I needed to get the first ferry across a river estuary this morning at 10am ( I’d been advised to cross early as the ferryman gets drunk at lunchtime and his steering becomes erratic) and then leg it 9 miles to wade across the next estuary before the tide came in too much. I made the first objective. Arriving at the jetty on the river Yealm I turned round a white sign as a primitive indicator to the ferryman at his house on the far bank that I wanted to cross. He headed straight for me.

I landed on the far bank and saw rock oysters in their hundreds on the boulders exposed by low tide. They were very solid and the only way I could open them was to smash them with big pieces of rock. They tasted wonderful, particularly as I hadn’t had breakfast, and I finished them off with handfuls of blackberries from bushes overhanging the bay.
I then half ran with my pack on my back to try to make a low enough tide. I covered 6 miles but I got exhausted to be honest. It was hot, the sun was beating down and I got knackered. I dragged myself over the last three miles and got to the estuary as it was filling with sea water. Beautiful beach though – Meadowsfoot Beach.

There was no way to wade across, it was far too deep, particularly with the waves coming in from the sea and smashing onto submerged sandbanks. I wandered up to a car park with a cafe and had a pot of tea and a pasty. I realised I was facing a further 15 miles to make my way round the waterway and then on to the camp site I’d spotted on the iPad. No chance. I was struggling to lift my feet. I started off up the narrow lane and my phone went. It was Georgie asking how I was and suggesting I flag down a car. As I finished the call two old ladies in their eighties drove past and pulled up to talk. They were offering me a lift as they’d seen me walk up past the beach and the car park. Luckier still they were driving east to Kingsbridge. They dropped me about 5 miles from the campsite I was aiming for.

I wandered down a track which ran by the side of the next tidal river and eventually had to get my boots and socks off as the tide was still rising and now covered the road for a while. It was great to paddle along a road whilst tiny whitebait were swimming across the tarmac with the incoming tide. Better still there was a fleet of swans, never seen so many, that swam across the road in single file. The poles indicate the sides of the submerged road.

A young couple were just strapping their baby into a car seat and I asked if they were going to try the submerged road or go the other way (my way). They confirmed they were going my way, to the village I was aiming for in fact, and I asked for a lift. They were ok with it and I got a much needed assist. The camp site is a working farm and when the owner clocked my shirt and I confirmed that I was doing a charity walk for H4H he wouldn’t take any money. I’m staying two nights as I now need to backtrack tomorrow to cover the missed miles but he won’t take any fee. Thank you Mount Folly Farm. Not only that, he could see I was knackered and whilst I was setting up Wilson he brought over a cup of tea and a bowl of lamb slices, a ham hock, bread and a tomato. They’d had a hog roast yesterday and there was some left over!

How kind is that?
I had a few drinks to wash it down.

The first person on the site I spoke to was Mark Brimmingham. He is a Blade and had driven up to Swindon yesterday to watch a dismal performance where we got beat 5-2.
This is the sun going down over the sea as seen from the site.

Night Night.

Well I had a reyt good night’s sleep I did, me. In a bed. I had a shower too, but the door to the shower from the corridor of the B&B was only a couple of feet from the door to the shower. I got in and stripped off, pulled the shower door back and couldn’t get round because the door to the corridor was in the way. Naked I had to make a big decision. I opened the door to the corridor, stepped out, pulled the shower door further back, got in, put my hand round and shut the corridor door. Nobody there, nobody saw my willie.
Oh God! How juvenile can I get? How about this?
Nobody saw my willie or my titties.

A great breakfast this morning. Ate lots and not needed anything other than a can of sardines and a potato salad for the rest of the day. The day has been phenomenally warm and clear at times. I thought Plymouth was a cackhole but the route walks around the docks and bays for 8 miles before heading down the coast. First thing the sun was out and the air was still. The place had a Mediterranean feel with terraces on the sea wall serving breakfasts and hot drinks. These are seafront Plymouth photos.

There were lots of people swimming and lounging around in the sea saying how warm it was. What a day – but it made me sweat with the rucksack on my back and it was a long slog today – 15 miles to Wembury.

