Well we finished yesterday off at St Just and had an early, tired dinner and a decent night’s kip. Set off for Cape Cornwall at 8 this morning and it took Andrew less than 20 minutes to sink half way up his shins in slurry. For those unfamiliar with the term ‘slurry’ it means cow dung that farmers leave hanging around for some reason until it becomes liquid like dark treacle but it doesn’t smell like that. It smells like cow crap gone off. And so do Andrews’ feet.

Yesterday was a slog, and it was warm and sticky. I got bad chafing, it’s like an Italian Cook clinically grabbing hold of your dangly bits and using one of those industrial type Parmesan graters down both sides. It hurt. I put some antiseptic cream on when I got back to Wilson and that was painful too.

The stretch from St Ives to Zennor is one of the most difficult due to the obstacle course created by boulders strewn all over what would otherwise have been a path. But it is beautiful and the next section, Zennor to Cape Cornwall is just as tough, longer as well, but more beautiful in places with the exception of the tin mine workings which are splattered across lovely scenery like an industrial defecation. There are holes in the ground off the path that are not easily spotted and drop down hundreds of feet. This has given the coastline world heritage status. Stupid because it’s ugly.

Today’s walk was from Cape Cornwall to Porthcurno via Lands End. There are some amazing sections down to Lands End.

However beyond Lands End the scenery moves into a different league. Unbelievable some of it.

Elves are alive and well and living in remotest Cornwall, which isn’t remote at all.
My article made it into Sheffield Star on 5 August and it was alright.

Bloody paparazzi, I suppose they’ll eventually lose interest but they’ve been after me ever since the Ash Cloud incident. I’m a media magnet I guess but they do make life inconvenient on occasions.

We had a lovely weekend in Looe. Maggie went back on Tuesday and Andrew Mander joined me to continue the trek. On Monday we strolled round Fowey and ate lunch at Sarah Brewster’s favourite seafood place – Sams on the Beach at Polkerris.

Couldn’t resist this shot of the bakers.

SAMs is an unassuming converted life boathouse.

Walking round Fowey I wore my waterproof and Maggie pointed out that there was a slug on it! Been there since the night of the slugs the previous Thursday. He is no more.

Bloke in North Devon gave me and Antonia a lift to the campsite and told us that he’d lived in this wooded valley by the sea for 17 years and seen a full sized Panther on his back lawn three times in that period. The empty wine bottles in his footwell indicated that it might not be as big as suggested!

Danny from South Yorkshire on the St Ives campsite said his missus worked behind a bar and had been attacked in the pub. Her brother from New Zealand had brought over a Taser in his hold luggage for her to keep for self-defence. Apparently the brother had tried it on his own leg which had flown up in the air involuntarily like Michael Flattley on speed and he’d pooed himself. I found this very funny.

Anyway, setting off from Zennor soon for today’s slog. So back to the proof that elves are alive and well – scrawl down to the photograph below.

Well I don’t need a rest because my feet are well up for action and my muscles are fine. However it’s nice to see our old lass and we’ve got today (Sunday) and tomorrow before our lass goes back to Leeds and I go back to St Ives on Tuesday, dropping the hire car off in Penzance and meeting Andrew Mander there for the next phase of the walk. Lands End and all the extreme westerly bits will be fascinating. The car’s been good; a Fiat 500 but with a lot of space.

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I’m going mussel picking this afternoon, hopefully get some little clams too for spaghetti marinara tonight. I’ll let you know how I get on.

Back again, got a load of mussels and gave half to the neighbours who loved them but we didn’t think they were that good. No R in the month, well there is today I know but we ate them yesterday didn’t we! No I don’t think there would be a miraculous change overnight but all I’m saying is that they weren’t that good. I picked a load from the same spot with my mate Frances Carrere in May and we cooked them on a bonfire on the beach and they tasted like an angel crying on your tongue. No I haven’t had an angel crying on my tongue but it’s just a phrase and no there isn’t an R in May and no I don’t want to carry on with this debate.

For all you Wednesday fans here’s a photo.

On the road again tomorrow. Blog you then.

I’m off the path for 6 days. Loafing in St Ives today and with Maggie tomorrow through to Tuesday, picking up here again Tuesday evening. My feet are in very good nick. Ready for the restart. No twinges in the left thigh so I’m ready for active service when I’m back on the path.
St Ives is really nice. Lots of people but really nice.

