Bath

I woke felt terribly guilty about staying in a decent hotel when I could have wild camped nearby but the guilt quickly dissipated over the full English breakfast included.

The town of Haydon lay nearby (but not on my route) so I decided to visit it before checking out and without the backpack.

I asked a man passing, out walking his dog, to take a photo of me alongside the sign. This involved me holding his dog which then ran off and nearly came to grief under a passing minibus. It could have been worse - it could have been my dog.

I set off along my newly discovered route mostly along a former railway line and adjacent river and accompanying National cycle route.

I spotted a house that I thought might be a former railway house and got chatting to the owner, a New Zealander long since retired to England. He mentioned a 5000 year old longbarrow nearby that one could enter and easily  explore its many chambers with a torch, and the remains of a Roman Villa in an nearby field. Once again I felt compelled to diverge from my already diverged path.

After exploring the long barrow I returned to my route which led me back to another charm packed village with an equally charming tiny pub.  There the landlord mentioned some nearby former railway buildings including a signal box and station, now both converted into homes.

At The Station I met Janet the owner and her visitor Caroline. Janet was a wealth of information on alternative accommodation having cycled LEJOG before it was popular and now walking the entire coast of Britain in installments.

Janet was very kindly the first person on my journey to offer me a glass of  something refreshing - in this case elderflower. Small world; I bumped into Caroline in Bath as I approached the Railway Station on my 'resupply' visit back to London.

The entire day was punctuated by so many magnificent old railway viaducts that I stopped taking photos of them.

As I neared Bath I decided to divert from my path opting for a more direct approach into Bath YHA. At one point I mistook the path and walked through someone's garden and out the back gate before I realised my mistake.

The Bath YHA was at almost the highest point in the city (aren't all YHA's) to discover another spacious Georgian mansion.

After checking in, showering and changing I decided to visit the local store (at the bottom of the hill) to discover the adjacent Avon Canal. By taking the shortcut to the YHA I'd missed the best bit (according to a woman in narrow boat I got chatting to) so have decided to return to it tomorrow and linger in Bath, the end of the South West England leg.

In the YHA I met several 'interesting people:' Julian from the Czech Republic was cycling here and there and camping in people's gardens where people took pity on him.

Also in the YHA was Fiona (originally from West London) and her son Thomas from Sydney having some quality time travelling here and there in Britain.

And the relief manager was from Melbourne. There's just no getting away from them.

Before hitting the sack I met Carlos from Argentina, traveling here and there by bus. His English was not so good so  shared his views with me in  Spanish till late about the dire state of politics and the economy in his home country.

Midsomer Murders

As I left Glastonbury I passed the church in which I'd missed the organ recital yesterday. I decided to attend the service in progress to spend some moments in tribute to my brother-in-law who'd died unexpectedly and suddenly a few days earlier. It was the first

time I'd attended a regular church service since my childhood. Vale Graham.

As I left Glastonbury I realised I hadn't yet finished with the 'Levels' and set a course for the town of Wells. It was not on my planned route but I recalled it had a magnificent cathedral.

A short part of the route lay across farmland (Bishops Way) and once again I was confronted with a big herd of cattle -  Herefords I think. One of them persistantly tried to outbluff me with a charge but my own charge and yelled profanities won the day and they gave up trying to scare me. I think it must be just this breed because most cattle ignore me as I walk through them. Even bulls generally ignore me (but then so do a lot of people). I'd heard too in recent days that a farmer had died somewhere in the South West under his heard of cattle.

I reached Wells just on lunchtime and stopped at the first pub to rest and rehydrate after yet another day of high temperatures. As I ordered my usual (disappointing for some) pint of cordial I noticed the entire bar spread with a banquet of counter snacks of pies pasties and the like. The barman seeing my sunburnt and sweaty state urged me on in spite of my modest drinks outlay.

The closer into the town centre I reached the more interesting Wells became. I'd no idea it was of such ecumenical importance with a beautiful moated Bishops Palace and too much antiquity to describe here.

