Around Britain

Days 230 to 241: Chepstow to Barnstaple

Day 230, Monday 9th August 2021

I woke to the sound of rain but it stopped before I went down to breakfast and never returned. Three Tuns Inn served an excellent breakfast at 8 a.m. They'd promised vine tomatoes on the form I'd completed for them last night. The tomatoes on my plate were still attached to the vine so there couldn't be any doubt about them being genuine. They're a world away from the tinned specimens served up by some places. The tattooed middle-aged man who presided had worked there for several years and was clearly proud of the establishment. When they had live music the queue snaked a long way down Bridge Street. He told me that they had a particularly nice crowd of customers and, in all the years he'd been there, they'd never had to throw anyone out.

On the advice of this man I climbed up the town on the A48 to a roundabout where the road crossed the A466. At that point separate lanes for walkers and cyclists set off for the Severn Road Bridge which takes the M48 over the river. A hedge at least twice my height concealed the bridge's box girders from view although I glimpsed the downstream bridge taking the M4 across the Severn. I reached a point where I was offered an alternative route that went via Aust, a village on the far side. I'd assumed there'd only be one path for walkers and cyclists so I hesitated. At that moment a strongly built man with “South Africa” emblazoned on his cap hove into view. I asked for his advice. Since I was headed for Avonmouth, he said, I should definitely take the downstream option. He told me that he crossed the bridge every day (presumably twice if he wanted to return home). In high winds the bridge was sometimes reduced to a single lane of traffic. That gave vehicles a chance to recover if the wind blew them off course. In such conditions the downstream crossing for walkers and cyclists was shut as it was more exposed. I commented on the extent of his local knowledge but he said that he'd been in this country for several years. He asked me whether I was just up here for a few days to wander about so I told him briefly about my Around Britain project.

At first the bridge crossed the River Wye and a spit of land between the Wye and the Severn ending on Beachley Point. Playing fields and the village of Beachley stretched out below. Offa's Dyke begins just north of Beachley. Then I was over the Severn itself with a view of the other and longer Severn Road Bridge downstream. There were not many on the bridge at about 10 a.m. One runner went past me, a group of six, including two adolescent girls, two cyclists and one of those cycles propelled by someone lying on his back. They seem so uncomfortable and dangerous.

On the far side I set off on the road south ignoring the Road Closed signs. Normally these only apply to motor vehicles. Unfortunately in this case there was a massive reconstruction project involving numerous men and machines. Clearly they wouldn't be letting me through so I consulted a local woman walking her dog. She advised me to cross the A403 into the village of Aust and to take a footpath called the Two Bridges Loop. Quite soon this path was enclosed on both sides by large metal barriers and there were warnings of construction traffic. The path took me to Northwick Church Yard where only the tower of the church remained. From there I took the B4055 over the M4 and then through Pilning and finally to Severn Beach (a village on the Severn just downstream from the M4 road bridge). My plan was to walk the Severn Way Coastal Path to Avonmouth, then catch the train into Bristol for a connection to the Paddington train. I reached a wide walkway above the beach and turned south with confidence. Then I saw yet another construction site blocking the promenade. I descended onto a parallel road with the idea of getting beyond the workings and rejoining the Severn Way. At the end of the coastal road I reached a field. Entry to this was blocked by uncompromising steel barriers so I was denied any hope of further progress. The construction stretched as far as I could see into the distance. I had to bale out for want of any viable alternative in the time available. At Severn Beach Station I caught a train at 2.35 to Lawrence Hill. There I caught a replacement bus to Bristol Parkway as Bristol Temple Meads was undergoing renovation work. Construction gangs now rule the world.

At Bristol Parkway confusion reigned. At a price I exchanged my London ticket for another that allowed me to take an earlier train. There were regular announcements of trains being delayed or cancelled. My train was about 30 minutes late and it had to go backwards for quite a way in order to avoid a points failure. Still, I had a seat to myself with no one beside me. I arrived back in London in time to eat a much needed meal as I'd only had hotel biscuits to sustain me since breakfast.

9.45 miles; total 3247.86

Day 231, Sunday 19th September 2021

I caught a train at Paddington for Bristol Temple Meads. Both tubes and trains seem to be busier now.

My train arrived a bit late into Bristol. I asked at Information about the next train into Severn Beach and I was told it was at 10.58. That looked bad as it was already about 11.00 but the train was delayed. I had time to buy my onwards ticket from a ticket seller on the platform. I then saw that the next train to Severn Beach was at 4.23. My good fortune had saved me almost three and a half hours.

At Severn Beach I decided to follow the A403. It passed through a heavily industrialised area but I hoped it wouldn't be too busy on a Sunday. There was a good path for pedestrians and cyclists. For long stretches I followed Cycle Route 41. This left the road for long spells to pass through dense woods and undergrowth on both sides. A few cyclists were using it but I saw no pedestrians.

By a lorry park I came upon an amazing shrine to someone called Jordan Tucker who lived from 1992 to 2012. There was what appeared to be a wedding photo. His wife had planted her bare leg on a piece of furniture in front of Jordan. Although 9 years had passed there were two large bouquets of fresh flowers. A number of stone replicas of books bore laments. A red light bulb suggested that the shrine was lit up at night. A football indicated one of Jordan's interests. A garden gnome offered no insight into Jordan's character or pursuits as it's doubtful that he had any time for gardening. His appearance and youth suggested a life lived at a cracking pace. Was speed on the road nearby the cause of so tragic an early death?

In Avonmouth a young man wearing just a pair of shorts jumped out of a car that he'd just parked. He was bellowing with anger, anguish and frustration and seemed quite out of control, hammering his fists on the side of the car. I picked up speed, hoping that he wouldn't look in my direction. Someone, perhaps a woman, sat in the car without showing any reaction to her partner's behaviour. I didn't linger to see whether there were any subsequent developments.

At Avonmouth a giant bridge takes the M5 over the Avon towards the South West. On the walkway I climbed steadily towards the apex, looking down on the housing estates of Shirehampton. On my side of the road, I counted four lanes and a hard shoulder. The other side I couldn't see behind the central barrier but, if it was the same, that meant the road was 10 lanes wide. Such was the weight of traffic on a Sunday afternoon, that width seemed essential.

