on and get on with walking, uphill and down dale. The storm was so strong I was soaked. The road was like a river. After hours of soaked fatigue I made it to Tongue. My intention had been to camp at the Hostel. Sod that. I got a room for £30. Worth every penny. I dried out my boots, clothes, rucksack and tent. The receptionist gave me a lift into the village and I watched the last minutes of the Scottish cup final, with Hibs scoring two minutes from the end. The pub was split 30 Rangers, 70 assorted Catholic/ Celtic fans.  It was a bit tense at the end with the Rangers fans taking it badly but it all ended amicably with the one genuine Hibs fan buying a round for the whole pub, including the Sassenach. Peace reigned. I left the Man Utd match after 90 minutes. I couldn’t face extra time as it was so boring.

Walking back to the hostel the views were good and the sun broke through.

  
  
Back at the hostel I went down to the waterside and watched the changing colours of the hillsides and reflections of light on the estuary for an hour. Captivated 

   
 
I bought a haggis TV dinner, defrosted it, microwaved it and ate it in the kitchen looking through a panoramic window. All’s well.

Night night.

Well it wasn’t really, it was just a walk. A 22 mile one with a heavyish rucksack but still just a walk. I thought I’d embellish the title a bit. Three exclamation marks always make something feel sudden and exciting. Jesus Blade last night was cold again. I ended up with my gloves, hat, scarf and jacket on in the sleeping bag, on top of my normal clothes which are unchanged since Tuesday. In fact I’ve not taken them off since Wednesday morning!!!

I got up at 7am and packed everything away, including a very wet tent. By 8am I was on the road, stopping only for a sandwich from a small shop on the way out of town!!! It went down a treat as I sat on a step by the pavement outside. I must have looked like Bilbo with my hat on, sat on a step eating breakfast in the street. People avoided eye contact. 

It was overcast and showery but nothing heavy. The road turned westwards and so did I. West is Mike and Susie, West is where I love, West is refugees’ home.

Walking out into the open countryside I came across an abandoned church looking very sad in the dreich. With a bell intact. Must be worth a few quid in cast iron.

  
It was a long road walk, but not as busy as the coast road I had by-passed. The weather was showing signs of clearing a wee bit. Us in Scotland say wee instead of little. Especially when we’re walking the glens in the dreich. Och aye. The weather even gets to the footpath signs. This one is relatively new!!!

  
The road eventually, after many turns and several showers of rain, joined with the coast road and began to climb and fall as we got further west. Another existential statement – ‘as we got further west’. I’m walking alone but not on my own. And every cloud has a plutonium lining. This is the nuclear power station Dounreay, being decommissioned over the next 30 years. More police patrols than in Brixton. It’d be a problem if ISIS got in for a few hours instead of Balfour Beatty.

  
The weather was improving and I was leaving the busy east and the Orkneys for the remote west. Bye bye Orkneys!!!

  
And hello Sutherland. 

  
There are two distinctive sensual experiences this time of year. The sound of the cuckoo. Singing away in every valley. It used to be a common sound in Spring in Sheffield. Not any more. It’s a rarity to be cherished in England and to be adored for its ubiquity up here. Second, the scent of masses of gorse flowers, drifting down valleys. Heaven scent. The most beautiful aspect is that it would still smell so heavenly if mankind were not on the planet. It’s not there for us my dears. None of it is. We’re temporary tenants not owners. 

  
I cut off the road and down a shortcut path on the advice of a guy roofing a cottage. Great advice. I came across this valley view.

  
And towards the sea was this rather grand lodge.

  
I needed to get across the river and the only bridge was signed as dangerous and was blocked off. 

  
What a load of crap. Whenever you see this type of rubbish then do what I did. Climb over and ignore it. The road went ever on and on and the views became clearer and more lovely.

  
Finally, after 22 long miles the Strathy Inn came to me. Soup, lamb pie, hot shower, early night.

  
Night night!!!
 

After a freezing cold night in the tent, fully clothed in my sleeping bag, I wandered into town, just like a sacred cow (again). My sentimentality for the Highlands and all things Scottish had washed off in the extreme cold inside the tent, exposing it’s synthetic and fickle nature. It would soon return. I found a breakfast place and it was very good. I had the ‘Mega’ for sick squid. Not hugely mega but very good. I walked up to the train station to get a bus back towards Dunnet Head, but I was an hour early. The waiting area was freezing so I sat in the ticket office area and fell asleep for half an hour in the warmth. I got off the bus on the road that I’d walked along and trekked through the cold wind along the track and across peat moors to Dunnet Head. The views en route were typically jockiful.