I was relieved that the Scots voted to stay part of the UK but if I’d been a Sweaty Sock I would have voted yes. I’ve only got a relatively few tracks loaded on my iPad but one of them is dedicated to Alex Salmond;
Almost Independence Day – Van Morrison.
I sometimes play it at night to help me get to sleep. There are noises in hedges when you’re tied up to them in an open tarp and whilst I’m not bothered by them they do keep me awake on occasions. Van the man sees them off. It’s a lovely song – 10 minutes of pure class.

Coming out of Plymouth there were a lot of abandoned boats rotting in shady coves. I spotted one of them, a ship called a Dignity. Set it up, set it up, set it up, set it up, set it up, set it up. Set it up again, set it up again,set it up again. Here it is, still clinging to some element of dignity but not far from disintegration.

What brasses me off – or at least one of the million things – is people seeing this sign and collecting their doggie doodahs in a plastic bag but leaving it by the side of the path or chucking it in a hedge. What is the point of preserving canine crap for future generations as opposed to:
A) putting it in the bins periodically provided.
B) leaving it outside a bag and scraping it underneath a hedge so children don’t step in it and it can eventually decompose.
It’s not just one or two examples, I must have seen dozens of crap-laden bags throughout my journey. Dirty Pillocks.

Anyway, there has been a major telegraph pole replacement exercise throughout the southwest. The new ones stand dark and resinous, oozing that lovely Pitch smell. I saw a weirdo sniffing them the other day,

Night Night.

A good sleep underneath the picnic bench. Time was when I stayed in the Budapest Hilton and the Sydney Ritz Carlton. Now I’m under a picnic bench. I usually had a room on floor 8 at the Ritz Carlton (from memory) executive suite and executive lounge. Actually I’ve got a confession, get closer whilst I whisper, just a little closer, I don’t want anyone else but you to know. The picnic bench is as much fun as the Ritz Carlton for me. It’s a Gas, (BRFC), and the rocks under my sleeping bag and the slug on my head mean that I’m still alive. HA!!

This is a nature section. Another little butterfly and a lovely juxtaposition between berries and flowers.

At the end of Rame Head is an ancient chapel that nowadays is used as a stable by the wild ponies. These are some of the perspectives of it.

I was leaving Cornwall for the first time in 5 weeks but I felt it was time to move on, however much I love the county. To get to Devon from Cornwall is either a bridge or a ferry. I headed for Cremyll, the last bastion of Cornwall. En route through the beautifully kept Mt Edgcombe estate, frequented by royalty in the old days, were some decent follies

and beautiful gardens.

At the end of the estate is the ferry to Plymouth, deserting Cornwall and joining Devon. I followed some old folk on to the ferry and sat on the open foredeck. One of the ladies came up to me and said that she was just checking the badge on my shirt. Anne Surr of Ranmoor is 80 years old this year and has a season ticket for the Blades which she’s had since 1977. Anne is the one on the right.

I found a launderette in Plymouth and cleaned my clothes, no machines for my sleeping bag so that stinks on. I found a Wetherspoons for tea. I’m in a bed tonight – cop this photo matey boys and girls, no freaking picnic tables but a real room and a real bed. First time in three weeks, how good is this!

Ritz Carlton eat your heart out!

Ah well. Night night my dear readers. There are nine people who log in every day and I hope you enjoy it. I wish we could meet up in Torquay or summat and have a party but that’s not what this walk is about.
Or is it?

I had a good sleep last night. Woke quite a few times but got back to sleep reasonably quickly. If you move in a thin sleeping bag on hard ground that’s not been softened by rain for a few weeks then you’re going to wake up aren’t you. It’s the ground that hasn’t been softened by rain not the sleeping bag. It stinks though. The sleeping bag not the ground. Stains of slugs and rabbit droppings as well as me smelling like a skunk on those nights that I don’t get a shower. I’ll wash it tomorrow. I’m staying in a B&B in Plymouth tomorrow night. My third night in a bed out of the five weeks I’ve been walking (leaving out the break with Maggie in Looe). I’ll go to the launderette and do my stinky clothes, sleeping bag and trainers. Jesus, the trainers smell like a dog’s died in them. Well half a dog in each or two dogs died in them, one in each. Half a dog in each would already be dead at the point of insertion wunnit?