On the far side I joined Cycle Route 26 headed for Portishead. Almost at once I came upon another but very different shrine. It had been set up 15 years after the death. I could see no clue as to the name, age or character of the deceased. A T-shirt draped over a fence might have belonged to him or her. Someone called 'Dad', who was actually the Grandad, had left a message. Perhaps the deceased's father was dead or departed. There was no sign that the shrine had been re-visited after being set up. Other messages were just printed cards, nothing hand-written or personal.

Cycle Route 26 took me most of the way to Portishead. It skirted round enormous asphalted areas where hundreds of cars were parked. There were no work places nearby and this was a Sunday so I assume that the cars are just waiting to be sold or exported.

The Ibis Budget hotel is well placed near the Portishead marina. There's a choice of restaurants and the Waitrose cafe, I was assured, offers breakfast at 7.30. That seemed better than the packaged breakfast offered by Ibis. I enjoyed an Italian meal at Bottelino's overlooking the marina.

Distance today: 10.63. Total 3258.49

Day 232, Monday 20th September 2021

The giant Waitrose supplied both the FT and the Times but their cafe was closed due to staff shortages. Instead I went to the cafe at Kestrel Court, an office park. This didn't open until 8 but a man was taking in deliveries. He said gruffly that they'd give me a coffee but no food would be prepared until 8. I waited a few minutes and then a more friendly girl asked what I'd like. I chose a latte plus a croissant and a pain au chocolat that I could see on the counter. These was all served quickly and the girl had warmed up the food. By 8.10 I was on my way.

I found my way out of the Portishead central area without much difficulty. I then walked on a raised minor road looking out over the Bristol Channel across to Wales. The water was a slightly darker shade of blue than the sky. It was the perfect day for walking as the temperature had plunged overnight and it never became too hot.

I joined the B3124 at Walton in Gordano and was soon in Clevedon. My friends, Christopher and Juliet Hall, have a daughter living there with her two children. There was a long standing arrangement that I'd meet up with them, but this trip was arranged at such short notice it proved impossible. Both Christopher and Juliet sent me supportive emails.

I left Clevedon on the B3133 via Kenn where stocks (for punishment) were displayed at the roadside outside a pub. The road was very busy but I hoped for an improvement when I turned off towards Kingston Seymour. Almost at once a giant lorry confronted two woman on horseback. The lorry stopped but its sheer size agitated the horses. As the horses backed away from the lorry a large tractor with a trailer appeared from the opposite direction. I walked straight into the middle of this but stood away from the scene at the side of the road. The women, wrestling capably to control their horses, both thanked me for my forbearance. The traffic backed up in both directions but I made my escape before it all became disentangled.

As I entered Kingston Seymour a problem weighed on me. The River Yeo stretched all the way from the sea to the M5 and beyond. The only possible crossing point was at a sluice. There was no public right of way so I'd have to cross private land. I stopped a man in the village walking his dog and sought his advice. He said he'd never walked there but it was 'dodgy'. He suggested an alternative which involved going under the M5 but couldn't assure me that there was any way back that would take me to Weston-Super-Mare. He told me that Mr Coles, the farmer at Yeo Bank Farm who owned the area around the sluice, was 'a nice man'.

I ventured down Bank Lane, a dead end, towards the farm. As I did so, I decided not to attempt a furtive trespass. Either I got permission to cross the river or I'd have to return to Clevedon with my day ruined. At the farm gate a large dog turned out to be very friendly, hitting my legs with his wagging tail. I suspected that very few people came that way even though a notice board indicated a camp site nearby. Although the dog seemed delighted to have my company, the message on the gate was less welcoming: 'Do not enter. This property is private. There's no public right of way whatever Google Maps may say.' I briefly considered returning to Clevedon without further ado but suppressed that thought as I had to try.

I entered and soon reached the farm house where two young girls were playing in an enclosed courtyard. One of the girls told her mother inside the house that 'There's a man'. She emerged and I said that I wanted to speak to Mr Coles to request permission to cross at the sluice. She rang her husband and then handed me the phone. I explained that I knew that there was no right of way but there was no alternative way of getting over the river this side of the M5. I said that I was doing a coastal walk and that Weston was my next destination. Mr Coles thought that I was doing a lot of road walking for a coastal walk. I explained that the MOD owned a lot of coastal property which was off limits to walkers. More significant were all the rivers where I had to venture far inland to find a bridge to cross. Mr Coles relented and gave me permission to use the bridge over the sluice. After this exchange with her husband Mrs Coles was friendly and asked whether I'd seen the herons on the water filled ditches at the side of Bank Lane. I hadn't but surmised that there had to be fish to attract the herons. She confirmed this and said someone had caught a fish like a sea bass. She went into the house briefly and emerged holding the fish. It had been prepared for eating and looked sizeable. Mrs Coles than directed me to the sluice. She mentioned that her husband didn't own the land on the far side of the Yeo.

After crossing I took a track which crossed a waterway and passed close to a farm. My map showed a minor road ahead. As I crossed a field on a fading track, a large tractor towing a trailer appeared through a gap in the hedge. I waved it down and explained that Mr Coles had allowed me to use the bridge over the sluice and that I was now heading for the road nearby. The farmer gave me instructions how to reach the road for which I thanked him.

I was now close to the hamlet of Bourton and I followed the cycle route from there to enter Weston. This is a substantial town and I got through it on the B3440. I stopped at a garage for a cup of hot drinking chocolate provided by Costa Express and a pain au raisin. Then I pressed on leaving Weston on the A370. I left this at Bleadon and headed south on a minor road that eventually passed through Wick. I had occasional views of Brent Knoll which rose above the low lying land all around it.

I had a disturbing call from my hotel in Burnham-on-Sea. The proprietor wanted to close down reception and leave my room key in a safe that could be opened with a code that she'd send me by text. This wasn't the sort of welcome I relished after walking for over 10 hours. The woman also told me that the hotel had no restaurant so I'd need to find my supper and breakfast elsewhere. When I expressed disappointment at all this the woman explained that the hotel had just 20 rooms and there was only herself, her husband and their child to run it. A current trend seems to be that many hotels can't find kitchen staff or can't run kitchens economically so they just provide rooms. I fully understand this provided there are restaurants nearby.