  
  
It was 5 miles to the head, passing a hidden peat cutting area where peat was laid out to dry for burning. A practise going back centuries. 

  
Eventually I arrived. There is a car park, mostly German and Dutch cars, a viewpoint on top of the hill, a viewpoint by the cliffs and a lighthouse. That’s it folks. But views befitting the northern extremity of this sceptred Isle.

   
 
I walked up the hill to the viewpoint, which didn’t reveal much through the dreach, so I started back across country. Hidden over the back was a token of remembrance to someone who’s name had been written in ink on the wooden cross but which was now illegible. It was touching and I was touched. 

  
I came up to the road back to the village of Dunnet and saw this sign. Existential? Does it mean a place where elderly people eventually orient towards to pass to the next life? Could it refer to the temporary nature of the earth, solar system, universe and infiniverse? A place that is here but, as all things, will pass. Or just a bit wider piece of Tarmac for two cars to get by each other? Who knows.

  
I got back to my starting point just as the bus turned the corner. Yes! It was starting to rain heavily and I kept mostly dry. A couple of beers in town and a bag of fabulously fresh fish and chips, eaten in someone’s doorway, and an early night at 8pm in a cold tent. Another 10 miles under my belt. Let’s see what tomorrow may bring.

Night night. 

Well children, I got a bus from a place called Wick to a place called John O’Groats in sweaty sockland and I arrived at around 10.30 in the morning.  After that I picked up my bag and walked. I was going fast so I walked some more. In the end I walked 21 miles to a place called Thurso. Also in sweaty sockland. I missed out Dunnet Head, the northernmost point on the Britsh Mainland and decided to go back today and walk out to it.

  
Anyway I’m as bored of this adult to children address as you are so let’s rewind to Wick. My bus in the morning was warm and dry.

  
The cloud was down so there were no fabulous long distance views but that’s what adds to the Highland atmosphere. When you eventually see something; to be wanted it will be more wondered at. Like the island of Stroma as you’re coming towards J O’G. 

  
John O’Groats is tiny. The journey between Land’s End in Cornwall and John O’Groats in sweaty sockland is the longest distance between two inhabited communities in the UK at something like 850 miles by road (1363 Kms).  

  
One of the ferries to the Orkney Isles was coming in to dock. The land visible across the sea in the photo below is the start of the Orkneys. An archipelago across one of the most dangerous seaways in the world. The Shetland Islands are 150 miles further north. Grim.

  
I followed the surprisingly busy road to the west. On this eastern side of the north coast there is a lot of construction and industrial activity. However it still feels remote. And it is. Just over 2000 miles from the North Pole. 

Walking westwards I passed a cold but commanding place for the last generation and their fore parents to spend eternity. 

  
Along the route the flowers were behind English phasing but very beautiful. 

  
  
Eventually I made it to a long stretch of beach leading to Castletown. It was stunning, bleak and empty.

  
Apart from a whelk shell!

  
I rejoined the road for the last pitch to Thurso, coming across this sad memorial to a road accident victim. Rest in peace Jacek.

  
Thurso appeared through the dreach and I found the campsite after  a long slog. A chicken vindaloo soon put things right!

 
Night night.

Well I finally got here on the last train to Wick last night. Knackered but a good sleep and great breakfast this morning. Wick is wet but not a bad town. I stayed at WickerWorld, a B&B and Cafe. The view in and from the Cafe was nice.

  
  
I’m getting the bus to John O’Groats, named after a Dutch bloke who came here in the 1400s and ran a ferry service to the islands. Jan de Groote. There you go Lex – Cloggies get everywhere!

Wick in the wet is still characterful.

  
  
On the way to the station I looked down on a fountain type thingy with Big Cat gargoyles sticking out of the side. 

  
And at the station the local kids had painted a mural of the town. Utterly charming. I’m looking forward to this walk.

  
The conductor on the train said the midges are active. Oh no! He also said the  weather was great last week. Wherever you go if it’s raining the locals will say you should have been here last week. The fishing was fantastic. The temperatures were tropical. Ice cream was free. 

I might not be able to blog until tomorrow night earliest. Out in the country under canvas. Talk then. Bye.

Still on a train, after 12 hours plus. We’ve just waited 20 minutes for a late train coming the other way and we now have around 4 hours to go. Jesus Blade Almighty. I might get out and walk. It’s nearly 8 pm. 

This is a nice shot of me and Chip.