I walked down to Looe this morning, a couple of miles, and got a nice breakfast. There’s a music festival on and they’re expecting 5,000 people over the next three days. Tents and marquees everywhere. A couple of locals were talking and one said “we only started this to put one over on Polperro and now it’s got out of hand”.

Looking back to West Looe and St George’s Island. Did I mention that Joseph of Arimathea landed there with the child Christ? That’s the legend. Who knows?

The route to Rame’s Head, being the southernmost point of Plymouth’s natural harbour, runs up hill and down dale (again), along cliff tops and through some woodland. Tree tunnels like this.

I got tired today but my shoulder wasn’t too painful. Every other part of me was painless too. It was really hot, the hottest day so far. The sweat pours out when you’ve got a heavy rucksack. Going uphill in this heat and humidity sucks the liquid out of your body.
There’s quite a bit of MOD land on this stretch and a massive fort at Tregantle built in the 1860s to blast the French if they tried to invade. Sorry my French colleagues but we’ve had a few wars over the last millennium and most of them have been your fault so we need to defend ourselves. Francis, when we were in Looe in May I knew you were a spy but I decided not to hand you over to the military police. (Joke Franny).

There are lots of butterflies again on this stretch. Look at this lovely little specimen that I managed to get the iPad down to without spooking it.

Just at the side of Tregantle Fort is a catering van – Billy Bunter. A character and a great cook. His sausage sandwich with hot chilli sauce was an absolute treat. Matty – his chilli sauce is hotter than yours!

Finally pitching up at Whitsands Bay as the sun was sinking. Some beautiful empty beaches here too.

I put Wilson up attached to a picnic table.

Back in a city tomorrow. It might feel odd but I don’t think so. 400 miles done!!! A good 14 mile stretch today. All is going pretty good at the moment.

Anyway more importantly Jet goes to Uni on Saturday. Love you little sweetheart. She should be offered modelling work you know. She’s a peach. Here she is on the catwalk doing her heroin chic stroll. Absolute knockout.

Any modelling agencies in Sheffield? If you don’t sign up this youth then you’re off your heads.
Night Night.

I didn’t get the decent night’s sleep I hoped for last night. The wind was wild and Wilson blew like a Clipper’s mainsail, twice pulling pegs out of the ground that needed re-fixing. Luckily the top, which was fixed to a hedge, held good otherwise my worldly belongings would be floating somewhere between Polruan and Brittany.
Notice how sea-sidey I’m getting? Clipper’s mainsail. Pretentious prat.
I did get an earlyish start though and surprisingly struggled through one of the most difficult ascending and descending sections of the entire walk. My shoulder hurt like hell on occasions but the rest of me is in decent shape.
First photos are one of my favourite bays, Lantic Bay, closer to Polruan than Polperro. I’ve been chased by cows here before but they were docile today. This is looking east in the direction I was travelling.

This is looking back westwards at the same stretch of bay.

I’ve collected mussels and clams in this bay a few times now and in May of this year with my very good friend Francis Carrere we built a bonfire and cooked fresh mussels, fish and potatoes. I can honestly say it was one of the best meals I’ve ever cooked. We kept looking at each other and smiling as we ate this majestic and largely free feast.

The first sign of Polperro was welcome as it appeared around a corner.

The beautiful little port opened up before me, protected by curves in the cove.

Carrying on there was a big detour due to cliff collapse from the storms earlier this year, but I eventually arrived at Talland Bay. I turned a corner and there was Mick the Blade with his partner. I was so surprised I didn’t even get a photo of him. We had season tickets close to each other twenty years ago and he was more vocal than me, although it was close. We’ve met many, many times since as he’s worked around the country and still gone to home and away matches. From Stevenage to Huddersfield to Wembley we just seem to meet up – and here he was. His missus buggered off – she didn’t relate to our discussion over the previous night’s victory over Colchester. All the best Bladey Blade.
This is looking out to sea at Talland, home of Richard and Judy (as if I gave a monkey’s fork)!