Sometimes the best discoveries are those made before reading the guidebooks.

After touring the grounds if the Bishops Palace I then entered the cathedral proper. And I might add made the recommended entry donation - unlike the whole German tour group in front of me.

The cathedral and cloisters are among the moat stunning I've seen. I found it so hard to tear myself away. Even as I did yet more beautiful ecumenical buildings lined my route out of town. I will return!

I returned to my planned route feeling a little delinquent. I came to a cross roads of back lanes that had, all in the radius of about one kilometre, the following:

- a cafe (attached to a rural landscape supplies centre) that made nice cappuccinos;

- a castle mound;

- a roman road (site of);

- several railway bridges; and

- and old railway station.

At first the 'Private Property' and 'Beware of Dog' signs made me pause in approaching the Sation. But I thought the dog threat a challenge so wandered in to find a very friendly and informative Lee (from Deptford), who recounted what he knew of the station's fascinating history (too much info for this Blog).

As I neared Midsomer Murders (woops I mean Midsomer Norton) I started to get anxious about a bed for the night. The hotel I thought I'd lined up weeks before was not answering the phone. Nor was my fallback B&B.

I checked with every Pub / Inn / Tavern that I passed but it all pointed to wild camping or more up market accommodation then my normal range for this adventure.

The prevailing opinion of the locals was that a hotel in the next town of Radstock was my only option. As it turned out my route there took me along a new and charming 'Rail Trail' at the end of which I found my accommodation finally at 7:30pm. In fact I found several perfect wild pitches within  a few hundred meters of the hotel but the opportunity of a shower and all the other pleasures of a decent hotel room got the better of me.

And just up the road was the town of 'Haydon' waiting for me to explore tomorrow.

Glastonbury

Tess and Richard kindly dropped me off at the same place from where Richard had picked me up yesterday and I set off for the Somerset town of Street without any accommodation booked.

I knew it wa going to be a long day because I stopped short of Taunton yesterday and set off late today.

Once I reached Taunton I followed  the canal until I'd seen enough of it (with not a canal boat, lock or other canal paraphernalia to be seen) and decided to follow some back roads to the 'Somerset Levels.'

The 'Levels' were interesting in their own way; formerly marshes long since drained. A ruined church above a mound within the Levels was impressive, but not enough for me to climb up to it.

Once across the 'Levels' as I neared Street I looked for accommodation but apart from an Inn well short of Street there was none to be found. I stopped at a pub to rehydrate and the locals suggested  I pushed onto Glastonbury that had a Travelodge and Backpackers pub so I decided to take the first thing available.

The Travelodge had no vacancies so I rang the Backpackers pub which had a bunk so finally arrived there at 8pm and booked in without further ado. It was the usual dive but I was deperate after walking 26 miles (a marathon) and the fourth day of 28 degrees heat. Not that I noticed.

After checking in and showering I had a walk to discover two decent hotels  with vacancies nearby but I was too tired to decamp.

Glastonbury certainly has it's fair share of antiquity and pubs on offer so I did a quick recce of both and after checking my route for tomorrow and accommodation options for the next few days collapsed into bed.

It had been my longest haul yet and fueled only on a slice of toast for breakfast and a 'Somerset pastie' picked up along the way plus countless rehydrations of blackcurrent at every pub I passed. As a consequence I have noticed that once familiar modest rolls of fat have now deserted me.

And oddly I'd met no one along my way to share my day.

Wellington

Frank kindly dropped me off from where Maisie had picked me up in Tiverton and I climbed to the start of the 'canal to nowhere.'

After a few miles I realised I had not taken the opportunity to visit Tiverton itself. Oh well some other time.

The Grand Western Canal extends about 11 miles from Tiverton to a small pipe under a back road well short of Wellington. It's completion and connection to the nearby Taunton to Bridgewater Canal (and thereby the sea) a victim of the then emerging age of steam railway.