The arrangement with the room key worked well and I found a Wetherspoons close by on the sea front.

Distance today: 27.5. Total: 3285.99.

Day 233, Tuesday 21st September 2021

I woke at 6 am to write up my notes of the previous day. Shortly after 8 am I returned to Wetherspoons for breakfast. It does seem remarkable that they can price a latte at 99p and then offer a free refill. They offered a wide choice of breakfasts. I settled for a mushroom benedict which was perfectly satisfactory.

My schedule today was less punishing. My legs were slightly stiff but my newish sandals had proved themselves: no trace of any blisters. All I had to do now was to ensure that I was in Bristol Temple Meads Station before 4 pm to catch the train for which I'd bought an advance ticket.

I walked along Burnham's sea front. Stert Island is a short way offshore. In 2000 an old tradition was revived when 40 people swam out to the uninhabited island and then back. The mouth of the River Brue is just south of the town so I followed a path inland alongside the river. After navigating a large housing estate in the adjoining town of Highbridge, I reached the A38.

As a boy of about 10 I recall being bought to Burnham by my grandparents to see my great aunt Drucilla, my grandfather's sister. She never married but had a male lodger caller Mr Perrott. They probably had little experience of dealing with small boys. However, we passed the time by playing catch with a ball they produced from somewhere.

I crossed the River Brue in Highbridge and headed south on the A38. The road was busy but it did have a pavement. At Huntspill I left the main road for a walk through quiet countryside with almost no traffic. Huntspill pre-dates the Saxons as Roman artefacts have been found near the route of the A38. The area is very flat and the village has been flooded several times over the centuries including in 1607 in the Bristol Channel flood. Shortly after leaving Huntspill I crossed a substantial waterway called Huntspill River. This empties into the River Parrett near its mouth.

During this diversion I passed through the quiet hamlet of Stretcholt. There had been no signpost referring to it on the road leaving the A38. Perhaps it preferred to be unnoticed by the outer world. There were a few farms and and houses. Nearby, someone had left out on a table several trays of apples inviting passers by to help themselves. I took one and very good it was.

At Pawlett, a large village, I rejoined the A38. It still had a pavement. At first I was in open countryside on both sides apart from a land fill site and one or two car dealerships. After the roundabout at Dunball the road hosted numerous industrial and commercial concerns and this remained so right up to the centre of Bridgwater. At the station I caught the train to Bristol Temple Meads where I arrived almost two hours before my 4 pm train to London.

Distance today: 9.84. Total 3295.83.

Thursday 28th October 2021

This day has not been numbered and you'll see why if you read on.

Today I'd booked a train from Paddington to Bridgwater changing at Taunton. When I checked my emails early I saw that Trainline had sent me a message at 1 a.m. telling me that my train from Taunton to Bridgwater had been cancelled. Whilst on the Taunton train I asked the ticket inspector about this. She told me that earlier trains had been cancelled for want of staff but my train was now running. As I waited for it on Taunton Station I heard that the next Penzance to Paddington train had been cancelled for the same reason.

I set out from Bridgwater Station in overcast but dry weather. It's a big town and I only really escaped it when I reached Durleigh. There was a big construction site beside the Durleigh Reservoir. Workers crossed the road I was on by means of a temporary bridge so that they could get from one side of the site to the other. A notice announced that the construction was of a new Water Treatment Centre to improve water quality in the area.

Continuing on a minor road I saw a couple of pubs and the Club House for a golf course and reached Enmore which had a 12th century church. Ahead I could see a ridge of Quantock Hills which I now started to climb towards. By 3 p.m. I'd been walking just over 2 hours when the rain started. It didn't stop but varied in intensity.

After a closed pub near Timbercombe I turned into a quiet lane which took me to a road. On the far side of this road was a farm track and I took this believing it would take me to a road a couple of miles south of Nether Stowey, my destination for that night. At this point I was moving from O.S. Map 182 to 181. A careless error caused by my misaligning the two maps meant that I was some miles further south than I intended to be. I didn't realise this at the time. When the farm track eventually reached a road I thought this was the correct road although I was suffering doubts. These doubts were confirmed when I checked Google Maps. It seemed that I was so far from Nether Stowey that I couldn't hope to reach it before dark. I didn't really know where I was and Google Maps wasn't much help apart from confirming that I wasn't where I ought to be. Trying to make sense of my predicament in the relentless rain was proving difficult.

A large tractor approached me going in the opposite direction to myself. On impulse I flagged it down. I told the driver of my plight and he kindly invited me up to sit on the passenger seat. He said that the nearest village was West Bagborough. There was a pub there where I might phone for a cab. He'd set me down on the road to that pub before he turned off. We got talking and he asked me what I did for a living. He said he was a developer and owned two farms locally. In the end he took me to the Rising Sun in West Bagborough and put in a word for me to a member of the staff who happened to come out as we drew up. I thanked Tim effusively. We shook hands and he went on his way. Without his intervention I've no idea what my fate would have been.

In the pub I ordered a pot of tea. It was 4.30 so the two young staff members were not yet busy. The girl rang numerous taxi firms but they didn't seem prepared to drive out to such a remote location. I began to think of taking Bed and Breakfast where I was when a cabbie based in Watchet said he'd pick me up at 6.15. In the circumstances the wait was immaterial so I sat down close to a radiator as the pub filled up with customers for the restaurant. The tea and the trouble I'd caused was certainly worth the £10 I gave the staff.

Taximan Andy came at the appointed time and drove me to The Ancient Mariner in Nether Stowey. He said that many people in the area worked just hard enough to make a modest living so that explained why taxi firms weren't prepared to pick me up. Apparently construction of the nuclear power station Hinckley C on the coast nearby had brought 5,000 contractors to work in this area so that had provided a significant economic boost for the locals.

Friday 29th October 2021

I forfeited breakfast in order to catch the only Nether Stowey bus of the day at 8.08 a.m. It took me to Bridgwater bus station where I caught an onwards bus to Taunton. Many bus stations have changed dramatically. At Bridgwater there was no office where you could seek information and buy tickets. A driver told me that I could buy tickets on the buses except for the London bus where I needed to book a ticket online beforehand. Bury St. Edmunds, where I live, has dispensed with its old style bus station office. I later found that Taunton bus station had also succumbed to this trend. On the third leg of my journey I reached Minehead by bus and checked into my hotel.