Round eventually to Looe, where we’ve had some lovely holidays over the last 35 years.

I decided to get the bus back up to just above Talland Bay to the Tencreek Holiday site. Three great women were on the bus – three generations of really, really nice folk – Remy, Kirsty and Dawn. They invited me to tea and it was great. I felt part of the family after two minutes relaxing in their caravan. Thanks ladies, it is the unexpected kindness of strangers that gives me hope for the future of (Wo)mankind. Good luck next week Dawn and love to all three of you dear folk.

Breakfast yesterday at Pentewan Sands Beach Park and then off on the path. Somebody keeps adding weight to this rucksack. If I catch the beggar he’ll be jolly well sorry. A shorter walk yesterday of 8 miles, round to Par via Charlestown. Still up and down but shorter. Charlestown is a delightful little port, one of the few in the Southwest with lock gates. A couple of nice little sailing ships in dock as well. And I stopped for a pot of tea that gave me three full cups for £1.30. Bargain or what?

The dove of peace rests In Charlestown.

Walking on I passed the Carlyon Bay Hotel and its beautiful golf course running along the sea front and looking over to Gribbin Head, jutting out like Jimmy Hill’s chin between Polkerris and Fowey.

In the late 70s and early 80s I worked for the English China Clay company when I was based in Bristol. Being down around St Austell, Par and Fowey takes me back to those days. Exciting days of youthful enthusiasm and exploration. Swaggering up to London for National meetings like the Pirates of Penzance and being taught by my maverick Chairman to treat pomp and circumstance with the derision it deserves. Losing touch with the cutting edge of music but learning what business was about and keeping customers satisfied.

Camping last night between Par and Fowey I cut back down to the coast this morning round Polkerris and beyond Gribbin Head. Looking out was beautiful again;

as was looking back to Gribbin.

Coming round the corner and looking into Fowey harbour with Fowey on the left and Polruan on the right is a great sight. In the 1400s Fowey was full of pirates. They really pissed off the French, who went in to sort out the Fowey folk in 1457. Undeterred the pirates reformed and in 1469 captured 12 ships off Brittany in a fortnight. The King had just signed a peace agreement with France so he sent down an Emissary to Fowey to ask them to stop. The bloke was sent back to London after the pirates cut off one of his ears.It could have been worse.

Back to present day, thanks to the Galleon Inn in Fowey for spotting my Help for Heroes shirt and not charging me much for lunch. Thank you. Ear and chips was great.
Looking off the ferry to Polruan out to sea. What weather – again!! The Ferryman didn’t take any fee as I have my H4H shirt on.

I’ve pitched up at the top of Polruan for the night. This is the view down to Fowey.

Andrew told me about Robin Williams. I’d heard he was dead but I didn’t know it was suicide or the nature of it. Poor, tortured man. I have fallen into depression several times over my life, from a very young age where I was frightened of infinity, up to the most recent dip 5 years ago. Luckily I’ve got it controlled with decent prescription drugs. I was running out and my surgery just faxed down the prescription to Boots in Fowey for me to get a refill. I remember my old HR Director at YTV describing me to someone as a ‘grey man’. You lose your colour and vivacity and you don’t want to sing. Too young Robin, 63 is too young. I’m sorry it took you. I’m sorry death took you too, another Robin, not even 30. Many years ago. He still cameos in our kitchen and living room on rare occasions. You are always welcome my dear and mostly departed friend. Hang around as long as you like, my house is your old haunt.

377 miles done.
253 miles to go.
75,000 feet climbed.
39,000 feet to go.

I’m sorry my dear readers and supporters. I’m getting a bit reflective and it’s not amusing.
It was cold last night. I didn’t put on my long johns and kept waking up. You can’t be bothered to get out of the sleeping bag for two minutes to put it right. Just hide and hope it warms up. I’ll sleep well tonight. My shoulder hurt as well so I need some padding tonight and on the rucksack.

Do I look nice?

