Around Britain

In Penzance last night I stayed at the Beach Club about a mile from the station. I walked there next to the promenade. This was awash with waves breaking on the sea wall. The hotel was staffed entirely, so far as I could see, by Indians. They had opened in October last year and closed just for January and February. Money had not been spared on the building and its furnishings. The staff was extremely polite. The receptionist offered me a glass of Prosecco on my arrival. Each time I approached a door on the ground floor, it was opened for me if a staff member was nearby.

Last night I ate at the Thai restaurant next door but I gave the hotel my custom for breakfast. I asked the Manager where breakfast was being served. The smiling Manager said it would be served wherever I wanted. No breakfast items had been laid out so I hardly knew where to go. Deciding to sit at a table, I left the armchair where I'd been sitting to read my newspaper. After I'd eaten my scrambled eggs the chef came out of the kitchen perhaps seeking some acknowledgement of his efforts. As I waited at a counter for my bill I noticed I list of champagnes on offer up to a price of £99.50. Perhaps I didn't match up to the clientele that they wanted to attract.

The weather today couldn't have been better apart from the blustery wind. I'd decided to stick to the SWCP all the way to Porthleven and then walk inland to my hotel in Helston. The first three miles could hardly have been easier. A wide asphalt path took me to Marazion mostly alongside the railway which included the main line to London. Marazion is faced by St. Michael's Mount linked to the mainland by a causeway covered at high tide. This has been the home of the St. Aubyn family since 1659. The family recently gave most of the island to the National Trust with a large endowment fund subject to a 999 year lease back of the castle and a licence to manage the viewing of the historic castle rooms in conjunction with the Trust.

I walked through Marazion on its main street. A sector of the SWCP had been closed as being dangerous due to unstable cliffs. The road took me beyond the village until a path led me back towards the sea beside a cemetery. After my experiences on the north Cornwall coast the going wasn't arduous. The signage was erratic and I went off route near the village of Perranuthnoe, passing its church, its tower largely covered by lichen. I was headed towards Prussian Cove but at a path junction, there was no sign at all. A woman approached carrying no bag or rucksack so obviously a local. When I asked for guidance, she suggested, if I had no objection, that we walked on together as she was taking the coastal path herself. I learnt that she was a volunteer at a cultural event. This was linked to the annual festival of classical music “Spring Concerts in Cornwall.” The maestros playing at these concerts offered to spend time helping promising students. One instance of this was happening in a small hall in Prussian Cove outside which we were now standing. We entered to see a male pianist seated at a piano with a girl student. There were numerous chairs but only two occupied, perhaps by the girls parents. My companion left as she had duties elsewhere. I sat entranced. They were working on a demanding piece of (I guess) 19th century music. There was a very percussive section but, at the key moment, a sublime melody emerged from all the noise. The transition was difficult to get right so the maestro concentrated on that, showing the girl how to manage it by demonstration and explanatory words. I had to tear myself away after 10-15 minutes. Now I shall be tortured by not knowing the name of the piece and its composer.

Later the path became awkward. My problems were compounded by my hat being blown off. After that it was hardly safe to wear it. I was also inconvenienced by having to hold my trousers up. The elastic cord no longer did the job. Sometimes the turf was cut so narrowly that each foot had to be placed almost directly in front of the other. With all this I often had trouble keeping my balance. I stumbled and suffered pain high up on the back of my left thigh.

At Porthleven I headed inland to my hotel which I only found to the east of Helston through Google Maps. I was out for 9 and a quarter hours. The concert and a tea and cake stop at Praa-Sands were the only breaks.

Mileage: 16.88. Total 3575.27 miles.

By ordering breakfast at 7 a.m. I was able to leave Premier Inn by 8. I'd resolved to avoid Helston so my only chance of an FT was the out of town Sainsburys Superstore on the A394. “Yes, we usually have the FT but today it wasn't in the delivery.” I offered my Ft voucher for a copy of the Times but the pleasant assistant explained that the vouchers had to match up with the papers actually sold. It occurred to me that the Sainsburys shop handling petrol sales might have the FT as they probably sold papers to motorists not using the main store. It did have a solitary FT that I grabbed and offered at the counter with my voucher. The machine operated by the assistant would not recognize the voucher. “But you can see that it's genuine” I urged on the assistant. He overrode the machine.