The canal itself was beautifully clear revealing all the sticklebacks, various pond insects and plants I recalled from messing around in English waterholes as a child.

 
 

Shortly into my walk another walker approached in hi-viz gear. He was walking the JOGLE - in 30 days - in aid of Motor Neurone Disease, doing 30 miles a day along mostly major roads.

 

As I neared the end of the canal the urge to have a 'wild swim' overcame me. Alas the cool temperature urged me not to linger too long.

 

After leaving the canal end I briefly followed the nearby watercourse then struck a course cross country to find a pub for my now routine lunchtime pint or two (sadly of blackcurrent cordial).

It was a sunny day, I was listened to my Irish music, and today I had 2kgs less in my backpack. Coming down a hill towards an intersection I found myself dancing a jig. I expect the woman driving by thought she'd come across the dancing hillbilly from the movie 'Deliverance,' or the dancing yokel from the movie 'Far from the Madding Crowd.'

Early in the afternoon I was persuaded to follow the signs to a local antique fair being held in Cothy Manor.

As I wandered round the Manors' gardens I recognised the woman bustling across the lawns and realised it was the Cothy Manor that had featured in the BBC program Country House Rescue. I'd seen it only a few weeks earlier.

 




After chatting to one of the son in laws I set off at a fast pace to try to make the time so as to reach Taunton at a reasonable hour.

Somewhat shorter of Taunton than I hoped Richard picked me up at our rendezvous and took me back to Tess and their house just a short distance from my wild swim opportunity.

Over dinner Tess & Richard entrtained me with their experiences travel in Australia New Zealnd and Mongolia.

Tiverton / Brampton

I returned from Exeter to Crediton by train ready to resume my trek to Tiverton due east towards Thorverton not expecting anything in particular.

The back road to Thorverton had its moments but was fairly typical farming community backroad with the occasional interesting farm and / or cottage / church.

I reached Thorverton expecting to continue through but decided to sit in the small village green to rest and rehydrate. I was soon joined by Reith, retired, widowed, and planning to walk the Coast to Coast later this year and the End to End next year.

Reith convinced me to stay another half hour till one of the two local pubs opened. I did, not expecting to find the most heavily armed establishment outside of the British War Museum.  Automatic weapons of every vintage and origin hung from the rafters alongside pistols, swords and other assorted waeponry.





As I left a couple on a tandem peddled by and yes, Chris and Dianne were just starting their LEJOG on a hired tandem so we chatted and swapped Blog addresses:

chrisanddiane2012.wordpress.com











Nearby the pub was a house with an unusual entrance. Three Penis House perhaps.

I pressed on to Tiverton along the River Exe desperate to get close to the river and finally at Bickleigh Castle managed to sit in the shade with my feet cooling in the river on an unusully hot English summer day.





I pressed on north along the Rover Exe to find and was tempted to take a swim. Later on I found the local Sewage Works about two miles upstream.





I finally reached Tiverton and Maisie kindly picked me up from the center of town and whisked me away to the the nearby town of Brampton where Maise and Frank live in a beautiful house just above the 13th century Manor Mill and overlooking a former Motte and Baily Norman castle.

So we dined in the terrace overlooking these views and listening to the bell ringing,

I made a decision to discard 2 kgs of cooking gear and rations to lighten my load and posted then back to David at London 'base camp.'

Crediton / Exeter

Fortunately it had been a warm dry night so I slept well in my tent. I also used my stove to make coffee but had no supplies for breakfast but found a shop open in the next village and started off the dat with a Devon? pastie under my belt. So now I've used everything in my backpack.

Before I left South Zeal I decided to do a brief recce of any accommodation nearby that I had missed to find a B&B I'd overlooked but now closed down. Another Inn nearby had also closed down. So had yet another lovely Tudor Inn further into my walk.

All the villages around South Zeal were lovely and inhabited apparently only by young women with thier young children, being start of school hour. Not a man in sight. But given the number of children I suppose they must be around somewhere or all at work in nearby Okehampton.

