Around Britain

It's quite a journey now even to get to the starting point. My train was direct from King's Cross to Inverness taking 8 hours 5 minutes. P made me some beef sandwiches which I left behind together with the newspapers that I had planned to read. So I bought a sandwich and The Sunday Telegraph at WH Smith on the station. The person who'd booked the seat next to mine failed to show so I had two seats to myself from start to finish. Just as well as standard class can be uncomfortable. There were some noisy kids and two young boys collected all the reservation slips from the backs of the seats.

In Inverness I made for Culduthel Street and the Beaufort Hotel where I'd stayed with the Forsyths last time I was up. I ate at the bar and drank a pint of Tennants.

I breakfasted at 7. I was served a proper kipper, not a fillet. I picked up an Independent and FT at Inverness Station and walked towards Kessock Bridge over Beauly Firth. A notice said the walkway over the bridge was closed. I ignored it as I had no alternative to crossing the bridge. No alternative was indicated. A workman turned me back after I'd walked some way onto the bridge from a roundabout. He told me to return to the roundabout, cross the A9 and use the walkway on the far side of the road. This walkway had not been visible from my side of the road. I couldn't cross over as there was a highish barrier on the central reservation. I did point out to the workman that the notice might have instructed pedestrians to cross.

As I crossed I had a good view of the stadium of Inverness Caledonian Thistle, a football team in the top Scottish division. On the north side of the bridge, I came off onto a path heading back towards the river and then passing underneath the bridge. I seemed to be entering a works site and a notice asked me to report to reception. There was no one about so I pressed on. As I emerged on the other side of the bridge, I could see workmen on the bridge above me. One said that if I continued the same way, I'd end up in someone's back garden. I could see no path ahead so I retreated. Back on the eastern side of the bridge, I continued my descent towards the river, seeing from the map that there was a minor road that hugged the shore. The slope became precipitous and I could see that the road was protected by a thick barrier of gorse. I stumbled and disappeared into it. The gorse branches were not prickly so I used them to hold myself up on my descent to the road. The road took me into North Kessock. The North Kessock Hotel looked out into Beauly Firth. There was a targe maker nearby. Targes are the round shields carried by highlanders in battle. I passed under the A9 keeping to the cycle route marked by small green circles on the map. I was now in the Black Isle. The Black Isle Brewery was well out in the countryside. Pity I had no time for a visit but this was to be a fairly hard day. At Munlochy I was too early to get food at the pub. The Scot Mid Co-op shop assistant told me that the tea shop was closed so she secured my custom. I bought an egg and cress sandwich reduced to £1 as it was at its sell be date, an orange/mango drink, a banana and an orange. This was enough to keep me going. Munlochy was at the innermost point of Munlochy Bay, mostly revealed as sand flats at low tide.

The day was warm but my clothes were mostly designed for cold weather. My waterproof jacket was tied round my rucksack and I never wore it on this trip. My waterproof trousers were also unused. The only place I passed on the next stretch was Killen and that didn't amount to much. A woman stopped to offer me a lift but I explained that I was on a walking trip. It was very kind and I thanked her.

I had a short spell on the B9160 and then on the A832 before resuming on a byway not far from Fortrose. I passed a radio mast at Craighead and the start of a trail dedicated to the memory of Hugo Miller – a geologist in the 19th century born in Cromarty.

The byway joined the A832 just before Cromarty which was a fair sized town. My pub, the Cromarty Arms, was not promising. The bathroom was down the corridor although the woman of the house told me there was no one else in that night. The bedside lamp didn't work and there was a thick encrustation of bird muck on the window. The defective lamp was dealt with by its replacement by another one in my room. Breakfast was not served until 8.30 but I negotiated 8 instead. I opted for porridge rather than the full breakfast the following morning.

Before dinner I wandered round the town to see where the ferry was. I encountered a man walking his dog. When I fell into conversation with him, he started stammering quite badly. I learned that the Nigg Yard across the water was repairing an oil rig and that, in the past, they had built some. I found the spot where the ferry left. It runs from 0800 to 1800 on the hour and half hour.