I had to follow the A3083 for a short way. It's the quickest way to the Lizard but obviously I had to escape the main road as soon as I could. The road followed the boundary fence of Culdrose Airfield. There were two shrines with bouquets of faded flowers and the image of a heart. The fatalities were unlikely to be pedestrians or cyclists as we were well provided for on a separate lane.

Culdrose, just south of Helston, accommodates the Royal Navy's maritime Merlins. 3000 people work there. It's a significant employer for Cornwall and it's worth £100 million to the local economy each year. It's purpose is to supply aviators, engineers and flight deck crews to protect RN ships and submarines.

I left the main road just before the bridge that connects separate sections of the airfield. The number of buildings indicated the large number of people that actually lived on the base.

The minor road I was now on gave me a distant view of Looe Bar. This is a land bridge between the sea and the Looe (a lake) over which the SWCP passes. At Gunwalloe I turned directly south and passed a remote pub at Chyanvounder called Halzephron Inn. The name means “hell's cliffs” in Cornish. The pub was built in 1468 and is linked to salvage operations on ships carrying bullion driven ashore nearby. At Church Cove the road ended near a church. A steep climb took me to a road leading down to Poldhu Cove. Taking coffee and cake at the beach cafe, I noticed next to my table a memorial plaque. This told of two solicitors from Leicester who drowned nearby in 1900. One of them “heroically” attempted to save his companion who'd been swept out to sea by the “strong surf”. The monument had been erected by their friends.

On the far side of the cove, I climbed up to a care home above the bay and discovered that this spot had been the stage for a world changing event in 1901. Marconi, an Italian scientist, unable to get support for his experiments in Italy, had been set up in this place with help from the U.K. Government. He believed that radio waves could enable communication over unimaginable distances. For the crucial test of this theory, Marconi went to Nova Scotia to receive a message transmitted across the Atlantic from equipment set up at Poldhu Bay. So this remote location was the setting for one of the most transformational scientific developments in the history of the human race. The Marconi Company subsequently donated a monument which records the event.

My left leg was sore from yesterday so I decided not to engage further with the SWCP. Instead I entered the village of Mullion and left it on the road to Mullion Cove. I diverted onto the road to Predannack. There I joined a path that ran alongside Predannack Airfield. This had supported operations in Culdrose during the Second World War and was significant enough to have been bombed by the Luftwaffe more than once.

The path was waterlogged so I was constantly steering between patches of mud and water. This came to a head when crossing a stream in a low lying area which had become an ocean of mud. I could only progress by identifying those areas of mud most likely to support my weight. I reached a high gate which only opened towards me. This had the effect of pushing me back into the worst mud that I'd experienced so far. I was able to surmount this obstacle by climbing the gate only to find that conditions beyond the gate were almost as bad. Gradually the land sloped upwards and the path reappeared. It was a relief to reach the A3803 at Mile End although this meant about a mile of road walking before I reached Lizard.

I was out for 8 and a quarter hours today.

Mileage: 13.05. Total 3588.32 miles.

The couple who own the Top House Inn in Lizard had bought it two and a half years ago after the previous owners went bankrupt as a result of the pandemic. They have an excellent chef and the place was really buzzing last night. Breakfast was a delicious piece of smoked hake. It cost me £12 in addition to the £100 I'd already paid for the room. The couple had moved from Thornton Heath for this project.

I went out before breakfast in light rain. The shops catered for tourists There was no Co-op and no papers to be had. It was still raining when I left but it remained light although persistent. One got soaked but neither wind nor rain was battering one into submission. There was no direct road linking Lizard to Cadgwith but a path took me across fields. After Trethvas Farm the path was raised above the fields on an earthen structure no doubt reinforced by brick or stone. Cadgwith. into which one descends from higher land, was right on the coast. It seemed a sleepy place almost without shops. The road swung back inland and, after a steep climb, I reached Ruan Minor. There I found a haven in the form of a Post Office, cafe and stores combined. It was well patronized. I found the FT and bought a coffee. This enabled me to sit down and reorganize my ruck sack with the main objective of protecting the paper from the rain which continued, almost without abatement, all day.