From being desk bound and car bound to being in a walking state for hours on end was a bit of a transition, although the holiday in France and Spain helped adjust. It now feels like my ‘normal’ condition is to put one foot after the other with 14 kgs on my back. I’m feeling reasonably fit. The hills are a killer. I rest forward on my walking poles whilst my heart pumps like a manic Mickey Mouse powered by Duracell. But walking is my normal state now.

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
22. Zennor
23. Cape Cornwall
24. Porthcurno
25. Penzance
26. Porthleven
27. Lizard Point
28. Coverack
29. Helford
30. Falmouth
31. Portloe
32. Pentewan
33. Par
34. Polruan

Night night.

I couldn’t find anywhere to lay my sleeping bag on Saturday night and wandered along the path in the semi-dark and then had to get my head lamp out. Eventually I plunged into the thick bracken and waded 5 yards from the path and laid down in my bag. The bracken was level but the land was sloping and all night I was slipping downhill. I got precious little sleep, or at least it felt like it. Judging the time between wakings by the position of the moon. The sea was crashing against the cliff just beyond the path and all was ok except for the sodding slope.

Set off early yesterday and the warm wind was blowing quite strongly. At Portholland the sea was bashing against the concrete defences.

Further on is Caerhays Castle, nestling in its own valley surrounded by fields, forests and pheasants.

It was a long slog again and much more climbing and falling than in recent times, eventually working round to Gorran Haven where I had a great ham salad and two pots of tea. Heavenly.

Cracking on I made it to Mevagissey, which is such a lovely little harbour plagued by tourists but a bit freer at this time of year.

I ended up yesterday afternoon at Pentewan Sands Holiday Park. I pitched Wilson, got a shower and the first person I spoke to was Sean Hancock from Wyvern. A Blade with a Blade tattoo on the right of his chest. Coincidence features so much in Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse novels and he handles it so elegantly. Another 12 miles under my belt and the shoulder hurts but has held up. Just take one day at a time Smithy. Aiming for just short of Fowey if I can make it tomorrow. Fleet of foot before the wind and rain of Autumn kicks in. Looe by Wednesday and Plymouth Friday.
Grinding out the miles singing into the warm breeze with moments of euphoria and periods of pain.
– Shiny shiny, shiny boots of leather.
– The needle tears a hole, that old familiar sting.
Velvets and Johnny Cash ( who was one of the few singers to get much better with age).
Blog you later.

When it gets to April and football results really matter it’s called the business end of the season. The rest has been entertainment (depending on who you support) but the back end of the season determines who goes up, stays up, stays down, goes down. The Business End. I’m not there yet but being on my own for the first time in more than two weeks I needed to get myself off to a good start. The route is to get a ferry to St Mawes from Falmouth and a further ferry from St Mawes to Place on the Roseland Peninsula. Andrew gave me a lift all the way round to Place before he set off for home – thanks mate. It saved me a few quid, which I spent on the car ferry we took. King Harry Ferry cut 20 miles off the road journey. Importantly I got to Place and found that the ferry from St Mawes wasn’t working. It saved me an eight mile detour – chaaaa! I met a like-minded geezer on the ferry.

Andrew quite liked him too!

The peninsula is definitely the most remote part of the path so far. Narrow lanes leading to a dead end. I’m still on it and I’ve covered 14 miles today. The last 2 miles were quite tough, up and down again, but I’m feeling fit, despite the rucksack being heavier than ever, or at least seeming so.

The scenery is beautiful as always, the weather is dry as always and for a long stretch the top of the cliffs were not much above sea level. It was quite strange walking on the edge of a field with the sea on the other side.
This is a photo of the peninsula from Falmouth, which I took yesterday.

And a photo of Falmouth harbour from the peninsula which I took today.

The harbour is the third biggest natural harbour in the world and Falmouth was the second busiest port in the British Empire at its peak. When I was a young man I worked in the docks industry, based in Bristol but working for all the ports in the south west for seven years. It was a great job and couldn’t have been more different than the steelworks that I’d left behind to seek fame and fortune down south west. This is a trip down memory lane as well as one of the greatest walking routes in the world. It’s hard – my left shoulder hurts a lot and I’ve had some more chafing today – but it’s great.
I envy the couples I pass en route. I wish my old lass didn’t have arthritis and could join me. That would be lovely.