My lasagne, chips and vegetables was very ordinary but I was glad to have it with a pint of Belhaven Best.

Today I covered 25 miles in 9 and a half hours. 1704.29

I ate my breakfast in the public bar whilst the daughter, who'd prepared my dinner, dealt with her 4 and a half year old son. His outfit had a Batman motif. He was due to leave for Primary School in the town. The daughter explained that, when she went to the school, there were over a hundred pupils but now it was down to 56. The reason was that many of the houses had been bought by second homers. The mother prepared my breakfast and then started to mop the area around the bar. I suggested that it was hard running a pub. She agreed but not in a way to stimulate discussion. Her overweight husband lurked in the background. I took against him. He didn't help with any of the work and said not a word to me. If you own a pub, it helps if you like people.

I settled my £30 bill having already paid for my dinner. The woman showed mild interest in where I was going. I told her I'd walked up from Inverness yesterday. She declared that to be “hardy”. As I left the husband was outside doing some cleaning. He smiled pleasantly and exchanged a word.

Maybe I was wrong about him.

I followed directions to the store selling papers. There was a van in the street which I stepped onto the pavement to avoid. It was driven by the stammerer from last night. His Alsatian dog was sitting up on the passenger seat beside him. We had a brief chat. With the paper in my rucksack, I made for the ferry. Again I encountered my friend in the van. He pointed out that I was headed the wrong way and put me back on course. I thanked him.

As I neared the ferry terminal, a youth approached and asked politely whether he could use my mobile phone. I said that I was rushing to catch the ferry. Secretly I was concerned that he'd outrun me once he got hold of my phone. The ferry terminal turned out to be a concrete slipway. I watched the ferry approach obliquely from the far side. A man on board hailed me, asking whether I wanted to cross. I said yes and the boat came close and lowered its front onto the slipway. I boarded. The space inside was big enough for a few cars but I was the only passenger. I climbed to the upper deck for the view. Cromarty with its white houses receded. The industrial complex at Nigg came closer. The man who'd hailed me and sold me my ticket (£4) called me down to the lower deck to see the dolphins. At first I couldn't see them but then I saw lots all at once. They broke surface, curved gracefully and disappeared again. I watched several close to the boat. Then I saw three groups break surface in different places simultaneously. The man said there were sometimes hundreds in the straights between Cromarty Firth and the sea but then they'd all disappear for a fortnight or so. I suggested that dolphins were intelligent. The man said that they were more intelligent than humans as they didn't kill each other.

I started walking at Nigg and waved at a cyclist. The Nigg Yard was enormous. There was an Education Centre and a Global Energy Centre. A car park contained several dozen cars. At the village of Nigg, I stopped at the church, curious about the cross slab marked on my map. The same cyclist came up, dismounted and said that he wanted to see it too. He said that he loved graveyards as there was so much history on the tomb stones. In the church there was a special area designated for the Pictish stone as that was what the cross slab was. The room lit up automatically as I entered. The stone was higher than a man and intricately carved on both sides. At the top were two kneeling men, St Anthony and St Paul. They were giving thanks for a miracle. St Paul was living in the wilderness and relied upon a raven bringing him half a loaf each day. When St Anthony visited, St Paul was worried as half a loaf was not enough for the two of them. That day the raven brought a whole loaf.

The stone dated from the 700s. It had not always been appreciated. The missing section had been found in a nearby burn and was now in the museum at Tain. The cyclist asked me whether I had food with me. I said no and he opened his knapsack to offer me the sandwich inside. He said that he lived nearby at Invergordon so didn't really need any food. I said that I'd had a good breakfast but thanked him.

I was on the official Pictish Trail. Just before Balintore I turned off the road to look at the Shandwick Stone. It stood overlooking the sea in a locked glassed enclosure. There was an information board and a paved path around it. The carving showed a large section of triple spirals, religious symbols and a scene from Pictish life. It demonstrated that the Picts were a sophisticated Christian community in the period 700 to 800 in this area. At Hilton shortly afterwards I passed another stone. It was a replica as the original was kept elsewhere.