On Friday afternoon I walked to the seafront where I discovered a statue marking the spot where the West Somerset Coastal Path ends and the South West Coastal Path begins. The SWCP goes all the way to Poole in Dorset, 630 miles away. I walked along it for a while passing The Old Ship Aground Pub. This was where members of the TRA stayed a few years ago when we ran up to Dunkery Beacon on Exmoor and back.

If the SWCP is reliable I intend to stay on it for the duration. However, there is the small matter of getting from Bridgwater to Minehead first. I will certainly follow an alternative route.

Day 234, Thursday 24th February 2022

This is very early in the year to re-start Around Britain. However, the forecasts suggested something better than recent storms. I decided to risk it despite a cough and cold that I cannot shake off.

On the train I studied the maps for today's section from Bridgwater to Nether Stowey. To my horror and shame the copy maps didn't include a vital linking section on Map 181 close to my destination. OK, I've had a lot on my mind recently but, given the travails of last October, I might have spared myself this.

On arrival in Bridgwater I made for the Tourist Information Office in High Street thinking they had to have maps. I never found it but tried WH Smith instead. They had both maps and I studied them closely. I tried to remember the details as I wasn't going to buy a map I already had. I passed the striking spire (built 1367) of St Mary's Church and soon reached the A39. I followed this through Wembden and reached a roundabout out in the countryside off which the B3339 led back eastwards. At this point I left the A39 on a narrow road in the direction of Spaxton. The area through which I now travelled was so remote that there were no road signs at junctions. The justification for this must have been that no one ever went there except locals who didn't need signs. Alternatively, there might not have been anywhere in the vicinity deserving of a signpost. I passed farms and two lines of pylons. The sky's pattern changed rapidly with white clouds and grey driven by a lively wind. Twice I was caught in short-lived squalls, one accompanied by minute hail stones. Stretches of the road had sunk into the earth with high banks surmounted by hedgerows on both sides. On the rare appearance of a vehicle I stood still or made additional efforts to get out of the way. Every single driver acknowledged my consideration for them with a wave.

From Four Forks there was much housing. Spaxton had a 15th century church with elements from earlier centuries. I turned right towards Radlet. A sign indicated Nether Stowey to be 3 miles distant. Soon I entered the area left out of my map copies but signposts took me towards my destination. When I reached a cross roads Nether Stowey was 1 mile ahead but that way the A39 lay in wait probably without pavements. I stopped bemused by my predicament before a voice said 'Can I help you?' There was no one I could see nearby but the voice said 'Look up.' A man was speaking from an open window at first floor level from a house at the cross roads. I explained my dilemma and the man started to direct me to a footpath. I wanted a road that avoided the A39 so he instructed me to turn left and then right at the next cross roads. I entered Nether Stowey just after 5 p.m. and was welcomed by Lynne and Ian Pearson and their over exuberant dog Jasper.

The regulations for the room were well drawn but I did think the provision permitting the hosts to ask a guest to leave with no reason given was harsh. Not so unreasonably, one was required to agree that damage to the room could be charged to one's credit card. Loss of profit could also be charged to the extent that the room was rendered unusable. Clearly I was going to have to be very careful. Later I came down the stairs bringing the form that I was required to sign, saying that that these must have been drawn up by a lawyer. Lynne admitted that Ian was a lawyer.

There were no other guests and the table for the 'simple meal' I'd reserved was laid for three. The dog lurked nearly and was clearly intent on sharing my portion of cottage pie. I couldn't fend him off and eat at the same time so he was eventually secured by a short rope to a hook on the wall. Lynne soon left to attend a meeting of her book club. Ian and I chatted for a couple of hours. The two of them had walked for several days along the Great Wall of China. They'd also walked the pilgrimage route from St Jean Pied de Port to Santiago di Compostela. Neither of them were in the least bit religious but they wanted a good walk. Despite the facilities offered to pilgrims, they had often stayed in comfortable hotels and eaten in good restaurants. Lying awake in communal dormitories listening to the snoring didn't seem to have appealed.

Ian had started as a filing clerk at BP but was advised to transfer to IT. Instead he opted for the legal department. Subsequently he'd worked at Linklaters and Nabarros. He'd written a guide to negotiating and drafting settlements of employment terminations. He'd also written a Guide to the Coleridge Way starting nearby at the cottage where Coleridge had lived. Ian advised me to switch my route the following day to that path and sketched for me the early part of the journey.

Distance today: 9.06. Total 3304.89

Friday 25th February 2022

My cough became worse overnight and I felt unable to take on a longish day. Ian advised me to catch the free Community Bus to Minehead. The bus was supplied by Hinckley Point C, the nuclear power station under construction on the coast.

Day 235, Friday 8th April 2022

The Tudor Hotel in Bridgwater was probably the best I've experienced in terms of its staff. The receptionist when I arrived yesterday, the waiter and waitresses in the restaurant last night and the waitress at breakfast this morning were all exceptional. They clearly enjoyed their work and were committed to making the hotel a success. All of them were unfailingly friendly with each other and the customers. The hotel had been founded by two families 60 years ago, had remained independent and was still run by subsequent generations of the same families.

I went to the bus station to catch the Hinckley Point Community Bus to Nether Stowey. As I waited I wandered past the back of the bus station cafe. Through an open door, I saw loos for men and women in a corridor. I thought I might as well take advantage of this. A man sitting at a table beyond the corridor shouted “Hey you – out!” I realised that I'd inadvertently entered the staff quarters and prepared to retreat. Perhaps thinking that his reaction had been unduly violent, the man then said that the nearest loo was in Asdas next to the bus station. He had spoken to me as if I was a tramp, although few tramps have the Financial Times sticking out of a pocket. Probably he thought that I'd picked that out of a rubbish bin to sleep on later. After I left the door was swiftly closed and for the first time I saw the words “Staff Only.”