  
And when we built a bonfire and cooked the fish we caught.

  
It doesn’t get much fresher. Anyway I’m going to sleep now and they can leave me on the train at Wick if they like. I’m too weary to care now. It’s all too much for me. 

Night night.

Perth, still ages to go.

  
As you can tell from my train tickets!

  
I fell asleep and missed the Cairngorms. I’ll catch them on the way back. The ambient weather gave way to cold rain before I arrived in Inverness. It’s just getting ready to punish me again for being English. It’s ok guys, I’m pure African like us all if we go back far enough. Six hours at the moment before I get to Wick. The landlady is leaving the key to my room in the porch. Breakfast at 8.30 and a bus to J O’G at 9.45. I’ll be happy to get walking. I’m tooled up with waterproofs and stuff. Including second hand boots identical to Chas and Dave, but in much better nick. 

  
I didn’t tell them I was going away. Didn’t tell Wilson either but I think I’ll need a tent and Wilson would let midges roam freely over my exposed bits. My sister has a theory that they will bite my old scrotum and lay eggs which will burst their way out as pupae. Charmer. 

This is a normal person in Inverness. He’s called ‘the Accused’.

  
OK voice of reasonableness – only a joke. Jesus.

This was parked in Perth. Antonia. Drool over it.

  
I was in Cornwall with my old mate Bow Chip last week. What a time we had, it was great. He is awaiting some medical treatment, not mentally-related surprisingly enough, so we said we’d do summat again when he gets that out of the way. Circumcisions are never easy things at his age.

  
He’d never caught a fish in his life. Bless. Then he copped a load of em on a boat we took out for a full day. Good old kid.

  
I stopped at Bristol on the way down and got a ticket for Rovers’ last match of the season. They had to win and Accrington had to draw and then the Gas would get promoted to League One. In the 92nd minute the Gas scored. The place erupted but I kept quiet as I could only get a ticket in the away end. I slipped out and joined Bavs, Chris and Rob, my Gashead mates. The news came through. Accrington could only draw. What a day! Gas are up!

  
Still here in Inverness.

Laters.

Well there isn’t. It’s being negotiated by people who want to secure rights of way for walkers like me so they can benefit the area by increasing tourism. It will be a route from John O’Groats to Cape Wrath which will run close to the remote northernmost coast of the British Mainland. On the map below you can see John O’Groats on the mainland top right and Cape Wrath is the furthest point northwest beyond Durness. There is a road most of the way but I won’t take it for too long. 

  
We’ll take a look at Dunnet Head en route – the most northerly point of mainland UK. I want to camp this time, although it’s a B&B tonight in Wick after a 16 hour journey on four trains. Let’s see. Edinburgh was beautiful an hour ago with the piper drawing a few tears from my eyes. I can’t help it. The Cape Wrath Trail did me in physically and mentally last year until I couldn’t do it any more. The biting cold, permanent wet clothes, soaked boots on badly blistered feet and I hated it, but I had to go back. I have to go back again. It’s beyond appreciation of the stunning views, when the mountains choose to emerge from the clouds. It’s a genetic thing. I can understand Glaswegian émigrés in bars in Australia, slaking their thirst in the warmth of the Sydney sun, singing of their longing for the Highlands. Covered in sleet with nobody there, and then warming up for ten seconds of a summer that draws out billions of flesh biting midges to fill your days with pain and misery. 

Anyway. Edinburgh was lovely.

  
  
The piper played with the dignity of a man with history and destiny on his side. Rocking backwards and forwards. Both purposeful and ethereal. Over the top? I’m right behind you. 1000 pipers died in world war 1. 

Let’s sing another song boys, this one has grown old and bitter.

The Scottish craft shops do good business near the station. I wasn’t surprised to see the history pamphlets of each Clan on display. Equally unsurprising was the beermat representing the Smith Clan. We’ve worked hard for that accreditation.

   
 The next journey to Perth was beginning to look a lot like Scotland. 

Laters.

Just a reminder that I’m blogging on https://bladeinspain.wordpress.com/

At the moment. Hope you enjoy It.

Hi,

I’m planning a walk across southern Spain, nearly 600 miles, in January and February. I’m raising money for Save the Children – I only want donations of a fiver or less. Everybody was more than generous last time and I don’t want peer pressure on anybody to donate more.

There’s a new blog to cover this journey:

bladeinspain.wordpress.com

I hope you enjoy it.

Fivers most welcome at:

uk.virginmoneygiving.com/bladeinspain