At Hilton I stopped at the Memorial Hall, a popular café. I took lentil soup, a roll, a piece of cake and a pot of tea.

I climbed up out of Hilton/Baltinore. As I approached a crest in the land, cool air reached me as if I was nearing the top. I looked down a sloping field. I couldn't tell whether, beyond this land, there was sea or sky. I thought it must be sea and perhaps a distant coast but it was impossible for me to be sure.

At Tain I stopped at about 3.30 where I had tea and cake. I left without my map but the waitress stopped me and handed it over.

I now had to walk for a while on the A9. The Dornoch Firth Bridge came into view. It started on a long embankment stretching out over the shore. Walking on this section I saw my first signpost to John O'Groats (85 miles but that's the direct route on the main road). After the embankment a section of the bridge on stilts crossed the water. There was a pavement for walkers but the other non-motorist was a single cyclist. It was a long crossing but conditions were good. A strong wind would have been awkward as the railings offered little protection.

On the far side I took the road to Dornoch. I had much trouble finding the hotel as I was misdirected by a couple of locals. The Burghfield House Hotel was an impressive house on the hillside above the town. They served no food in the evening so I went to the Eagle Pub in the main street. There I enjoyed an excellent supper of field mushrooms and spaghetti Bolognese.

Covered 23 miles today in 9 hours. Total 1727.29

I appeared to be the only guest at my hotel. Perhaps no one else was able to find it. I'd entered yesterday through a side gate. That entrance gave me no clue that this was anything other than a private house. The hotel looked as if it carried a full staff. No less than three people greeted me when I arrived. At breakfast my haddock and poached egg were served on a square plate with bernaise sauce. The cost was £90 but this was the only available place thrown up by my internet search. I'll have to cast my net more widely as the town appeared to have lots of alternative accommodation. It also had a Cathedral which seemed odd for such a modest place.

I bought the Independent at the Co-op and headed north. There was no indication of a ferry across the mouth of Loch Fleet to Littleferry so I turned west along the loch's shore. Just before I reached the waterside, a lamb bleated at me from a distance and then ran to the fence next to where I stood. It put its front feet up on the strands of wire in the fence There was a large orange smudge on it which suggested that it had received some treatment. There was no mother in sight. I spoke sympathetically to the lamb but could not bring myself to touch it. As I walked on the lamb ran alongside on the other side of the fence bleating constantly. After a while the fence turned away from the road so the lamb couldn't stay with me any longer. I could still hear it bleating for a while as I progressed along the loch side. Eventually I joined the A9 to cross The Mound at the head of the loch. A sign said John O'Groats 76 miles. I endured a difficult stretch along the A9 walking against fast traffic but reached Golspie Station at 1310. I took a Ploughman's lunch at Poppy's Tea Room in the town and returned to the station to catch the 1441 to Inverness; not a train to be missed as there were only four trains a day.

10.85 miles in 3 hours 40 minutes today. Total 1738.14

I spent last night in the Mercure Hotel Inverness having taken nearly all yesterday travelling up from London. We were turned off the train at York due to a problem with overhead cables. Consequently I arrived at Inverness 1 hour 25 minutes late. According to a leaflet I was given at Edinburgh this gives me an entitlement to the refund of my entire fare for the journey. This is payable in vouchers to set against future fares.

There was no train to Golspie at a convenient time so I took the X99 from Inverness bus station at 0940. This dropped me at Golspie at 1106 (quicker than the train would have been). At Golspie I returned to Poppy's Tea Room for a pot of tea and a scone. I'm carrying no food so I need to eat when I get the opportunity. I then started walking at 1143 in fine weather. Much of my time on this visit has to be spent on the A9 so I intend to avoid it whenever possible. I found the sea front, crossed Golspie Burn and soon passed Dunrobin Castle. This is a magnificent structure rising out of a wood. It sported some of those towers with conical tops so identifiably Scottish. The castle was the seat of the Dukes of Sutherland. Dunrobin Castle station was originally for the private use of the castle. As I passed, I heard the sound of clapping from behind the high surrounding wall. I don't know the reason but I did hear later that the castle grounds were used for falconry displays.