The bus dropped me in Castle Street, Nether Stowey. My plan was initially to walk the Coleridge Way to Holford. Coleridge had lived in a cottage nearby for several years. The postman didn't know where the Way started and two local girls had never heard of it. I chanced upon a sign with a quill pen and a succession of these signs led me out of the village. I left the road and a clear track beside a stream took me through a forest. I climbed high into the Quantock Hills. Looking back I could see giant industrial buildings upstream on the Severn estuary. The only person I saw was a woman who'd driven to a short road section of the Way to give her two dogs a run. Quill pen signs took me off this road into a wild and lonely place. I was enclosed by the forest and surrounded by hills that soared above me. There seemed no way I could proceed without climbing at least one of them. However, by rounding the shoulder of a hill, I emerged into open country. An extensive vista revealed no people, no road nor building of any sort nor even the slightest evidence of cultivation. At this point the signage at a crossroads was ambiguous. I made the wrong choice and descended into Holford Combe through which a small river ran. At a path junction by the river there were no signs but I worked out that Holford had to be to the east and so it proved. A group of three walkers confirmed that I was heading for the Combe House Hotel. I passed this and entered Holford. I'd decided not to follow Coleridge Way beyond Holford but to take a more direct route to West Quantoxhead. I found what I thought was the right path and the compass confirmed it was headed west. A conversation with a walker coming in the opposite direction indicated that I was on the Hodders Combe path heading south west to Bicknoller. He advised me to keep turning right to get back on course.

The weather was warm and I struggled up a steep hill towards a crest. Suddenly a draught of cold air swept over me. On the crest an extensive panorama opened out. I looked west along the shoreline beyond West Quantoxhead in the direction of Minehead. Over the Bristol Channel Welsh mountains were clearly visible. Nearby a group of wild horses occupied a path I might otherwise have taken.

The route I chose took me to a National Trust property called Staple Plantation. I walked through this until I reached a road on the edge of West Quantoxhead leading me to the A39. I crossed to reach Doniford which had an enormous holiday village just above the beach. Soon afterwards I entered Watchet which claims to have been a port for 1000 years. I had to climb steeply out of Watchet on the B3191. To my relief a sign indicated a two mile stretch of coastal path to Blue Anchor. I was well into this path when a sign announced works ahead due to a cliff fall. The diversion compelled me to retrace my steps to the road. These notices tend to be unreliable but I decided not to risk it on this occasion.

At Blue Anchor there was a pub and a long promenade overlooking the beach. Towards the end of this there was a cafe where I ordered a pot of tea and a scone to energise the final push. I was determined to walk along the coastline to Minehead, whatever the state of the path, as the A39 was the only alternative. Coastal paths are often marked on maps when they have all but ceased to exist. Initially my route lay on large loose stones, perhaps the worst surface for easy walking. I edged towards the single track of the steam railway. This hadn't yet opened for the tourists and I briefly considered walking along the track. These thoughts were quashed by the high protective fence that separated me from the line. Then, to my surprise, an asphalt road appeared from nowhere which took me all the way to Dunster.

At Dunster I walked alongside the biggest holiday village I've ever seen. There must have been hundreds of minute wooden houses side by side. They hardly looked big enough to accommodate a couple let alone a family. Beyond that village another sign indicated the closure of the coastal path to permit repair works after flooding. The works were due to be started in November last year and were estimated to last three weeks. This notice I decided to ignore and pressed on. A rough path between the beach and a golf course led me to Minehead where I'd booked a room in the Old Ship Aground Hotel.

Distance today 17.5 miles; total 3322.39

Day 236, Saturday 9th April 2022

Yesterday a screw came loose on my reading glasses and I lost the left lens. Later I found the lens amongst the coins in my pocket. This morning I called at Spec Savers on Minehead's main street. A woman fixed the problem using a third screw after the first two didn't fit. In the course of this she injured her hand. I offered to pay for the service but she said it wasn't necessary. I then offered compensation for the injury but she wouldn't take that either. I'm not a customer of Spec Savers so this was impressive.

The weather was cool but fine. I passed the remarkable art work that marks the start of the South West Coast Path (SWCP). Two great hands emerge from the ground holding a map showing the full extent of the SWCP from Minehead to Poole in Dorset, a distance of 630 miles.

At the end of the road there's a roundabout for turning vehicles. The path starts at a low level then the climb away for the beach is precipitate. Below is the National Trust property – Greenaleigh Bay consisting of grassy fields and a pebbly shore. At Greenaleigh Farm, steps cut into the hillside begin a further section of fierce ascent. A fit young couple with a dog went past saying that they'd see me later. I said that not with this pack they wouldn't.

I reached North Hill (257 metres) where a couple were having a picnic. I said that I'd taken them to be hardy walkers until I saw the metal from their car gleaming in the sun on the far side of the summit. The woman spoke pleasantly but the man remained silent. Maybe he didn't appreciate my style of talking. About now there was a fork offering the rugged path alternative. I declined the offer.

Shortly afterwards I met at least a dozen elderly walkers resting beside the path. I said that I didn't expect it to be so crowded up here. They were a group from the Holiday Fellowship staying at Selworthy. They questioned me about what I was doing so I told them. They became excited and informed other walkers passing by that I was walking right round the U.K. coastline and that I'd covered over 3,300 miles so far.

The signage on the SWCP is excellent. It's made of wood and indicates not only the SWCP itself but also places and landmarks in other directions. Notwithstanding that I somehow went off route near my destination. A clear path led me to a pile of stones on a summit near Hurlstone Point. I could see Bossington and Porlock on low lying land far below me. There were no signs on the summit so I descended on a steep path which soon disappeared. I latched onto another path which led me slightly uphill in a direction running parallel to a strong path much further down. A couple of deer were retreating from a couple picnicing just above the good path. The deer saw me above the which caused a momentary panic until they made their escape.

The good path led me to Bossington via St. Agnes Fountain. Bossington is owned by the National Trust. Its houses have unusually tall chimneys. Porlock was a mile further inland and I made it to my hotel in the High Street by 3.45 p.m.

Distance today 8 miles; total 3330.39.