By mid day I'd reached the village of Speyton with it's pub the Tom Cobbly Tavern from which Uncle Tom Cobbly 'and all' had set of for Widdicombe Fair in 1802.

I stopped to chat to some men rethatching a wall (yes odd - I suppose they knew what they were doing). Once done they said by farm labourers but now by them - eco roofing technicians.

I made two changes today to my routine.

(a) Wearing my trekking sandals so as to let my blisters dry in the warm sun. Alas all they just gave me new blisters elsewhere on my feet.

(b) My other change was to use paper strip map and compass with occasional GPS fixes (and not let the blue dot follow the red GPC track on my iPhone map). It was more successful because I paid more attention at intersections. So today I only had one minor navigational mishap.

I reached the town of Crediton to find it had a rail connection to nearby Exeter. Crediton being fairly dull I decided to ring the B&B I'd booked there to cancel (they kindly said no problem) and just then the hourly train to Exeter pulled in.

Exeter I knew had a Backpackers Hostel and a YHA, alas I chose the Backpackers Hostel in town because the YHA was too far out of town. I probably missed a gem. The Backpackers Hostel was crowded and 'basic' and I thought perhaps I should have stuck withe the luxury of the Farm B&B near Crediton. But they did tumble dry my stinky hand wahed two day old clothes for free God bless 'em.

But Exeter proved worth the detour with a lovely cathedral and pretty Tudor houses nearby. It also had some lovely pubs including one claimed to be Sir Francis Drake's favorite.

So I've been lucky with the weather with only light rain the morning I had a rest day in Truro.

I'm also making good progress and now ahead of the schedule I'm following. I didn't notice earlier that it had included four rest days that I haven't taken because I didn't need the rest and otherwise nowhere I had any reason to linger.

South Zeal

I started the day on a full English breakfast that I couldn't finish. In spite of that I felt my load lighter today but realised it was me getting lighterand not the pack!

As I set off I noticed the Post Office open opposite and considered posting my camping gear back to base camp since I had the next three days B&B accommodation locked. I also gained confidence that I'd always find an Inn somewhere along the way with a rooms available, given the number I'd spotted, that clearly don't advertise online.

My path took me up through a magnificent stone railway viaduct to the  cycle path along the old Dartmoor Railway where I stopped and chatted with Dave walking from Barnstable to Bodmin.

I came into Okehampton to discover the Olympic Torch bearer had passed through just earlier.

I took the opportunity of visiting the old Railway Station and Okehamton Castle before resuming my path up to Dartmoor along a pretty raging stream where higher up my inattention to a navigation later had me climb a steep hill I needn't have.

I came down off Dartmoor to the pretty small town of Belstone - the location on which the children's book 'The Belstone Fox' was based, a favorite of mine and the children thanks to a gift from my mother.

I then walked the last few weary miles into the town of Sticklepath where I had a B&B booked. Alas there are two towns by that name (the other in Barnstable) and I'd booked the wrong one. The one in Barnstable was very understanding.

With no other accommodation available in town I finally got to use the tent - on the lawn behind the King Arms Pub with the pub's kind permission and at no cost once I'd explained my predicament.

As luck had it the pub was hosting a local folk night to help cheer my otherwise trouble day.

Bill, who plays the English concertina, introduced himself to me and invited me to try his instrument after a quick lesson. Bill tells me area is a hotbed of accordian, concertina and smallpipes players going back several generations. As small as South Zeal is it hosts a 4 day folk festival every August.

Bridestowe

Miriam and Paul kindly returned me to Launceston where they dropped me back to the exact spot Miriam had collected me from the previous afternoon.

After visiting a few of the local sites such as the castle and city gate I managed to leave  Launceston without any major navigational mishap.

The first hour mostly involved walking along a  busy road and I soon came to the sign announcing I was entering  Devon. Almost immediately it seemed I became invisible to those I passed on the street or on back roads.