Not long afterwards I came to Carn Liath Broch. Brochs are drystone structures, originally with a tower. This one was well preserved although the tower no longer existed. That was also the case with all the other brochs I saw. It had an entrance and an internal stairway. Brochs date from a few centuries BC to the first century AD. There are several hundred of them in north west Scotland. The name is derived from ‘borg', Norse for a fort. It's probable that they were built for the protection of family groups and their animals. The building was round and on raised ground overlooking the sea. This broch had been excavated by order of the Duke of Sutherland in the 19th century. A number of items of interest were found. However, the dig was conducted inexpertly and it was not known whether the items dated back to when the broch was built.

After Strathsteven I was forced back onto the A9. A number of roads led off the A9 to Doll. The map indicated a web of lanes south of the River Brora with many dwellings, probably crofts. At Brora I stopped at a tea shop for a ham sandwich with salad and a pot of tea. There were closed shops in the town. P said later that a mill in the town had produced excellent cloth. I left Brora on a path which crossed a golf course laid out by James Braid.

I rejoined the A9 at Clynemilton and now faced a long slog on the main road. Just before Lothbeg I spotted a monument in a lay by. Lettering had been carved into stone. It commemorated the last wolf in Sutherland, killed (according to Scrope's Art of Deerstalking) by the hunter Polson in about 1700. The monument was erected by the Duke of Portland in 1924. If it was not the last wolf in Scotland, I wondered whether wolves from elsewhere in Scotland might not have entered Sutherland at a later date. The monument only made proper sense if this last wolf was actually the last one on the British mainland.

Just after Crakaig, I took a minor road running above the A9 and more or less parallel to it. It took me to Crakaig Crofts and Lothmore. There were some new buildings along this stretch. Some of the buildings I passed here seemed to be crofts but others were ordinary dwellings. To escape the road works at Portgower, I climbed up another minor road passing near Gartymore and West Helmsdale. Some of the houses up here on the hillside had been abandoned. One such had a caravan in the garden, a rusted heap of a vehicle in the lane and a 4X4 with a flat tyre beside it. It had the air of a repossession.

I descended into Helmsdale and found the Belgrave Arms Hotel. I dined at Le Mirage, the North's Premier Restaurant. 17.5 miles Total 1755.64.

The Belgrave Arms served me a fresh kipper. The proprietress had seemed a bit grim-faced when I arrived. Perhaps, after a day's walking, I didn't look like the sort of customer she wanted. My bill was a modest £30 for B&B. This was due to the room not being en suite. I had to use one of two shower rooms that were also being used by other guests. An en suite single was double the price at £60. The woman told me about the Bridge Hotel. This was an impressive hostelry established in 1816 that I'd noticed when entering the town yesterday. It seemed to be in good condition but closed. Apparently it had been bought by a businessman based in Dubai who had restored it and fitted it out at great expense. He had tried to get shooting and fishing rights so that he could charge premium rates. He didn't get these rights but charged £140 for a single room anyway. One guest had complained that continental breakfast (not included in the room rate) was £7.50 for cereal and a bit of toast. The Belgrave charged £6.50 for a full breakfast. The venture failed and the hotel (with 20 bedrooms) had been put up for sale at £1.5 million. Now it remains unsold at £650,000. The Belgrave is family run and immediately adjacent to the A9.