I continued through Kuggar and headed north out of the peninsula on a straight road which crossed the B3283. I saw a sign to Helford (5 miles) just as a young woman on her own pulled up and offered my a lift. I said that I enjoyed walking in the rain. The road signage was good on these minor roads and I reached Helford without having to consult my map, always challenging in the rain when you also have to change spectacles.

I had some difficulty in finding the ferry across the Helford River due to conflicting signs. I'd spoken to a member of the ferry staff this morning to confirm the times they were operating as this is dictated by tides. I was told they were running from about 3.15 p.m. There was a raised platform with a sign to summon the ferry from the far side. If the sign was opened it formed a yellow circle indicating that custom was awaiting the ferry. If the sign was closed it formed a half circle coloured red. It wasn't pleasant waiting on an exposed platform for over half an hour in the rain so I retraced my steps to the Shipwright Inn. A couple waiting with me made the same decision. The kitchen has closed at 2.30 but the barman made me a hot chocolate and sold me a packet of crisps. The cup warmed my hands which had been rendered cold and almost useless. Water had seeped into my gloves.

We returned to the platform and re-activated the sign. At the last minute we were joined by a woman and her dog and two fit young men doing a section of the SWCP. On the far side there was a kiosk on the beach so called there to pay my £7 fare. Other passengers had paid by card.

On the hill out of Helford Passage I caught up with the woman and her dog. The dog was a 12 and a half year old Collie called Shelby. He slowed down considerably when going uphill. The woman lived in Penryn just north of Falmouth so she was local and agreed to put me on the right road to Falmouth where I'd booked my hotel. She contemplated catching a bus at Mawnan Smith but we got chatting and she kept putting off the bus ride. In the end she saw me to the edge of Falmouth.

At one point Juliet suggested that we leave the road and take a cross country route. Unsurprisingly the countryside was a quagmire and I soon fell sprawling in the mud, hurting the back of my left thigh which is becoming a bit of a weakness. Juliet apologised and proposed an immediate return to the road. I insisted that we continued and said that I would be a bit more careful. Juliet was 67 and her life had been shattered 10 years ago when she lost her husband Bill and her beloved companion within a year of each other. I did not express my puzzlement that they were not one and the same but it emerged later that the beloved companion was a dog called Meg. About a couple of years later she acquired Shelby, now her new beloved companion.

When I asked Juliet what her working life had been, she said that she wasn't very bright and it had been difficult for her to find her niche. She tried nursing but kept failing the tests and that lasted for only six months. She then joined the RAF where she met her husband, Bill. As she got married she didn't need to pay a penalty when she left the RAF. After that she did a variety of undemanding jobs to help the family finances. Later Bill also left the RAF and became a psychiatric nurse.

Juliet told me that she'd taken up meditation which had helped her to combat stress. She'd completed the Camino (not for religious reasons as she didn't believe in God) and found it to be a marvellous experience. She thought being educated in a convent had been a significant factor in her disbelief.

We parted on good terms. Although we didn't exchange contact details I told her about my plans for a website and that she'd certainly be mentioned.

By now the rain had stopped but I had an awful time finding my hotel. Google Maps twice lost all coherence so I had to ask passers by for directions.

Today I was out for 10 and a quarter hours.

Mileage: 17.5. Total 3605.82 miles.

I stayed last night at a Guest House in Falmouth. It was hard to find anything sensibly priced. The Greenbank Hotel where I'd stayed in April now charged £335 for the single room that had cost me £71 back then. The Guest House was in an area of middling houses away from the centre, close to Falmouth Town Station. It was a relief to find reasonable accommodation for £70.

The start to today's hike to Mevagissey was delayed by the need to take two ferries to the starting point. The earliest ferry from Falmouth to St Mawes was at 8.30. The earliest time for breakfast was 8 o'clock but I wangled a time of 7.45. I almost decided to forego breakfast as I had a 20 minute walk to Prince of Wales Pier. Ferries also left from the closer Custom House Quay but not until later. I'd ordered a kipper so decided it was churlish to order a kipper and then not to eat it. Surprisingly I was able to eat a full breakfast and arrive at the jetty 10 minutes early without succumbing to acute indigestion.