I’m going out on a boat at one o’clock for a couple of hours fishing. Mackerel hopefully but it’s not guaranteed this time of year.
It rained so much yesterday that Wilson attracted a lot of slugs. I must have thrown thirty off my head, face, neck and arms in the night. Big uns too. I’ve moved Wilson to a drier spot with sun drying it out more to avoid them tonight. Maybe nick a salt pot from a chippy to punish any stragglers. No – not to flavour them before I eat them Ziva. Used them for bait in France for a few unsuccessful minutes but apparently they are the natural bait for Sturgeon. Might be good for Mackerel.

Talked to Danny from Mexborough last night and his partner Laura, down here with young Lucy. Nice couple and it’s summat like Danny’s 18th stay in St Ives. It’s amazing the number of people who come back year after year. Mind you Tassat, our French house in the past, was our hideaway for 18 years. Familiarity and reunion. Lovely.

I’ll blog periodically over the next 6 days and then kick in again next Tuesday. I’ll break now and renew this blog after i’ve caught lots of fish.

Renewing the blog, the boat only went 300 yards from shore and the whole boatload of punters all caught fish. I got about 25, being clearly the best fisherman. No, the seal was the best fisherman.

I gutted and topped and tailed a dozen fish on the beachside, amid enormous interest from the gulls, which I brought back to the campsite and cooked on a barbecue sharing them with two young German lads from Stuttgart. The mackerel were absolutely delicious. We saw off all 12.

The view from the site is lovely.

It’s now Friday noon and I’ve caught the train to Penzance to pick up a hire car to pick up Maggie from Plymouth to spend four days in Looe. Then back on the path again.

One of my favourite memories so far was following Antonia through coastal woodland paths whilst she played Incredible String Band on her iPad. The Iron Stone – ‘out on the long beach where I found it, dancing horses told their tale’. Then Williamson’s guitar and Heron’s sitar battle it out to a remarkable conclusion that drops your jaw. You’re looking for a spiritual rest and Mike Heron leads in with ‘Douglas Traherne Harding’ – ‘when I was born I had no head, my eye was single and my body was filled with light’.

Kismet Hardy. May the long time sun shine upon you, all love surround you, and the pure light within you guide you all the way on.

We’ll not really and you opened it anyway so you’re as daft as me – ha ha. Two nights ago I ended up in Portreath doing b&b for the second time this trip. Sue and Steve were the hosts and donated the fee to Help for Heroes. It’s people like them who put the Great in Britain – without being unnecessarily jingoistic. Thank you, lovely couple.
I gave it a good walk round Cornwall’s Heritage coast, past mine shafts, quarries and mine buildings which generated wealth for a few and in fairness a living (albeit low level) for many in centuries past.

This valley running down to the sea is typical – verdant and besmirched by old tin, lead and silver mine workings – mostly tin.
I met up with Susie and Pete at their Holiday site near Hayle yesterday (Tuesday) and had a very pleasant afternoon and evening with them – conking out under Wilson after I’d tied him to their caravan. The sunset from the bistro below their caravan was of Caribbean proportions. Breath-taking and this idiot didn’t have a camera. But he did when Susie and Pete posed.
Auntie Susan, over 50 years old and still looks lovely, like her sister. Pete’s not bad either for a toyboy.

Today I’ve walked from their place to St Ives. Never been before and I’ve heard all this pretentious cobblers from artists on the telly about the unique light at St Ives and it’s beneficial effect for etchings and stuff. But it’s true! I’ve been walking in the rain and on the approach to St Ives it has been illuminated by little pockets of sunlight and the town has shone. I’m now up in the hills behind St Ives waiting for the rain to ease up so I can tie Wilson to a hedge.

Maggie’s down on Friday for 4 nights – hooray! I miss the old dear when she’s not near.

I screwed up arrangements with my sister, Debs. She was going to join me in September for a few days and we changed it to August, but I still had September in my brain. She couldn’t get hold of me and missed out on the walk. Sorry my old kid, sorry, sozzer. Now that’s the extent of my pee pot penitence because I’ve spent all my life feeling guilty and sorry and that’s enough now. But I’m sorry I missed Debs as we don’t get any time together.