Later in the morning my route returned to Public Footpaths through fields, copses and across many lovely stone bridges over babbling brooks. As the day wore on I concluded my appreciation of muddy farm tracks has its limits especially for the constant demands on navigation. Often deep in thought I failed to notice footpath symbols or veered off without doing a compass bearing check first. 

Just after lunch I came to a pub and I ordered three drinks all for myself to drink straight away; a half part of the local brew, a pint of water, and a half pint of the blackcurrent cordial. I enjoyed the cordial best. Three men my age at the bar ignored me. They were too busy condemning the London Olympics, many of the sports included, and a variety of the athletes.

Two incidents marred the day, one was when I noticed my camera was missing from my backpack harness when I stopped for a serious navigational check. Fortunately I remembered using the camera about a haf mile back so hid my backpack in the long grass and ran back to find my camera case and camera sitting in the little driveway of the cottage I'd snapped earlier.

The other incident was getting lost slightly after some meticulous navigation again and finding myself in a field of cattle. The first herd was annoying enough but at least I was able to shoo them away without too much trouble. But in the second field the cattle were most persistent and as I walked through they all began to heard together ready to charge. Although my antics made them stop in their tracks every time I turned round and walked on 20 paces they'd be at it again.  After a navigational check I found I should not have been in those cow fields anyway.

It was after leaving the pub I had the option of  taking the minor road straight into Bridestowe or the Two Castles trail which I could see was steep and did a big dogleg but had the attraction of some castle ruins. After hours of trudging along the 'pretty route' I saw no ruins, had made a couple of annoying navigation errors and was glad to finally reach Bridestowe weary and footsore.

I'd planned to camp but spotted the White Hart Inn, and being an Inn thought might have a room. In fact it had only one room anyway which was available and turned out to have what I can only describe as triple bed plus two single beds, en suite, TV, the lot for only £30. After a bubble bath and Beef Madras I felt quite rested and content.

I pondered the cost effectiveness of camping for £7 in the campsite some distNce out of town and reached the obvious conclusion.

Later I had news of Adam travelling LEJOG fast but along mostly A  roads now well ahead of me but badly in need of a few days rest.

Launceston

I was sorry to leave the comfort of the Kings Head Inn. I'd had a double bed with the softest mattress I've ever come across, and TV and coffee right there in the room. The full English cooked breakfast included in the £30 bill was just far too much for me to eat.

I headed off on a full stomach, and certain of my direction thanks to the signpost alongside the hotel. Within half an hour I discovered I'd gone completely wrong. I retraced my steps cursing myself for not having paid more attention to the compass. Later in the morning I came to another crossroads and again took the wrong one. My excuse was that I'd deliberately departed my planned GPX track and navigating was no longer a case of keeping the blue dot on the red line. Yes I'd become lazy. I wonder why this always happens to me first thing in the morning.

Things improved during the day and I started to make good progress but knowing it was a short day. I passed along lovely country lanes with cottages and more substantial buildings dating from the 1500s. My route led me over several delightful streams and small stone bridges. I only took one Public Footpath shortcut across a field of nettles and learned that their sting bites right through lightweight trousers.

I finally reached the river on which Launceston stands and onto the rendezvous I'd arranged Miriam. Launceston is built round its castle, naturally on a high hill, so my day ended with a steep climb as it so often does.

Miriam hails from San Salvador and Sydney. Paul hails from Launceston and Sydney. Spot the connection!

Miriam kindly gave me unfettered access to her laptop so I could update my Blog and book mrs accommodation ahead. I've decided I have to have my netbook with mobile broadband for the next stage.

The bad news was that Okehamton's cheaper accommodation is coping with forty cyclists so it looks like I might finally get to camp. The good news was that I had secured modest quarters a few more night out. Booking accommodation is one of the more tedious parts of the adventure, but I'm not inclined to book too far ahead to restrict my options for changes to my schedule - I'm in no hurry.