Day 237, Sunday 10th April 2022

I started out at 9.30 on another fine day. A young couple walking the SWCP, staying at the same hotel as myself, overtook me early on without even a word of greeting. I remembered they'd also entered the breakfast room at the hotel without saying anything to those already there. Of course, I didn't speak to them either but you need to catch someone's eye first. It's off putting when one's treated like the invisible man.

There was a substantial pebble bank above the beach on Porlock Bay. This normally protects the marshland on the landward side. Sometimes high tides break through the pebble bank and flood the marshland. I reached Porlock Weir which was a dead end with a small harbour at the end of the road from Porlock. I saw the Ship Inn which was at the end of the first stage in Paddy Dillon's indispensable guide to the SWCP. He divides the Path into 45 realistic stages. He sensibly assumes that most of his readers will not be hell bent on beating the record for the whole SWCP of just over 10 days.

After Porlock Weir I started up into the hills. On a short road section I came to the Worthy Toll. This required travellers to make a payment before proceeding. The road provides a scenic alternative to the main road which includes the notorious Porlock Hill with its 1 in 4 gradient. The gradient on the toll road is never steeper than 1 in 14. It was built after the Napoleonic Wars to provide local employment.

The next place of interest was Culbone, a remote settlement inaccessible by road. It was hard to see much reason for its existence. It was high above the sea and surrounded by forest. I saw one person there and four vehicles. These vehicles had to negotiate one and a half miles of earthen track from the A39. The village had a small church with a spire. There were about 11 pews with one box pew for the gentry. This had a decorated encircling wooden barrier and an entry door. The church accommodates no more than 30 and holds services once a fortnight.

Immediately after Culbone a notice stated that the SWCP was closed for repairs after damage caused by Storm Eunice. There was an alternative in open country above the coastal forest via Silcombe Farm. On this I met a French couple and spoke to the woman before realising that she hardly understood any English. I repeated what I'd said in French about them being the first people I'd seen for ages. She smiled at my attempt although I still doubted her comprehension. Anyway we both displayed friendliness before proceeding on our way.

With Lynmouth 7 miles away, the sign directed me back towards the coast and the original SWCP. I assumed that the next section hadn't been damaged. Soon I was confronted by a large tree that had fallen across the path. A small gap in the tangle of branches allowed me through. The constant ups and downs of the track slowed me down and there seemed no end to it. Then, shortly after a sign to County Gate, I came, unexpectedly, onto a road with two impressive gate posts with a boar's head atop each of them. Suddenly I was able to increase speed but it came to a stop all too soon. The road turned out to be the entry drive to Glenthorne House. A notice declared the rest of the drive to be private and I had to take a path which climbed above it. I was never able to see the house.

After a brief ascent, the path levelled out. Two giant trees had fallen over the path and then been sawn up to clear the way. Without that it would have been impassable as the land above and below was very steep and covered in rhododendrons. I reached open land to the east of Foreland Point only to see a notice announcing closure of the section I'd just completed. There was no justification for it but it did explain why I'd seen no one for the entire section.

From above I could see a table and two chairs and another table with a box on it. This turned out to be an honesty cafe. Inside the box were tins of drink, bananas, crisps and orange juice. The proceeds were to go to the preservation of local bird life. One was invited to pay by cash or Paypal. The cash was kept in a plastic box to provide change. I took a banana and put my contribution into the box which already contained several pounds.

I reached a church at Countisbury and passed a pub on the A39. To avoid the road I took a path to Lynmouth, still two miles away, via Alder Hay. The landscape was almost frightening in the gusting wind. The path was high up on a precipitous tree covered slope. After a while I could hear and then see the River Lyn almost directly below so that it was possible to drop straight down into the water. The path descended gradually. By the time I was walking beside the river, I was entering Lynmouth.

My hotel charged £82 but the room was not ensuite. I had a bathroom exclusively for my use over a landing but I thought it a swindle and said so. There was nothing I could do about it as they'd already taken my payment and there probably wasn't anything else available anyway. I should have paid more attention when I booked through booking.com but I never imagined one could pay that price without ensuite facilities.

The hotel didn't serve an evening meal so I had to go out to find one. There was a pub which was incredibly busy with no spare tables in the restaurant. However, they did find me a table in the bar near where musicians were due to play. I ordered soup and roast beef. The soup came with two doorsteps of bread which I couldn't help eating. This meant I lost my appetite and had to leave half my next course. There was a couple sitting next to me. The woman made some remark and a conversation flickered briefly. Then we both received our food and a pianist started to play. Later our conversation resumed. The couple, Roy and Christine, were from Mark, a village near Highbridge, and were taking a short break. Roy did ground work and had his own business. He had a big problem with his knees which meant he had to get other people to do patios. Christine looked after a holiday cottage. The way she spoke I thought the couple had bought the cottage as an investment. That was a misunderstanding but Christine said she looked after it as if it was their own place. They had a daughter who stayed at home to look after the dog. They spoke highly of Mark which they thought was the longest village in England. It had two pubs and a shop. Roy said it was a very friendly place and he picked up work in the pubs. Roy was a keen fisherman and sometimes spent the night out on his hobby. Christine didn't fish but liked to accompany Roy on these occasions. She took a sleeping bag so that she didn't get too cold. I declined the drink Roy offered me as I had to call Polly to reassure her of my safe arrival. There was no reception in the hotel or the pub so I had to wander around in the dark until I found coverage for my phone.

Distance 13.08 miles; total 3343.47.

Day 238, Friday 6th May 2022

Having travelled down from London yesterday, I stayed in a Barnstaple hotel. My plan was to catch an early bus to Lynmouth. The hotel doubled as a health spa. When I went down to breakfast at 7 o'clock there were five men already enjoying the indoor pool. A sixth man, hovering beside the pool's edge, sported an enormous stomach. Perhaps the benefits of an early swim were cancelled out by less healthy activities.

The hotel was on the far side of the Taw Bridge so I had quite a walk to the bus station. Fortunately I caught the 8.50 to Lynton with 10 minutes to spare. Lynton is uphill from Lynmouth. I arrived in Lynton too early for the steam railway which takes people up and down between the neighbouring towns. I picked up papers and began the descent. Many famous poets had visited the area and a local project enabled anyone to post a poem on boards put up for that purpose. Some were good; others were awful as one “poet” acknowledged in the poem itself.