I’m too late to walk to the nearest campsite two miles away. It’s going to be a dry night so I’m kip ping in my sleeping bag al fresco near the beach. Let’s see how well I sleep without Wilson to protect me!

Anyway I owe my Bristol Rovers mates a big thanks for their support so for Rob, Bavs and Chris here is a photo of the awesome fans of this fine club.

And here’s some Bristol City fans sat on somebody’s carpet.

Night night.

Coverack to Helford wasn’t a bad walk at all. Not too much hill and dale and surfaces comfortable for walking. Half way through the day we reached Halfway through the coastal path. 315 miles done, 315 to go and 65,000 feet climbed. So you start from Meadowhall in Sheffield and walk to Hyde Park in London, imagine that you climb Ben Nevis at Nottingham and Mount Everest at Leicester on the way and then you walk back, climbing Everest and Ben Nevis again and stop at Meadowhall. That’s the distance and the number of feet ascending I’ve done so far.

Before Helford is a two and a half mile circuit around a bay. If you catch it at low tide you can cross on stepping stones and save two miles. With camera quivering in hand I waited in eager anticipation of Andrew slipping into the water. Disappointingly he remained dry.

Andrew’s camera was quivering in hand waiting for me to fall but I’d taken off me boots and forded it to avoid the slippery stones.

Coming up through the woods by the sea we spotted a beautiful clump of flowers – anemones? These are they. Just stunning in their simplicity, colour and texture against the woodland floor.

We made it to Helford and went straight to the ferry across Helford River. Not running due to low tide! We looked like having to wait for nearly two hours. The path around the River was 14 miles long. Then in a moment of pure chance we heard a couple with Northern accents, Gill and Phil from Cheshire but definitely Phil was from South Yorkshire before his emigration west. It turned out they were driving past where we needed to be and we’re happy to give us a lift – we retraced our steps this morning to pick up where we left off but it’s been a lucky trip so far.
Last night we barbecued on site again, sweet corn from a field we raided and chicken legs which we bought. Another feast, listening to Richard Hawley with the Universe hovering over our heads.

This morning we regained Helford, at the north end of the ferry terminus, and pushed on to Falmouth. This is a shot of the coast just north of Helford Passage.

Andrew’s face has taken a bashing from the wind and sun. Cop this.

Mine is beautiful.

Before me and Andrew set off – Tuesday of last week – we loafed in St Ives and there were two buskers in suits on drums and guitar. I didn’t think they were loud enough so I joined them (as pictured below) and then an elderly hippy joined in too so we rocked the place with 60s songs.

I got a photo of the village idiot in Gweek. I know it’s not clever to have a laugh at the expense of unfortunates but look at the state of eee.

He’s going back tomorrow. I’ll miss the old bugger. We just tramp along as far as we have to go each day. Intellectually he’s good as well as knowing a lot. He can deduce accurately from what he sees and already knows. Ah well. Time is out of joint, oh cursed spite, that ever I was born to finish off this walk on my tod. To misquote the Greatest before Muhammad Ali.

See you Andyrew. Thanks for the company.
Summer eventually leaves and leaves begin to fall. That’s me that is. Good innit? Analogising Andrew’s departure to the passing of summer and the advent of autumn. In actual fact they’ve crept hand in hand. In the tree tunnels that occur on this walk the piles of leaves are growing whilst the wind is warm. There’s only one winner. Time and Tide wait for no man.

A sunny day yesterday and an early start for our Day Off – driving up to Looe for the fishing trip. Beautiful day but windy and there was a strong swell. Andrew and myself are lucky that we don’t get seasick easily but there were some queasy looking people about. The skipper is the best – Steve Brenchley – so we were confident. On the way out we were sailing alongside an old navy submarine which trawled up and down all day.

We got into the mackerel but not to the extent of the massive shoals inshore. Later we dropped anchor to fish on the bottom with mackerel for bait but there were only a few pouting and hitting caught so most of our fun came from catching mackerel.