The ferry was a decent size. One could sit inside if the weather was bad. There about a dozen customers for the 20 minute journey. I bought a combo ticket for £15 to include the onward ferry from St Mawes to Place on the far side of the Percuil River. As we crossed the Carrick Roads on the first ferry it felt like being on the open sea. River Truro empties into Carrick Roads. The Place ferry leaves just after 9 o'clock. The ferryman told me I had time to buy a paper from St Mawes Post Office which overlooks the harbour. I sat next to a woman who'd expressed concern as I lurched from the slippery harbour steps onto a ramp leading to where the ferry was moored. Her subjects were dogs and grandchildren. We maintained a pleasant conversation for the few minutes of the crossing. On the far side her son awaited holding the grandson that she was to look after for a while.

I bypassed St. Anthony and a turning off to St. Anthony's Head. The first place I came to was Portscatho, a sizeable coastal village. I was then forced to do a short spell on the A3708 but escaped onto a dead end road to Pendower Beach. I stopped briefly there for a cup of cocoa. A footpath took me to the far side of the beach where I found a car park and a road that took me to Veryan, a village with about a thousand inhabitants.

I sat on a bench there to take a sip of water and study the map. Opposite was a pub. It didn't seem to offer food so my attention was drawn to a Post Office and Stores nearby. I asked there whether they did a sandwich but they didn't. A man with long grey hair was, I thought, another customer but he disappeared into the back of the shop. I was left in the empty shop to decide whether there was anything that appealed. There was a notice saying that the continued existence of the shop depended on its cash flow so credit could not be offered in future. The long haired man reappeared and we negotiated two scones with jam and a cup of coffee. He offered me a pot of clotted cream for an extra £1.90 but I thought that would make too much of a mess. He said “OK. That's a million pounds.” “That's good,” I replied. “At these prices you can restore the credit facility for your customers.” He reduced the price to £5.90. I was invited to sit on a chair outside with my snack.

The proprietor was unloading goods from his car nearby so we fell into conversation. He had worked in the City in the Money Markets but was relieved to have left that world. He'd bought this business nine years ago and soon became embedded in the community. They lived above the shop in accommodation that included five bedrooms plus a holiday cottage in the grounds. It was a very reasonable living and he certainly preferred it to the north-east where one might be flooded out by thousands of men in football shirts. The Post Office only paid £15 a day which he didn't think commensurate with all the responsibilities. He objected to the people seeking to withdraw large amounts of cash, often £500 and once £1000. He thought this money was for cash payments to tradesmen who sought to avoid tax and National Insurance. He refused these requests on principle. He pronounced Veryan to be a good place. There was a housing estate but he believed all the residents were decent working people.

A road sign indicated that Mevagissey was 11 miles away. The morning clouds dispersed about midday. It became sunny but not uncomfortably hot. The back roads were often narrow, pressed in by high banks of flowers, ferns, nettles, cow parsley and a host of other plants I couldn't name. Whenever a car appeared I stood stock still to let it pass and there was always a waving hand to acknowledge which I acknowledged in my turn. People are, on the whole, well behaved and inclined to be friendly. The newspapers give a rather different impression but fine behaviour isn't good copy.

Between Veryan and Mevagissey I didn't see a single village. I did pass through Tibbs Mills, hardly a hamlet, at the bottom of a 20% gradient where I stumbled upon stopping for a car.

In Mevagissey the streets were without pavements and far too narrow to accommodate traffic. The many visitors dodged the cars. I walked away from the centre to find my guest house for a rest. Later I went out and chose a restaurant which served a rabbit pie that was almost inedible. I mentioned this to the waitress but still added a tip as I didn't see why she should suffer for the inadequacies of the chef.

Today's distance 15 miles. Total 3620.82

There was a very talkative man at breakfast. Nothing he said was of much interest but that didn't stop him. Other guests responded politely but I had my back to everyone so I didn't need to.

I was in no hurry today as my train from St. Austell was at 15.11. I walked back into the town for a paper and looked at the harbour. There were plenty of shops, pubs and restaurants around the centre.