Padstow is owned by Rick Stein you know. He’s got summat like 8 trading properties and the town is heaving with people desperate to be associated with the brand. “Let’s walk down this cobbled street with three million others in FrankenSteinville and gather warmth from the reflected glory of the name of the Father, Son, Holy Ghost, Bistro, Restaurant, Chippy, Gift shop et al. Rick. Rick. Rick”.
Don’t know if you saw Rick Clayton’s comments on my lack of blogs etc but they were so brilliant I nearly wet my kecks.

Newquay is tacky, deteriorating and haunted by drug addicts. Young kids without teeth.

The rest of Cornwall so far is lovely. Cliffs drop down 300, 400, 500 feet just feet from the coast path and you hope there isn’t a blast of wind to carry you away.

Late August and empty beaches. Lovely.

Night
1. Porlock
2. Lynton
3. Hunters Inn
4. Coombe Martin
5. Woollacombe
6. Braunton
7. Bideford
8. Abbotsham
9. Hartland
10. Morwenstowe
11. Bude
12. Crackington Haven
13. Tintagel
14. Port Gaverne
15. Rock
16. Harlyn
17. Trevarrian
18. Perranporth
19. Portreath
20. Hayle
21. St Ives

I ended up in Perranporth last night, doing 16 miles which I’m pleased about but it’s peeing it down. Yesterday was calm, a shift in the wind direction to the south east and the hundreds of surfers had no waves coming in to this north westerly facing coast.
I’ve done over 210 miles. I’m staying at a b&b type arrangement tonight, Sue and Steven the hosts are brilliant. I got a soaking this morning and needed a roof and some drying out. Georgie and Maggie’s acting as my back up team sourced the nicest people in Cornwall and I’m staying at their place tonight. I’ve already had a bath! A bath!!
My feet are beginning to heal up but there’s still a nasty blister on blister arrangement on my right instep. Better each day slowly but surely. I’ve pulled a muscle in my left thigh so I’m hobbling a bit on occasions but it’s ok. I weighed myself after the bath. I’ve lost a stone – TA DADDLY DAD DA DAAAA!!! Normally I’d evacuate my alimentary and strip to nowt on and spit out to get to minimal weight but this time I just strolled on the scales and wow there we go.

I posted a photo of my mate Antonia. Here’s one of my mates Georgie and Jet in Spain 6 weeks ago. My lovely kids. br />

Today was a struggle. I wanted to stay in my sleeping bag. I did 13 miles uphill and down dale and eventually made it here. I’m glad I made the effort. =”https://bladegoeswest.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/img_0131.jpg”&gt;

The colours are fantastic, as I’ve mentioned before, and these views are beyond belief on occasions.

Night
1. Porlock
2. Lynton
3. Hunters Inn
4. Coombe Martin
5. Woollacombe
6. Braunton
7. Bideford
8. Abbotsham
9. Hartland
10. Morwenstowe
11. Bude
12. Crackington Haven
13. Tintagel
14. Port Gaverne
15. Rock
16. Harlyn
17. Trevarrian
18. Perranporth
19. Portreath

The elves aren’t here though I’m afraid. Maybe I had a bit of contact in North Devon on the edge of Exmoor in the forest. I don’t know. I thought I heard summat. It’s too busy and bare in Cornwall. They’ve gone to the Grey Havens for good.

They reckon there’s a billion stars in our galaxy (the Milky Way) and billions of galaxies in our Universe. The strongest theory coming forward as far as I understand it is that there are an infinite number of universes, together creating the Infiniverse. But rather than wrestle with the insignificance of our being and the blink of an eye that constitutes our lifetime let’s celebrate being here.

These are shots along the coast from Padstow to Newquay.
Last night in Higher Harlyn was ok and I’ve put a few miles under my belt today and set up Wilson at Trevarrian Holiday Park. It’s got a bowling alley and an amusement arcade. From my point of view it’s a tenner a night and it’s got soft toilet roll and warm water.
My oldest is Georgie Lola Smith. This is for her, from Padstow.

The weather again has been beautiful, warm sun, cool breeze. Captain Beefheart – Full moon, hot sun, come back baby you’ve had your fun. Sadly gone forever with John and George, Lou Reed, Sandy Denny and Richard Wright.
Return to now. Have you ever seen me happier?