Miriam, Paul and I feasted on pizza and English wine that I'd bought earlier then spent the evening chatting about San Salvador, South America in general and of course Sydney and Cornwall. Just as I went off to bed Miruam mentioned the house is haunted. I suppose there's a lot of traffic between the two graveyards nearby.

I have decided to review my daily walking distance schedule. 10 miles (16kms) is just too short for a decent days walking but 25 miles (40kms) is just too tough on the feet, but otherwise OK with good terrain, good weather and a daypack. While my body is happy to haul 15kgs 30kms my feet get just too sore.

Another discovery I made today is that there is often more to be seen along quite coutry lanes than across farmland, and finding and climbing stiles can lose it's appeal after a long day of the same.

I paused to consider today that for most part of my day I hear only my own footfall and birdsong. Unless I'm listening to my recorded music.

Fivelanes

Today I  managed a 7am start, being well organised, well rested in the yurt, and with the knowldge of accommodation at the end of the day certain.

My climb up to the moors was invisible, not a single car that approached acknowledged me; a  teenage girl on a bike who approached totally ignored me.

Navigation was mostly easy - keep the blue dot on the red line on the GPS.

Kings Hall was my first surprise. On a remote hilltop here was a rectangular ruin from antiquity, with standing stones that must have once supported a timber roof spanning an impress length that would have challenged my abilty to design and construct.

I then passed several stone circles, then later a few ruined settlements from  an ancient era.

Later on a remote cottage appeared on my route, and through windows I caught my reflection as I peered into the sparse but tidy furnishings within. 

Alongside the cottage were the remains of an ancient village. As I looked back from a distance the whole village and field structure were revealed.

My planned route north to Brown Willy then south to Jamaica Inn involved a double zigzag so, not needing the extra exercise I decided on a course due west right, circumcising Brown Willy which I had no desire to mount. I wondered about trespassing off the Public Footpath and decided to change into my 'stealth' mode just a farmer appeared on his quad bike and accompanying pack of cattle dogs, who bounded off completely ignoring me.

I thought best to ask permission for my shortcut and was greeted with a smile and directions through to gates so I didn't have to climb  through fences and the comment 'right to roam ...'

My new route took me past a lovely ruined farmhouse as I steered a course with an option of calling into the famous Jamaica Inn.

As I walked I saw my first deer of the trip and heard cuckoos.

Later on I encountered Tony and Jo out walking for the day and having just come away from an altercation with a farmer over a Public Footpath. After chatting with them I asked to take their photo for my Blog but Jo retreated out of the picture in horror. Tony couldn't care less.

As I came down off the moors a car approached me towards a gate so I opened it for the woman driving. She spoke of the time she'd gone to Oklahoma to live years before but said Oklahoma turned out to be rather flat and disappointing. I said but at least they're very 'Musical' there. The woman looked puzzled so I felt obliged to sing the few bars I remembered '... cowhands dance with the farmers' daughters, farmers dance with the cowhands' wives...' and she caught my drift.

Later in the day I had to cross several streams and bogs and was glad to find my boots as impervious as the manufactures claims.

It was as I was ankle deep in cow shit waking through a farmyard I received a call from Miriam who urged me to walk on to Launceston where she and her husband Paul had a spare bed on offer.

I pressed on to Jamaica Inn to find it was on the other side of a busy dual carriageway that passed through a deep cutting but  I thought it worth the effort. The inn was lovely and not as over commercialised as I'd heard in spite of the nice enough giftshop. I stopped long  enough for a sausage roll and blackcurrent cordial which was all my remiaining ready cash ran to and wished I could have stayed longer to admire the lovely decor  - cutlasses hanging from the rafters and all.

I pushed on determined to rach Launceston but by 3pm I reached the Kings Head (established 1693) amd my heart was qon over (dn my feet were sore) so I decided to stay the night with Launceston still 15km away.

I pushed on to reach Launceston but by 3pm i reached the Kings Head Inn (established 1623) and my heart was won over (and my feet were sore) soi decided to stay the night as originally planned with Launceston still 15kms away.