Today was not a good day's walking as I was hardly able to escape the A9. Also the weather started very unsettled. There was light rain and a few scattered low clouds down almost to sea level. I was soon on a straight stretch in fast traffic. I walk on the right to face oncoming traffic so that I can step off onto the verge to avoid lorries and coaches. At speed the air displaced by these vehicles can send one staggering. However, the danger also threatens from behind. Cars overtake the slower vehicles on a straight stretch as mostly the road is bendy and it's unsafe to pass. Some of these overtakers came quite close to me at speed. I got quite nervous that one of them might not see me. I was looking back over my shoulder as much as ahead. At one point this morning I passed from Sutherland into Caithness. I usually had the sea in view early on.

When I started, Latheron was 19 miles away, Wick 37 and John O'Groats 55. I started at 0935 and, after two hours, reached a sign that suggested I had covered 7 miles. The map showed no town or village until Berriedale. I looked forward to a tea shop but there was nothing. Before then I passed a sign to a clearance village. The lairds had cleared the glens for sheep as sheep made them more money than rent. The ousted population moved towards the coast. Thus this village close to the sea had been established. The site was just the other side of a rise in the ground but I had too far to go today for any deviation.

There were steep hills descending into both Berriedale and Dunbeath and each had an escape lane for vehicles that suffered a brakes failure. The run-offs led into soft substances that acted as a brake. They were surprisingly short but I assume that they had proved to be effective. The one at Berriedale led directly back into the main thoroughfare. If the run-off didn't work, the runaway vehicle would hit the traffic on the A9 broadside.

Before Dunbeath I saw a sign - Lindhay Tea Room – 4 miles on right. That would be a good place to stop as my meal tonight is uncertain. At Dunbeath I asked a woman emerging from the Dunbeath Village Centre whether there was a café in town. She indicated some far distant place beyond the town on a distant hill side. She confirmed that it was the Lindhay. That was comforting. I walked along what the woman called ‘the old road'. This crossed a stone bridge far beneath the viaduct carrying the A9. As I walked out of Dunbeath I saw an establishment called the Bay Owl Restaurant on the right. Had the Lindhay changed its name? The place looked so drab I walked on, holding out for the Lindhay. I left the town but still no Lindhay. Should I return to the Bay Owl? I'd now walked well beyond it so I kept going. Something always seems to turn up. When the town was way behind me I saw a white sign ahead. I needed to get quite close to read the words ‘Lindhay Croft Museum'. That might be interesting but of far more interest was the tea room next to the museum.

The tea room was run by two women. The senior woman saw me reading the menu on the wall and requested that I be seated and they would come to take my order. But no one did. The place was empty but they were too busy to serve me. The junior woman was filling bowls on every table with packets of sugar. The senior woman was working away in the kitchen, dealing with the washing up. The junior woman eventually reached my table and set about replenishing the sugar bowl. As she turned to walk away, I said I was ready to order. I didn't want to seem impatient but I had been there 15 minutes. She expressed surprise. Wasn't I waiting for someone? No, I wasn't. Oh, she was sorry. I had a very acceptable ploughman's lunch and a pot of tea.

At Latheron the A9 went inland towards Thurso. I continued on the A99 towards Wick.

The Bayview Hotel at Lybster was off the A99. The town had toilets, a Primary School, a Bowling Club, a Village Centre and a Glassworks. The restaurant had closed down but there were two shops – a newsagent and a food store.

The Australian girl, Caroline, at the Bay View greeted me by name. The TV in my room didn't work. Normally I wouldn't mind but I wanted to watch Arsenal in their Champions League Play Off against Fenerbahce. The publican's daughter came in but she couldn't make it work. I moved into an adjoining room but there it was impossible even to turn the TV on. In my third room the TV was fine. I took a shower in the separate bathroom and went down to the bar.

The publican was having reconstructive surgery on her shoulder so the kitchen had been shut down. I thought I'd have to buy a sandwich at the shop but Caroline told me that the glassblowers were meeting other glassblowers and they were having a cold buffet. I'd be given something from that. I bought a pint of Belhavens Best and started to watch the match. At about half time I got a bowl of soup and some salad.