Remember Bob Dylan looking so relaxed and happy on the Nashville Skyline album cover in 1969? Do I look a bit like that?

A lot of people on the coast path today as the resorts get closer together. It’ll get less and less as Autumn kicks in. Susie and Pete (sister and brother in law) are in Hayle and I might see them Tuesday or Wednesday as I pass.
Maggie’s coming down on the train to Plymouth next Friday and we’ve got four nights near Looe. I’m hiring a car from Penzance and picking up from where I leave off – which looks likely to be this side of Lands End. Andy Mandy joins me then for two weeks. I think he needs his own tent don’t you?
As well as snoring I fart.
Love to all.

Made it to Rock last night. Thanks John Mably at Trewistow Farm for donating my fee to H4H. These independent farmers running campsites in the summer are the most generous souls.
Tired tonight.
Higher Harlyn, beautiful part of the world. I’ll blog tomorrow as this signal is ropey.
A sunny day with a cool wind. I’m burning cold but ok here in my sleeping bag with the breeze blowing around me through the tarp – Wilson. It’s very basic and very nice.
Night night.

I’m ok, I’m alright doh you have gone from moy loife. What a great song, the old Flogging Molly. What a great day. Port Gaverne leads up to Port Isaac and what a lovely village that is. Bacon sarnie for breakfast and Cornish stream water, three fallen apples and hands full of blackberries for lunch. Yet to pitch but aiming for a site near Rock to give me an early ferry to Padstow.

Fallen behind a bit on my schedule but I’m not too concerned with that. It’s certainly been the toughest part of the coast path.
I’ve done over 162 miles and around 41,000 feet.
Nights
1. Porlock
2. Lynton
3. Hunters Inn
4. Coombe Martin
5. Woollacombe
6. Braunton
7. Bideford
8. Abbotsham
9. Hartland
10. Morwenstowe
11. Bude
12. Crackington Haven
13. Tintagel
14. Port Gaverne
15. I’m hoping for Rock

Thanks to Ann at the farm along the track from the Port Gaverne Hotel. Gave me a free night camping and a shower. May your God be with you.

It’s a short trip from where I am to where I’m going tonight. I’ve stopped to check what’s what and now I’m going on the road again. Right foot is feeling a bit better but every step still hurts. Like Robert de Niro climbing the waterfall in Brazil carrying all that armour and gear as his penury in ‘The Mission’. Oh what a film.

‘Given to the Wild’ – oh what an album. If that had been released in the late sixties it would still be lauded as one of the greatest of all time. Why has recent history not glorified it?

I’ll leave you with a nice photo of my mate Antonia when we were in North Devon.

Great walk from Tintagel to Port Gaverne/Isaac. Britain is extraordinary you know. Fabulous countryside and coast, best food ingredients in the world (even if the French think we don’t know what to do with them), best inventors, explorers, history, military, flaura,…… Walkers?
These are the remnants of an old quarry south of Tintagel.

And this is where I’m sat outside the Port Gaverne Hotel looking down to the cove.

The weather has been wet at times but not persistently yet and most of the time it’s been sunny with passing clouds. Blast from the past those are from when I was a smoker in the seventies and given to fashion. Passing Clouds, plain and strong.

I’ve got a camouflaged poncho which fits over me and my backpack – Swiss army job. I look like a new breed of cattle when I’ve got the hood up. I’m frequently walking through cow fields and on one occasion I had the poncho on. The bull snorted and made a beeline for me, seeing me as a new addition to the harem. The cows saw me as a threat to their young and made just as quick a line towards me. I legged it – just making it to the stile that I took like David Hemery in Mexico in 68, to the excited vocal background of David Coleman. You remember – Mexico Olympics.

Another herd at Saunton were more excited. I didn’t even need my poncho, the bull ran at me but stopped when I didn’t move – paralysis not bravery. Two young bullocks took over and ran at me as I walked (quicker than normal) to the gate. I turned round and shouted “come on cattle, I’ll take you all on”! I felt tough when they backed off. I wasn’t too far from the gate if they hadn’t. Idiot at Home?

I like this photo of me – I’m right tough you know.

I’m enjoying this. Grasshopper – the journey is a monkey.