The King's Head turned out to be delightful. All of the staff were as friendly, courteous and efficient as could be. They even offered to tumble dry my washing for me.

A couple I spoke to in the bar (Pam from Bow in London and Dick raised in Nigeria) told me off their life in Cornwall restoring old houses and their plans to move to France to do the same. Dick kindly drove me to a nearby Sevice Station to use the ATM.

In my long relaxing bath I was pleased to find no new blisters and the old ones already healing nicely.

I fell asleep to the news that the Olympic Flame arrived in Cornwall en route Lands End to begin following me through the country.

Blisland

I rejoined my walk where I'd left off yesterday, on the Camel Trail.

Today it was drizzling with no sign of the many 'boys on bikes' from yesterday's sunny weather.

The walk along the old railway alignment alongside the River Camel was pleasant enough apart from the rain. The few local walkers I met seemed to reflect the dreariness of the weather.

I left the trail deviating from my planned route since it led only to a village which no longer had a B&B on offer.

I pressed on to another village that was more on my direct route and had a pub where I enjoyed a pork pie and a (half) pint. The B&Bs nearby were either too far off my route or unavailable so I pressed into the cold windy weather thinking it was about time I actually used my tent.

I condsiderd a route march to my next planned overnight stop but  it being over Cornwall's highest moor and now late in the day I decided to check out a campsite en route.

At South Penquite Farm I was offered a pitch for £7 for my single tent or a yurt for £20. They're funny things yurts; no matter how small they look from the outside they're palatial inside. Mine (needless to say I took the yurt) came complete with woodstove and regular gas stove so my warmth and overall comfort was assured for the night. It even came.with wind up radio, it being all very 'Eco.'

I used the time and comfort to now actually do some serious accommodation planning and managed to secure decent quarters en route for the next two nights. 

I decided camping is all very well and good but at my age travelling 'Spartan' is just showing off.

I dined on my remaining rations, knowing I could restock tomorrow. It's been just too long since I enjoyed that feast of feasts Thai Chilli Noodles with a side dish of 'Smash' powdered mashed potatoes.

As I prepared to settle in for the night in front of the roaring woodstove, my only companion my Kindle eBook, I noticed two small tents had appeared nearby. The occupants were two young cyclists doing LEJOG. They passed up my offer of warm quarters for the evening, and just as well too because just for once I was happy with my own company and planning to enjoy sitting round the fire reading.

I reflected on the fact that the day hadn't turned out so bad after all in spite of some minor navigation mishaps, the dreary weather and my corresponding mood. The end result was good, I'd dropped back a day but who cares, I'd been easy on my blistered feet and I had no other aches or pains or stiffness. I felt well fortified for tomorrow's assault on 'Brown Willy.'

Just a pity that after 7 days I'm still taking a bloody tent for walk for no reason.

And the only casualty of the day being the coffee table in the yurt (right next to the woodstove) that caught fire.

The day could have been a lot worse one way or another.

Bodmin

I left Gnome World far later than I expected having slept in through a very cold night. The terrain through to Bodmin was mostly open farm lane and pretty back lanes wide enough for a cart with the occasion pretty cottage or two.

The day being hot I began to get thirsty so knocked on the door of one pretty cottage to ask to fill my waterbottle. The woman who greeted me revealed she too was a long distance walker and helped slake my thirst we two helpings of strong blackcurrent cordial to help me on my way.

By early afternoon I'd still found no accommodation where I wanted it beyond Bodmin and decided I was going to have overnight in Bodmin, making it a short day. Even then there seemed to be no B&B accommodation there either according to the Tourist Info Office. I considered pushing on into the unknown but a call to Chris W revealed his visitors had gone and a spare bed was available.
  

Chris kindly offered to come and collect me by car since he lived on Bodmin Moor on the other side of Bodmin. His suggested rendezvous turned out to be a pub near a steam railway station and a steam engine was pulling out just as I arrived.

The track alongside the railway was in fact the Camel Trail, a popular cycle route.