Sitting at the bar was an enormously fat woman and a man in his fifties with long hair tied up at the back. After a while they included me in their conversation. The woman asked me what I was doing in that part of the world. She was silenced when I said I was walking to John O' Groats. The man, Marcus, seemed to approve and wished me luck. Arsenal won and I returned to my room.

Today I did 23.14 miles; total 1778.78.

I'd been told that, if I wanted a cooked breakfast, I couldn't have it before 0800. I was greeted downstairs by Caroline who seemed to be doing all the work in this hotel. As the kitchen was closed, the breakfast had to be cooked on a hot plate upstairs. The cereal was delivered out of a contraption that one operated by the turn of a wheel on the side. As one turned the wheel so the cereal fell into the bowl. The contraption resisted my efforts for a while but then the bottom fell off and landed in the bowl with most of the cereal. My cooked breakfast was quickly served and was very good, although I hadn't been asked about my preferences. It included 2 sausages, several bacon rashers, 2 fried eggs, fried potato, tomatoes and baked beans.

Marcus, I learnt, lived in a tent which was fully equipped. He rode a horse about the town. He had a smaller horse that he used to pull a trailer when he needed to collect something. The big hotel of the town, the Portland Arms, had closed. Marcus had told me the previous evening that one of its problems was a dishonest manager.

I called in at the shop to buy a paper and set off once more on the A99 at about 0930. Almost at once I passed a wood. A drive entered the wood and a sign at the entrance indicated that this was Lybster House. An estate agent's board indicated that the property was for sale. When I returned home I looked it up on the internet. There was a 17th century house in a poor state that had been occupied by Sinclair. His grave was near the house. He was an important figure in the town during the late 18th and early 19th century and had been instrumental in the construction of the harbour to serve the important fishing fleet at that time. In addition there was a modern house that looked in good condition and 11 acres of land. All this was for sale at £395,000.

It was a pleasant morning and all went well for a while until I developed a slight stomach ache. A dismantled railway ran parallel to the road for a long stretch. I checked but it didn't seem possible to walk along it. I was finding that the A99 was almost as busy as the A9. This surprised me as I thought that more of the traffic would have gone to Thurso. I passed a couple of brochs close to the road. At Thrumster I could have turned off and walked along a coastal path but it was extra distance on a path of uncertain quality so I decided against it.

When I entered Wick I coincided with the X99 1345 bus. It was taking on passengers as I passed by. Dunbeath was up on the front as the destination although I believe it connected with an onwards bus to Inverness. For a moment I was tempted but I walked on into Wick. At the station I bought a single ticket to Inverness for £12.35. This was not bad for a journey lasting 4 and a quarter hours. The route goes through Thurso.

At Morag's café I had potato soup, a sandwich, tea and a slice of malt loaf. There was a big development site in the centre run by Morgan Sindall but mostly the town looked depressed. There was a Court House and some of the buildings looked quite grand to reflect Wick's status as a royal borough. An impressive bridge crossed the Wick River.

Today 13.75 miles; total 1792.53.

At King's Cross Station there's a very cheerful barista working on Nero's Coffee Stall. He is slightly built, southern European at a guess, with a large smile and a lively manner. He exchanges banter with the rest of the staff and with the customers. I mention him as he has an endearing habit of stamping one's Nero loyalty card several times instead of once for a single cup of coffee. As one gets a free cup of coffee for every 10 stamps on one's card, this must attract custom. In front of his position on the Nero counter, there is a glass tumbler brim full with coins. No doubt customers like to recognize his generosity. After paying for my coffee I only had 1p of change left. I didn't insult him by placing this in the tumbler. Perhaps I shall have an opportunity to make up for this sometime in the future.

Last night I stayed in the Mercure Inverness (£72 B & B). After a kipper fillet this morning I caught the 9.40 coach at Inverness Bus Station to Wick. I had to change coaches at Dunbeath and the journey took about 3 hours. As the coach left Tain I had a view across Dornoch Firth of a rainbow against low clouds. These clouds completely obscured the land on the far side of the Firth. In Wick I went back to Morag's Café for soup and a sandwich.

