We’ll I’ve made it to Tintagel but I can’t tell you how much my right foot hurts. It’s got quite a few blisters. That’s my only moan my friends. God (who I don’t think exists but if he does then) bless the Headland Caravan and Camping Park for giving me a freebie on account of my Help for Heroes sponsorship. It cost a fiver last night for a sloping, stone filled pitch and a cold shower – which I declined.
The country:
Coming down from Crackington Haven to Boscastle and down to Tintagel is a real challenge. A lot of steep valleys to struggle down and up, even though I’m as hard as nails. In Crackington I met a bunch of Blades fans – the Burgins from Swinton. Salt of the earth.

As I was saying, the country; the scenery is stunning. Just beautiful and the mountainsides are covered in purple heather, yellow gorse flowers, red thingys and blue flower things. The weather couldn’t be better, sunny periods with a cooling breeze to keep me from overheating on the upward climbs.
Antonia took this when she joined me for those three lovely days.

Some more metrics.
So far 144.9 miles 35,600 feet

This is a photo of a wild horse with her foal on the headland north of Tintagel. I’m very lucky to see this.

In Bertha’s wake there were strong stormy showers and after a particularly harsh one I bumped into a man and his daughter who had caught the storm on Holdstone Hill near Combe Martin. He said they’d been on top of the hill when it hit, adding that it was a Holy hill. He said there were UFO’s and ETs up there and they passed their energy on to people up there who radiated it onwards to the whole world.
I said I was going to Combe Martin and he told me that they lived there. He told me that I’d drop down into a valley before climbing up over 1000 feet to the top of the Great Hangman – the highest point on the whole coastal path. When I was by the stream the woodland elves and spirits would send me their energy and I would be ok to climb up to the top.
I bade him we’ll. Incongruously he was wearing a Peterborough United track suit top. I made it up the Great Hangman though!

Night night.

Only 10 miles but over 3,500 feet and I’m not going to knacker myself for the sake of a day or two. I feel guilty though if I walk less than 8 hours. A lifetime of service, standards that I haven’t lost. Today I did 6 hours. Crap really but tomorrow I’ll thrash it. Boscastle and the legendary Tintagel. Not a strong signal so no photos I’m afraid. I’m setting some targets now:
Tintagel tomorrow night. 11.4 miles and 3,000 feet.
Port Isaac the night after. 10 miles 2,750 feet.
Padstow on Thursday night.
I’ll need to break a limb not to make that now.
I’m into this now you know. I could be like one of them blokes who is a Master, like the old gimmer on the Kung Fu programme in the seventies and eighties. The wise old one who all the young trainees listened to in awe and he talked rubbish but they pretended to understand.
‘Master, you have walked far’
‘Yes Grasshopper, I have walked many leagues’ – that’s me saying this bit.
‘Master, why do you walk and what is your journey?’
‘ Well Grasshopper, mostly it’s for a bit of exercise to keep my brain sharp. What was the other question?’
‘ The journey Master, the journey’.

Then because I’m revered a lot of the trainees gather round and sit cross legged on the floor.

‘ Let me tell you all about the journey my children’. Obviously they’re not my kids but it’s what wise men say.

‘ The beginning is always the end and the end always the beginning. Wisdom gathers around every step and if you are ready you will embrace this wisdom. If not then maybe try it again a week on Saturday’.

Then I’d lift up my robes, hover for a minute for more revering, then go to the pub.

Anyway what is it about cows? All they do is chew. I’ve walked through quite a few cow fields and they’re chewing grass. The herd in the morning must get around the leader, obviously if I was a cattle type thing that would be me then, and talk about their objectives for the day.
The leader says, ‘Who wants to do what and we’ll have a vote?’
This daft heifer says ‘Let’s run round the field’.
The leader says ‘OK who votes for a run?’
Nobody puts their hoof up.
Another cow says ‘Hey, why don’t we graze today?’
Every hoof goes up and that’s all they do. Grass straight into the first stomach then they puke it up and whack it into the second stomach. Makes watching the Blades fascinating compared to the life of cows.

Roll on Tintagel.

I’m in Cornwall.