I took the B3273 towards Pentewan where I hoped to transfer onto a minor road. There was an enormous campsite by the beach. By chance, as I approached the village, I saw a sign for the Pentewan Valley Trail. At the start there was a shed offering Cycle Hire. I spoke to the woman at the till and she told me that the trail went all the way to St. Austell. She gave me a map of the Trail and I bought a cup of cocoa by way of thanks for this information.

Initially the Trail is in King's Wood. One can hear the B3273 but the land on each side looks untamed. On the left it resembles a mangrove swamp with trees and other plants growing out of water that comes close to the path. After a while the path joins a track running alongside the St. Austell River.This has been cut straight and is fast flowing. The course had been winding but it's been straightened to minimise flooding. I doubt whether fish enjoy such a stream and I didn't see any. Car parks were placed at intervals near the route to enable locals to take short walks. A couple lavished praise on their dog that had successfully retrieved a lump of wood from the water.

The trail is a just over three miles long and I was now approaching St Austell . A road turned left just after Tregorrick and this road turned into the A390. Once over the main road I was near to St. Austell's town centre. I climbed a steep road up to the station. Eventually a board showed that my train was on time but other trains were cancelled. Today was sandwiched between two strike days so I lacked confidence in my train surviving. The ticket office was open only briefly and then all the staff vanished. Perhaps they'd prefer not to face questions to which there are no comforting answers.

Today's distance 5.16; total 3625.98

The train that took me from London to St Austell was much delayed but, to me, it didn't much matter as my hotel was not far from the station.

When I reached the Duke of Cornwall, the staff had no knowledge of my reservation. I showed then the relevant email on my phone but it was clear that the hotel hadn't been informed. I normally arrange hotel bookings through Booking.com and I thought that I'd used them for this booking. A closer examination of the confirmatory email indicated that the company, although it used the Booking.com banner, was Bedsonline which claimed to be a partner of Booking.com. The hotel told me that they'd experienced a similar problem with two other bookings the previous week.

The sum of £90.21 had been taken when I booked. The hotel had received neither notification nor money. The rate quoted to me was last year's rate. To secure a room I had to pay £130 which included breakfast served at the late hour of 8.30 when the chef started work. The owner agreed to provide me with cereal, yoghurt and toast at 8 o'clock when she arrived. I found her to be very helpful and reasonable. Twice she spoke to Booking.com on the phone. Each time a different person took my number and said they'd phone me shortly but neither ever did that. If they had I'd have told them to warn their customers that a rogue operator was mimicking their banner and to be wary. When I return home I'll contact my credit card provider and ask them to credit the £90.21 to my account.

The Duke of Cornwall was some way east of the town centre. It was built in the 1840s and named after the then infant Duke of Cornwall who eventually, after a long wait, became Edward VII.

I set off at 8.40 in the direction of Charlestown – its harbour is a World Heritage Site. Unfortunately I had a long day ahead and couldn't afford sidetracks so turned off into an area of substantial housing each in its own largish plot. I stupidly walked past an Information Point and found myself on a beach overlooked by earthy cliffs. There was a warning not to get too close to these cliffs. A young man, some way off, shouted some message that I didn't hear. I shouted back, asking him to repeat but he was walking resolutely away in the opposite direction. I passed a woman walking her dog who told that the SWCP followed the top of the cliffs. The route I'd chosen would take me onto the rocks underneath the cliffs. We walked back together to the Information Point where there was an SWCP sign that I hadn't seen The woman told me that they'd bought an old property nearby which they were knocking down as it was in a poor state. Her husband was project managing the new build, something he'd wanted to do for a long time.

The SWCP followed the edge of a golf course on a path on top of the cliffs. A continuous screen of thick vegetation offered only intermittent glimpses of the sea. A path inland took me to Par where a branch line goes to Newquay. After climbing Polmear Hill I came off the A3802 on a minor road. This took me to the Saints Way which I'd already encountered at Padstow on the north Cornish coast. Shortly after reaching Saints Way I met a young woman walking the Cornish Celtic Path. This runs from St German's Priory near Saltash to St Michaels Mount. If one carries the route passport one can make use of budget accommodation in churches. The woman was not relying on that as she carried a large rucksack containing her camping gear. She acknowledged that she had taken the odd taxi or public transport. When she heard that I was headed for Looe that day she reminded me that we were doing this for fun and that we shouldn't make things too hard for ourselves. I didn't explain that, in my case, taking the bus would spoil a 24 year project.