The descent was accomplished by numerous hair pin bends and I reached the pub where I'd had supper on my last outing. Lynmouth's history is dominated by the flooding of the River Lyn that killed 34 people in 1952. Extraordinary rainfall on Exmoor led to the water being, at its highest, 60 feet above its normal level. The Memorial Hall commemorates the tragedy.

Paddy Dillon's Guide indicates 6.5 hours for the next stage to Combe Martin so I was in no hurry. I spent time enjoying a coffee in a cafe near the harbour before climbing back towards Lynton. As I reached the road that hosts the SWCP for a while, I met a group of retirees. They were contemplating a descent, nervously discussing whether or not there were handrails. They expressed amazement that I'd walked up. One said “He's not even breathing heavily.” I admitted that I'd rested on one of the benches placed on the path.

There were several large houses above the road all of which were hotels. This is explained by the sensational view of Lynmouth Bay. The road became a path set in a precipitous slope way above the sea. This path turned into the Valley of Rocks, a dry valley without houses or cultivation. There were plenty of people as the valley is accessible by road.

The next landmark of note was Lee Abbey, an enormous house that is home to a Christian community of all ages and nationalities as I was informed by a notice board outside the property. The community farmed the surrounding land, adopting the latest environmental and sustainability requirements. They partly financed themselves by a toll of £2 levied on vehicles passing on the road adjoining their property. Did this mean that they had funded the construction of the road from their own resources? That question hung in the air unanswered.

Lee Abbey Cottage tea room, downhill from the main building, was closed. When open it is operated by resident members of the Lee Abbey community. No other opportunity for refreshment exists on this stage of the walk except for Hunters' Inn, slightly off route, near Heddons Mouth.

Shortly after Lee Abbey, I saw a man resting in a field. We had a brief chat before I moved on. Later he caught up with me as I took a short break. He was a Baptist minister. He'd been the Chaplain at Plymouth University until two Baptist churches in Plymouth made him a good offer. Now he gives each of those churches two days a week. He'd walked 560 miles of the SWCP. The remaining miles were the most inaccessible from Plymouth. After today's walk he was picking up his car parked at Hunters' Inn and collecting his daughter from a lesson she was attending.

I also met a couple in their fifties during the morning and we spoke briefly. Strangely they came up when I was having the same break, preceding the Baptist minister. This time I had a good conversation with the woman, her partner having gone on ahead. She was a Primary School teacher considering retirement. It was one of her retirement dreams to walk the SWCP. This was a reconnaissance.

Heddons Mouth involved a long descent to ground level, crossing a small river and then undertaking a steep ascent on the far side. Near the top of the ascent I encountered three men in brightly coloured outfits carrying equipment. “Have you seen a man with an injured leg?” I hadn't but the men thought he might have been on a beach.

Later I met a couple of Americans taking a lunch break. One was sprawled on the path. I wondered whether he was the man with the injured leg. He wasn't but they'd seen the same team searching for the man.

I passed Great Hangman, the highest point on the SWCP (1043 feet). There was a long descent to Combe Martin where my phone battery expired although I'd hardly used it. Combe Martin is reputed to have the longest High Street in England and I had no idea where my B&B was. I had to go into the Premier shop to ask. The woman didn't know but used her phone before telling me it was 1.2 miles away. This wasn't what I wanted to hear after my efforts that day but the woman said it was OK as she walked there and back every day between home and work. Also, it wasn't as far as the Dinosaur Park.

Today's stage included 4365 feet of ascent.

Distance 13.5 miles plus an extra 1.2 to the B&B; total 3358.17.

Day 239, Saturday 7th May 2022

My B&B appears to be run by one man without help. There are just the 5 rooms on the first floor. One other table is laid for breakfast apart from my own. The T.V. Offered Netflix, Amazon Prime and others but I was unable to benefit as the controls were impenetrable (but I didn't try very hard). On the shelves inside the windows half way up the stairs were two expensive looking lights each with a silver statue of a lion inside. A room marked private in the entrance hall was guarded by a large shimmering statue of a stag coloured silver. Kipper was on the menu so I enjoyed an excellent breakfast.

After the long walk down the Combe Martin High Street I reached the town centre where I bought a paper. As I climbed up from the beach I noticed what I thought to be a trail of white smoke edging across Combe Martin Bay. When I next had a view I saw that it was a mist and this reappeared at intervals throughout the day. It was almost uncomfortably warm so the mist had a usefully cooling effect. I soon encountered the couple I'd met yesterday. They were walking towards Combe Martin and we had another pleasant chat. A couple of youngish women ran past then stopped. They asked whether they'd missed the turn to the beach. I'd no idea but soon afterwards we reached the turn which led to some steps. They told me it was a superb beach not known to the general public.

After that I must have missed a SWCP sign as I walked down a road that joined the A399. I sought advice from a man walking his dog. We hit it off straight away and had a good talk. He and his wife lived near Ilfracombe. She was very fit and usually walked with him but had recently fallen on her back and sprained it badly. He was from Bristol and had worked for Rolls Royce. Many years ago they'd enjoyed a camping holiday in Woolacombe and agreed that they would move to the area on retirement. They'd walked thousands of miles around here and were always looking for new walks. He broke one of the milder social taboos and asked me what decade I was born in. We exchanged ages. He didn't approve of the holidaymakers who drove down with masses of kit. I carry a small pack and of that he did approve. He said his name was Eric, pronounced Earache by his friends as he loved to talk. I didn't want to check his flow by consulting my watch. Eventually I had to tell him that I was hoping to stay near Woolacombe that night but, at the present rate, I'd hardly get beyond Ilfracome if I continued to enjoy his conversation. He released me with mutual expressions of goodwill.

I saw a Coast Path sign off the A399 into a campsite. I followed this before realising that it led back to Combe Martin. I stopped at Hale Bay for refreshment having been misled by a road sign that I'd reached Ilfracombe. I then climbed the steep slope to Hillsborough upon which Ilfracombe revealed itself as a large town. It had been a significant resort in Victorian times. The SWCP was blocked by works on a drain. There was no one working so I stepped round the barriers and proceeded. There was a long deep trench which did nothing to impede one's progress. I had to move a barrier at the far end of the closed area but was careful to place it back where I found it. There were no SWCP signs to be seen now so I walked in what I thought to be the right direction along a passageway. There was a man ahead of me moving slowly with a pack which I found reassuring. However, I lost him when I entered a shop to buy a drink. Later I reached Torrs Park and reconnected with the Coast Path.