 Only made it to Morwenstowe last night but had a great meal in the local C13 Inn and a farmer cleared out and secured a small field for me. My tarp is good you know. It’s only a big, green waterproof hanky that you tie up to hedges and stuff so it’s open but it’s my friend. I call it Wilson now after I lost an earlier Wilson in Devon. I made it to south Bude today and then watched footsie in a nice pub. The campsite charged me 12 quid and gave it to Help for Heroes. Cheers Brigitte at Upper Lynstone Campsite!

The kind folk at Little Roadway Farm didn’t charge me. People come up, give donations or make gestures of kindness. It’s an England that used to be.

Anything can walk into the tarp in the middle of the night and in Braunton I woke at 3.00 with a snail on my forehead. Had it again at Hartland.

The coast is beautiful and I’m enjoying it now. I posted 7kg of stuff home from my backpack. I had to be tough. Fishing rod, catapult, cooking stove, lots of accessories. I had to do it. I couldn’t carry it any more. I think I’m down to 13kg or less now.

 The reflection in the dryer is me and Antonia washing my stuff in Bideford in a launderette. If you ever think of going to Bideford just to let you know we sat outside a pub and a bloke on the table next to us said – “have you ever played conkers with somebody’s eyeballs?”. Give it a miss. Martin at The Villa there gave us excellent bed and breakfast. My only b&b so far but great with Antone.

Thanks for reading.

night 11

bude 123.7 miles. Climbing 29,000 feet. I’ve climbed one Everest!

Just made it to Hartland. The climbing and descending is crazy, cliff top to sea shore continuously. But I’ve done over 105 miles and around 25,000 feet.
Nights
1. Porlock
2. Lynton
3. Hunters Inn
4. Coombe Martin
5. Woollacombe
6. Braunton
7. Bideford
8. Abbotsham
9. Hartland

Tomorrow hopefully I’m into Cornwall, aiming for just short of Bude.
All is ok except my feet are buggered (well my right one is) but apart from that I’m now enjoying it. Antonia came down for a few days to walk with me and that was a pleasure. I’ll tell you some of the weirder stories next time I blog. Oh yes, the woodland spirits are here!
Dave.

The next day I struggled across the side of Exmoor and eventually made it to Lynmouth. This wasn’t good. My shoulders were bruised from the weight of the rucksack. I felt very negative and decided to break the next day’s planned walk in two.

I struggled to the Hunters Inn and pitched my tarp in a field. I nipped down to the Hunters and ordered a sandwich and a pint for me tea. The landlord looked at me like I was mental and I couldn’t work out why. I sat down and read the map, ate my sarnie and supped my pint. My hand rested on my head and I felt some peeling skin. It had been warm but not that warm. I peeled it off, and looked at it. I’d had my new cap on for half an hour and somehow a small round sticker with 2 in the middle had transferred itself from the new hat to the middle of my high forehead. For 4 hours I’d walked around as number two! To my embarrassment I’d talked to quite a few fellow travellers (mostly German for some reason – don’t mention it) but they’d looked at me as normal. Quite a methodical, process-oriented nation I suppose.

It was Saturday the 9th. Bertha hit in the night. Tarp nearly got washed away, but we were ok in the end.

It seems a long time since last Thursday. The train journey was great and Richard Lupton from Help for Heroes met me at Taunton Station and gave me a lift up to Minehead. Thanks Richard.

The statue is the start and I left Minehead about 3.30 in the afternoon and got my first reality check walking that afternoon and evening to Porlock. My back pack weighed 18 kgs and I had to climb 2300 feet over the 10 mile hike.
I was knackered and made a mess of putting the tarp up so it dipped into my face in the night. I didn’t sleep we’ll.
This North coast of Somerset and Devon is beautiful. I was not enjoying it.

Hello All!

I am writing on behalf of my Dad to apologise for the lack of posts. He has found there is little or no signal to send the updates, combined with very few places to charge his devices. He has stayed on a couple of campsites, but has arrived too late to use the electricity, and otherwise has been pitching up in fields where plug sockets aren’t very common!!

He is doing very well so far. Thanks again for all your support.

Georgie

I opened my post yesterday afternoon and got a Jury Summons for September. If you can say it with a Cockney accent, like Bridgman would, then you’d say – ‘You’re aving a Giraarfe’!