Saints Way took me into the south side of Fowey. An anxious woman asked me whether I'd seen her retrievers. I had to tell that I hadn't seen any runaway dogs. She gave me directions to the ferry and I said that I hoped she'd find her dogs.

Polruan was on the far side of River Fowey which was quite wide as it neared the sea. As I reached the ferry quay I saw that the boat was discharging passengers who'd just come over from Polruan and a few people were waiting to board. A notice said the cost of a single was £2.80 which seemed reasonable in these inflationary times.

In Polruan I joined a queue at a bakery but it was moving too slowly. I climbed the steep hill out of Polruan on my way to Polperro. After a cloudy start the day was now warm and sunny with high humidity. My water supply (two bottles) needed to be managed. Fortunately traffic was light on this minor road. Some cars were so wide that I almost had to climb the sheer banks on each side to allow the car to pass. The road sign as I left Polruan said Polperro 5 and Looe 9. After a goodish spell of fast walking another sign announced Polperro 6 and Looe 10. Actually I was relieved as the second sign seemed the more realistic.

I left the road on a track to Lansallos. The church tower seemed close when I started but the path dropped into a wooded valley to cross a stream and the tower disappeared from view. The stiles around here consist of flat stones projecting from stone walls on both sides. That makes them stock proof but I imagine that some dogs and people would find them awkward. My balance is not what it was so I take these stiles with the utmost deliberation.

The most direct road to Polperro was barred to motorbikes and cars without permits but not to cyclists and pedestrians. I wondered why this was until I saw the narrow and steep entry road into Polperro itself. A sizeable number of buildings, some quite small, had been crammed into limited place between the cliffs and the sea. I bought a Frappuccino (iced coffee) and a banana in the Post Office and then climbed a very steep road out of town towards Looe. I soon passed a sign indicating Looe to be 4 miles. I succumbed to a green peppermint ice cream above the beach at Talland Bay. Then I tackled another precipitous climb up to Talland Church. Now my steps were spurred by the prospect of resting in my hotel room. The hotel was near Hannaforde Point. That night it was hosting the Looe School prom. The hotel was overrun with teenagers in their finery. The girls were glamorously attired in bright colours, sometimes sparkling, apart from one or two sad obese figures. The boys in their suits seemed relatively subdued apart from one outwardly confident individual who had attached red material, not too successfully, to the lapels of his black jacket. I asked one of the girls which school it was and whether it was fee paying or comprehensive. She told me it was an Academy School.

I ordered a starter and a main course at the bar after the youngsters had moved away to eat elsewhere in the hotel. After a while the young waiter appeared with both the starter and the main course. “Am I to eat these simultaneously?” “We thought you were two people.” Can it be so unusual for anyone to order two courses? Perhaps I should have made it clear to the girl at the bar that I'm not two people and I wanted the two courses to be served consecutively.

Today 18.13; total 3644.11

On my way to Looe's town centre I stopped by the statue of a seal called Nelson. Nelson had been a frequent visitor to Cornish harbours for over 20 years. He had one eye and was scarred so easily recognized. The statue was placed on rocks next to a concrete walkway running alongside the water's edge. I backed away from my scrutiny of a plaque and nearly knocked over a resident of the town who'd approached silently. His reaction was friendly and he told me about Nelson who'd been given mackerel from boats in the harbour. When Nelson seemed unwell antibiotics were placed inside the fish and Nelson removed these before eating. Latterly he'd acquired a companion called Louise whose popular name was Lucille (pun intended). The man then gave me detailed information about where newspapers could be bought.

I reached the waterfront and found a long flight of steps upwards to the SWCP. Once there I was confronted by a car with one door open blocking the path. As I squeezed round the other side of the car a woman, apparently in distress, appealed to me “Can you help us?” Suspecting a tragedy, there is no way that I could ever refuse such a plea. The family had driven up what appeared to be a road but which became a footpath so that they could proceed no further. They were looking for a place to park before exploring the town. I got out my O.S. Map but the woman said that she didn't do maps and got up Google Maps on her phone. I remembered there was a car park just by the bridge. I suggested she search 'Looe Bridge' and it came up as being 8 minutes away. Problem solved. During this exchange the woman's partner stood silently in the background. Clearly the woman acted as the family's voice.