The next place was Lee, three miles further on. Initially the path was very up and down but there then ensued a long section, slightly downhill, upon which I was able to make good progress. Lee had a beach but no shops although there was a pub open for cream teas 400 yards off route. It was tempting but I decided to proceed as I was behind schedule.

After Bull Point, where there was a lighthouse, I made for Morte Point. The cliffs were streaked with white (quartz?) and the sea surged through rocks stretching out into the sea. A notice said that hundreds of vessels had foundered here mostly with the loss of all hands. A sea mist came down obscuring the land ahead. A sign to North Morte Farm proved too tempting so I left the Coast Path to reach a campsite and then the road into Mortehoe. There was no service on my phone so I couldn't home in on my hotel. A woman tending her front garden said it was a long way to the hotel along a dangerous road as it was straight and people drove too fast. She told me of a route across fields which I took. I was walking parallel to the road but, after following a sign along a footpath, I reached a gate off the road. A local couple came through the gate with their dog. They said there was no clear route to the pub off the road so that had to be best route. I was still about 1.5 miles from the pub and anxious to reach it so I went through the gate. I reduce the risk by always walking on the outside of bends. Eventually I reached the pub at 6.30 p.m. I was greeted by name as I approached the bar. Either I was the last or the only single booked in.

Today's distance 13.86 miles (including 1.2 miles down Combe Martin High Street to get back on course); total 3372.03.

Day 240, Sunday 8th May 2022

Another fine day but less taxing for my stiff legs. I retraced my steps of yesterday until Borough Cross where I turned left towards Woolacombe. At Woolacombe Bay Holiday Village the road narrowed and the downhill drop towards the sea steepened. A notice declared it unsuitable for heavy goods vehicles. Only two cars passed me after this point until I reached Woolacombe.

My family had spent holidays in Woolacombe when my sister and I were young. It did have a magnificent sandy beach which stretched all the way to Putsborough further south. My sole recollection of that time is my Grandfather roaring with laughter when I walked into a hole dug in the sand. I shouted out that it wasn't funny which wiped the smile off my Grandfather's face. My sister, Janie, remembers father taking us out onto the beach for physical jerks. He was fanatical about fitness.

An area off the enormous car park had been set aside by the developers for an account of the history of the neighbouring villages of Mortehoe and Woolacombe. I learnt that 25,000 American troops had been stationed here for training before the D-day landings in Normandy. In earlier times 'wreckers' had looted shipwrecks. Apparently they were entitled to whatever they could salvage only if there were no survivors of the wreck. If there happened to be any survivors, the locals killed them. One exception to this was the occasion when well armed troops survived a wreck. There was much local opposition when a lighthouse was proposed for Bull Point nearby as that meant fewer shipwrecks.

As I walked along the beach I was in the company of hundreds of holidaymakers doing the same thing. Their dogs charged into the sea, thought better of it and returned to the beach. I was looking for a way to escape the beach through soft sand and dunes above the usual high tide mark. I thought there was likely to be a path between the coastal road and the beach. Eventually I saw just such a path and numerous footprints in the sand leading towards it. It turned out to be the Coast Path but a wrong turn in the absence of any signposts took me back to the beach. By now there were large houses above the beach and apparent access points were marked 'Private'. Right at the end of the beach there was a way up serving a large campsite and holiday park near Putsborough.

The Coast Path now took me up onto a peninsula. Dozens of other people had decided to walk out to Baggy Point. This was not challenging as the undulations were moderate and the weather ideal. At Baggy Point I turned towards Croyde Bay. Croyde village was packed with young people enjoying the fine weather. There was no shortage of campsites and holiday homes. I passed a shop dedicated to all things related to surfing and then a busy area of ice cream parlours, bars and restaurants. I chose an establishment serving cream teas. It seemed to be a private house that had adapted its front room and garden to serve customers. I sat in the shade of a parasol in the small front garden where I could watch birds on a couple of feeders. Most were sparrows but there was one with bright brown wing feathers and a black bar stretching down from its beak I couldn't identify. The elderly lady serving me had no idea what it was.

I walked up the B3231 for a while until I was able to join the Coast Path. A notice said Braunton (my destination for that night) was 9 miles away, much further than I expected. A check of the map showed that the path went south from Saunton into sand dunes and then came back to Braunton. That seemed a bit pointless. The SWCP returned me to the road and I wasn't able to find the off road continuation so I stuck to the road. As I approached Saunton I could see far below a massive sandy beach with large numbers of people dotted about. Saunton has a large hotel with a tennis court and putting course neither of which were being used.

Soon afterwards I reached Braunton where I stayed that night,

Distance today 11.88; total 3383.91.

Day 241, Monday 9th May 2022

Yet another fine day. I started out around 9 a.m. to walk to Barnstaple Station leaving Braunton on the A361. A sign to the Tarka Trail led me to the Coast Path. The two coincide for long stretches. There was an airfield to the right protected with coils of barbed on top of a high fence. Intruders were threatened with prosecution under the Official Secrets Act. Beyond it at Chivenor were Royal Marine Barracks. Shortly after that I was walking next to the River Taw. It's very wide at this point and more sand banks than water. Initially there were house boats and abandoned hulks at the water's edge. The trail was asphalt, wide enough to take a car. I saw cyclists, runners and walkers, some of the latter with their dogs. Mostly people were friendly. A few avoided my eye by looking down, straight ahead or even looking away to save themselves the strain of greeting another human being. It seems strange to ignore the people with whom one is sharing a path out in the countryside.

In the distance I could see the bridge over the Taw into Barnstaple. This was used by many cyclists including an elderly man whose possessions were carried on a trailer attached to the back of his bike. I arrived at Barnstaple Station with over an hour to spare before my train so I took my ease in the station cafe. Then the train took me to Exeter St. Davids where I changed onto the Paddington train.

Distance today 5.63 miles; total 3389.54