I left Wick at 1.30 pm on a path following the Wick River. My map showed a path alongside the river all the way to the B874. Unfortunately it came to an end on a hillock topped with a few large stones. I could see no trace of an onward path. This forced me to cross several fields and barbed wire fences to reach the road.

The land was flat with plenty of sheep and cattle. At Sibster I turned north to Reiss. A mobile post office was parked in this village. There was some new building in progress. At Reiss I took the B876 to Killimster in order to keep away from the main road (A99). As I approached Killimster I saw a memorial by the roadside. In the last war there had been an airfield nearby. From there Hudson bombers had towed gliders to Norway in an attempt to damage the Nazi heavy water plant and delay the development of an atom bomb by Germany. About 35 men died including members of the Australian Air Force. At Westerloch I had to join the main road and a sign told me that John O' Groats was 11 miles away.

The A99 took me quickly to Keiss. I had walked 9.93 miles today in a shade over 3 hours. It didn't really get dark until 6.30 pm as it was a fine evening. As I was early I didn't check in to the Sinclair Bay Hotel straight away. Instead I walked down to the harbour. From there I could see across Sinclair Bay to Noss Head and a coastline of cliffs to the south in the direction of Wick which was on the far side of that headland.

Total distance now 1802.46.

Last night I ate a solitary meal in the lounge bar. There were lively conversations in the public bar. The meal was served by a slightly taciturn woman. She and her husband are the owners. I chose fishcakes followed by lasagne accompanied by a pint of McEwens.

I took breakfast at 7.45. There were a couple of young lads breakfasting at the same time. The woman hadn't taken the booking so didn't know anything about them. She thought they might be working at Sub Sea 7 just down the main road where the pipe line comes in. She and her husband had been at the hotel for 8 years. She was English and he came from Johnston near Glasgow. His educated accent didn't sound very Scottish. He'd told me the previous evening that I wouldn't be able to get a broadsheet at the shop across the road. Only 2 or 3 members of the community would read them so it wasn't worth the shop's while to stock them.

I set out at 8.30 and passed Keiss Castle which was the home of the Duke of Caithness for a while but looked empty now. Nearby was an old castle standing on top of the shore. I stopped to look at the first Baptist Church in Scotland dating from 1750, the gift of one of the Sinclair family. Apparently it's still in use. At Auckergill I saw the Broch Centre but it only opens during three summer months. Later in Freswick I saw Freswick House down by Freswick Bay. It looked interesting.

Beyond Warth Hill I reached a crest in the road and saw what lay beyond. I felt acute disappointment at the sight of distant hills ahead to the north. A sign some way behind had announced that the Seaview Hotel John O' Groats was 2 miles ahead. But a few steps more revealed a strip of water separating the mainland from islands offshore. The hills were on the Orkney Islands. Treeless brown moorland stretched down to the Pentland Firth. There was not a house to be seen. The lie of the land concealed my destination. A short distance more and I came to the first building of consequence: the John O' Groats Guest House (no vacancies). Why didn't they just say they were closed? At the Post Office there were a couple of pumps outside selling petrol and derv. Inside there was an Independent. The woman serving thought Duncan at the Seaview Hotel would give me tea or coffee but they did no baking there. I walked on close to the shore past a modern development of self-catering cottages. There was a clothes shop with a café under the same roof. The scone, cake and pot of tea would last me until the evening. There was a sign to Duncansby Head, 2 miles to the east. Outside the Seaview a coach had arrived and the passengers were queuing up to enter the hotel. My hat blew off and I walked deliberately after it as it moved away from me each time the wind gusted. The coach driver suggested I moved a bit faster.