Looe had expanded into Plaidy and Millendreath where all the houses that I saw appeared quite new. I made an early stop for a drink as it was already warm. Expecting an easier day I hadn't started until 9.30. I stuck to the SWCP through a wooded section that offered useful protection form the sun. At Seaton I needed another drink so I asked a group by the beach admiring each other's dogs. There were two cafes one of which was back the way that I'd come. I said emphatically that I didn't want to retrace my steps. This prompted a woman to ask whether I was unwell. “Do I look unwell?” “It was when you said you didn't want to go back.” I reassured her that although overheated and in desperate need of a milk shake I was fundamentally in good health. I thought that it could only be woman who'd show that degree of empathy, expressing concern for a stranger.

Seaton Beach was crowded but I met very few people on the path. There was a built up area that extended from Seaton into Downberry. As I approached the end of that I became aware of a walker with a pack ahead of me. Early on the long section from Downberry to Portwrinkle I caught up with her. She was an American from New Jersey and had been doing sections of the SWCP over a number of years on two week holidays from the States. After each trip she'd spend a few days in London. She was a fan of Virginia Woolf and had followed the footsteps of Mrs Dalloway around Westminster. Yesterday she's done the long section from Par to Looe so today was to be an easier day ending in Portwrinkle. As I was aiming for Torpoint I had to go on ahead.

At Portwrinkle I craved a drink and the cafe served me a milk shake. The last few miles were going to be a struggle. My hat was making me even hotter so I replaced it with a sweatband around my forehead and copious dollops of high factor sun lotion on my scalp. To speed up I walked a section of the B3247 from Crafthole until the road split. Shortly after that I escaped onto the quiet lane through Lower Tregantle to St John. A woman disposing of her rubbish into a roadside bin asked if I needed water. I had enough but thanked her for her kindness.

After St John I passed a large expanse of wet mud that became flooded at high tide. I then passed HMS Raleigh, a naval base on the outskirts of Torpoint. Earlier I'd had an exchange with the owner/manager of the B & B. There was no reception at the property so I was given a code to unlock a box containing the front door key. Once in I was asked to replace the key in the box and proceed to the billiard room where there'd be an envelope addressed to me containing my room key and my copy of the front door key. Nothing could go wrong but I was not able even to manage the first stage of my instructions. I rang the number I'd been given only to discover that my instructor was in Cambridge. However, he'd ask the woman who was to prepare breakfast to come to my aid. Shortly after that I got hold of the key so I didn't need help after all and the woman was saved the trouble.

Later, after a shower, I was ready to go out for a meal but was unable to open the front door from the inside. There were three items on the inside of the front door that might have been relevant. One was a handle that came off if I turned it round more that a few times. Next was a metal wheel that seemed to shift the lock when turned but not to the point where the door opened. Finally there was a plastic cover over a device that I couldn't see. I dismissed it as irrelevant. This time my phone call remained unanswered. I kept on trying and I must have done something differently as the door did then open. I had no idea what it was that I had done to achieve this. I now wanted confirmation that I could open the door from the outside as I preferred not to be locked out. The property didn't have a garden that I could have sat in waiting for the breakfast woman to arrive next morning. Only after another long struggle did I open the door. It's just as well that I don't have a large appetite. I decided that I couldn't risk not being able to re-enter if I went in search of a restaurant. I contented myself with the small KitKat bar that had been left in my room.

Today 13.44; total 3657.55

I walked from my B & B to catch the ferry across the Tamar to Plymouth. The ferry was connected to chains on each side and was large enough to take a bus and several vehicles across. I was chatting to a couple waiting for the bus so I boarded the bus with them. The bus took me to the main Plymouth railway station. That means I'll be going back to the ferry terminal on the Plymouth side on my next trip and walking from there to my Plymouth hotel.

Today 0.86 miles; total 3658.41