The timing is unfortunate but I’m sure they will defer my service. 

If you take out your top layer of false teeth and dangle them down a bit it makes you look quite deranged (see below unless you’re of a nervous disposition). 

If anyone can think of ways to generate sponsors then please pass on this card – I’ve had 250 printed and these T shirts made up so people come to talk to me and I give them a card. I’m desperate to get to that £2500.

No that one wasn’t the deranged looking photo!

I heard from Help for Heroes yesterday that I’ll be shown round their Plymouth recuperation centre when I pass that way. Hanky out there then. Not heard anything from Sheffield Star. They rang and sounded keen but I guess I’m seen as being from Leeds and maybe it’s not interesting enough. Never mind. 

I’m packing all day today. Got to get it orderly and correct. The Grand Depart tomorrow. 

Talk to you again then – scroll down for derangement if you dare!

Well it’s only two days to go. Back’s much improved and although I haven’t trained I’m as ready as I can be. The garden is looking beautiful, we’ve got trees at the bottom of it and they capture the evening sun. I got a bit emotional yesterday over dinner, looking out of the window and realising that I won’t be here over the next coupla months. I’ll miss my old dear. 

Not a lot to report. Put the tarp up in the back garden yesterday. Packing all my gear and selecting what doesn’t come with me. Catty and fishing rod passed obviously. How will I eat otherwise? 

Anyway I’ll blog again tomorrow my dears. Thanks for tuning in. I’m sure there are lots of adventures on the road ‘There and back again’ to quote Bilbo. I have read Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit many times since I was young. Subconsciously this triggered my compulsion to do this. I’m so glad I retired. The elves are still around but it’s just more difficult to find them. I’ve heard them in the middle of a forest in France some years ago. It was just after midnight without a moon and they sang to me in the darkness. I’m not going mad, they did. They just need to know that you’re a friend that’s all. I walked towards them in the dark and when I got to within a few yards they stopped and there was no sign of them. I was by a lake fishing in the pitch black and they started singing again in a different spot a couple of hours later. I walked towards them again and again they cut out and vanished. I had set up some industrial candles as there was a wild boar who drank at the lake at night and he roared in the dark when he saw I was there, but the candles kept him away. Big bugger unall. However they’d gone out just before the elves sang so I guess they felt safe that they wouldn’t reveal themselves. I might not have seen them anyway. Eighty percent of the Universe is dark matter and we’ve no clue what it looks like. I used to see some of it in my weekly bath when I was a kid I’m sure.

I’m going to sleep in the forests down by the sea. This time I’ll sing with them. I wonder if they know any Richard Hawley tunes? I’ll still miss our old lass though.

Dave.

Antonia flew back from her graduation ceremony to Alicante and we drove back to the UK, taking a week to do it. The first night we stayed high in the Pyrenees in a tiny village where the air was crystal clear and vultures cruised on thermals, searching for the dead. Don’t worry birdies, you’ll find them – but will you beat the wolves? Driving up through Andorra we swapped 37c for 37f and played in snow on the top. then a night in Toulouse and a few days in a tent on a campsite north of Limoges. The advantage being that the site – Le Bouiex – had a private carp lake. We caught around 150 carp over 4 days – fantastic sport in a beautiful location.

We picked up Georgie’s stuff from her apartment in Paris on the way home and now we’re here. I buggered my back up somehow. It hurts and went into spasm so I had difficulty walking in Le Bouiex. Surely fate wouldn’t be so unkind after my anticipation over the last year? Surely the God I don’t believe in wouldn’t reveal his wicked sense of humour and stop me getting to first base just to prove the stupidity of my atheism. ‘Cop that Smith and genuflect your way back to mobility!’ Naa – that kind of August fool prank would come from the other side – ‘He’s already in me’.

I haven’t walked in a fortnight since Spain. I’m relaxed about that. Save my back for Thursday. The debate in the household at the moment is whether I should take a tent or the tarp that I really want to take. The consensus view favours tent; purely on the basis of insects and animals being able to waltz into the tarp whilst I’m asleep.

Tarp or Tent? Fiiiiight!!!

 Tarp Wins.