Chris met me at the pub then drove me to his house on the moor when we spent the evening mostly discussing the world of Humanitarian Assistance over  pizza and cheap wine I bought en route. We also discussed where each of us had worked and compared who had had the most tropical deseases. I think I won. Strange thing for me to be competitive over when I come to think about it .

What doesn't kill us ....

Toldish

I left Truro with some trepidation because of my blisters and lack of nights accommodation secured.

Walking through a wood I got chatting to Liz out walking her dog and oddly we were soon discussing the series 7 Up and sharing our views on some of the participants, particularly David who'd become the politician. And we discussed sons who do marathon.

Along a back lane I was surrounded by a pack of baying farm dogs who quickly realised I saw through their game and they escorted me off with a yappy farewell.

The weather being brisk and listening to Steeleye Span on my MP3 player I was inspired to dance a jig as I walked, heavy pack and all. A steep gradient soon put and end to that.

My route eventually led to a busy major road served by a MacDonalds and a Premier Inn. I'm ashamed to admit I indulged myself with a MacHappy Meal and headed to the Premier Inn in the hope of the £29 special deal advertised but alas this night it was the regular £70 rate.  So I sadly pushed on reminding myself of the stoic 70 year young woman a month ahead of me camping wherever took her fancy. I felt a room in the Premier Inn was rather letting the male side down.

I passed through the nondescript (except for the huge slag heaps) town of India Queens and onto the equally nondescript town of Toldish. As I walked I eyed off the various wild camping opportunities right there in town not expecting to find the marked campground open.

Several possibilities emerged such as:

- Grassy patch behind a village hall

- Grassy patch above a nice pub

- Offering people with a caravan in their garden a fiver to doss in it for the night.

- an Undertakers with presumably something snug (a coffin maybe) in which to rest, in peace. And just as bad...

A cemetery (Terry Hale style).

It was then I came to the local campground with the unfortunate name of 'Gnome World' which in spite of the diminutive was the largest caravan and camping park I have ever seen. It had everything I needed for £4 including hot clean showers and a laundry.

I was offered a site with the option 'camp anywhere you like' which I took literally.

As I was about to set up the tent in the lee of two pre-loved unoccupied caravans I found one with its door unlocked so I decided that was where I would like best to camp (squat) - on the clean cosy bed out of the wind with a sitting room of my own (and less the tent naturally). The only downside was almost setting the caravan alight when my lighted sprit stove fell over. Oh well easy come easy go.

It was in the comfort of the caravan there I reflected on the days events.

My 15kg pack weight has been no burden at all except for its surcharge (20% my body weight) on my feet giving me a couple of sore but manageable blisters. My new pack places the weight very snugly onto my hips. And I'm using everything I'm carrying so far apart from the 1.3kg tent. I'm actually now inclined to add to the weight by returning to London to the base camp David is kindly providing for me to pick up my laptop. Or maybe buy a Tablet.

Actually the pack weight is probably down to 13kgs now considering the supplies I've either eaten or lost.

I'm now also disinclined to jettison my trekking sandals because in spite of their extra weight they are a great substitute when my boots rub on my blisters, which the sandals don't.

I had three nice surprises today. The first a long text message from Adam who I met in Penzace and who set out a day ahead of me. He tells me he is struggling along the SW Coastal path with his still too heavy pack but we may yet cross paths at Bridgewater at this rate; my route is straighter and flatter.

The second is the realisation that I can listen to any of the books on my Kindle as I walk when I use the Text Speech mode. I look forward listening to Thomas Hardy as I pass through Somerset (was it? do I?)

The third is that my home made blister remedy of micro bubble-wrap is proving both comfortable and effective. I shall have to get a patent.

The only misfortune of today was losing the next day's paper strip map before I'd even used it. The nice man in the camp office offered to print me a new one from my flash drive but I'd have to wait for the main office to open at 9am the next day by which time I'd hoped to be long gone. Besides I have them as pictures on my I iPhone as backup and on my GPS app.