I now took the A836 towards Castletown (15 miles away). I'd walked 9.19 miles to John O' Groats so that made my total mileage from Brighton to “the end of the road” 1811.65. After Huna I left the main road to join the cycling route which followed a minor road almost the whole way to Castletown. I soon passed through Canisby which had a school. The map suggested that it also had a Youth Hostel but the building was up for sale and looked empty. Showers alternated with spells of sunlight. Back near Freswick I'd seen a double rainbow. Near Mey I walked through a large forestry plantation. I passed close to Barrock. Over towards the A836 I could see what looked like sand dunes but they could have been heaps of spoil.

Over the last couple of days I've seen birds flying together like starlings, all changing direction at the same time in an ever shifting shape. Sometimes they fly close to the ground and never climb very high. Near Castletown I approached a rookery in tall trees around some farm buildings. When I was 75 yards away I shot up both arms to see if they'd react. Hundreds of rooks rose as one and the sky was dense with circulating birds. I was entirely within their power but they showed no aggression.

The Castletown Hotel was in the main street of Castletown. My mileage today was 24.19 making the total 1826.65.

My meal last night was served very quickly; too quickly. That probably means that everything was cooked from frozen. The chicken breast in whiskey sauce was OK but the vegetables, particularly the potatoes, didn't taste as if they'd been freshly prepared and then cooked.

Breakfast was served at 7 am. I said Good Morning to the only other occupant of the room and he ignored me with a scowl. The breakfast was pre-cooked and one made one's own toast. Everything was Help Yourself except for the tea or coffee. It was still a very adequate breakfast in the Castletown Hotel. When I left the reception desk was unmanned so I rang the bell. The chef came to take my payment of £40 for the room and £16 for the meal and pint of John Smiths. The chef and I agreed that its being the only hotel in town gave the Castletown Hotel “a competitive edge”. He had a plaited beard the like of which I cannot remember having seen before.

I was on my way by 7.45 when it was still quite dark. At McColls next door they told me the National papers hadn't yet arrived. I wanted the route by minor road to Thurso to avoid the A836 so I walked down the main street in search of it. An enormous number of rooks became evident, making a tremendous noise. They settled densely on a couple of trees looking like a copious crop of black fruit. Rooks are certainly social and garrulous. Those that couldn't find a place on the two trees flew around or settled on the roof ridges of adjacent houses. It looked to me as if they were trying to settle their programme for the coming day. I eventually found the road I wanted next to the hotel.

The minor road took me away from the A836 at an angle of 45 degrees. My notes told me it was 12 miles to Thurso by this route so I had to be brisk to catch the 1305 train to Inverness. I got it badly wrong. It was only 6.44 miles to Thurso Station. This made my total 1833.09

I climbed up through farming country to a height of just over a hundred metres. At the top I looked back on the Orkney Islands receding to the east. The deluge threatened by the forecasters had not yet started. In fact the rain waited until just before the start of my train journey. At a road junction I turned towards Thurso and, almost immediately, saw three ostriches in a field. At least that's what I thought they were. They seemed a bit too small and too white for ostriches.

I arrived in Thurso with three hours to spare. After buying my train ticket I wandered around the town. None of the big coffee chains had opened here so I chose Johnsons of Thurso to have my coffee. The staff wore caps with the name of the shop. The attendant asked me if I wanted a milky coffee. I enjoyed this with a Florentine at the modest cost of £2.75. After a while I had another coffee with a fruit slice at the same price. I spent quite a time there reading the Independent I'd bought in the Coop on the edge of town. I then bought “Marrying the Mistress” by Joanna Trollope at a charity shop and bought a simple lunch at a sandwich shop. My cheese and tomato roll was prepared by a youngish woman with metal implants on her face. I strolled back to the station through a park adjoining the River Thurso.

The town had been almost entirely without colour when seen from higher ground but I discovered its advantages later. It had some handsome buildings and its great men had statues to commemorate them. A notice told me of a baker who had built up a comprehensive collection of the local fauna, achieved wide renown in the botanical world and died penniless. There was an art gallery, also a delicatessen and off licence of an apparent high standard. I didn't notice any restaurants but I wasn't really looking. There were lots of churches.

I had the thought that this might have been the end of my journey but quickly decided that I wanted to continue.