Mon 18th May - Street to Midsomer Norton

Today began with a surprising start; it WASN'T bloody raining!  I didn't trust the Somerset weather gods, so taking the chance, I packed up my tent quick as a flash.

Unfortunately I had to put on both wet socks AND wet boots.  It's one of the worst feelings in the world to peel yourself out of a warm sleeping bag and into wet boots, but saving money by camping has its obvious drawbacks.

As I made my way through the centre of Street, I took the opportunity to stock up on goodies to make the journey less boring.  It's probably the only time in my entire life where I've not thought twice about having a 700 calorie pasty, umpteen chocolate bars and a bottle of fat coke for breakfast... I could get used to this walking :)

In no time, I was out of the towns and making tracks into the countryside.  I've given up second guessing what the weather's going to throw at me, so I've made it a personal rule to don waterproofs from the get-go.  Today, this was especially a good idea as all manner of precipitation was hurled at me.

It started with a block of light rain which cleverly soaked me through and through, followed by lovely sunshine.  This was then replaced with the type of rain which is so heavy it seems to bounce up from the ground and hit you in the face on the rebound.  You could clearly see the zebra crossing pattern in the sky as I watched the waves of sun and rain heading in my direction.  I could have set my watch by the timing in between each band of rain, but I'm not so sure how waterproof it is...

Most of my route was following Somerset's sleepy lanes, but this was occasionally broken up by public footpaths cutting through fields, scattered with my favourite animals... bulls.  After yesterday's painful incident with the fence, I think Somerset's wildlife took pity on me as today, I was practically Mowgli in Gore-Tex!

Parting the waves of bulls like Moses and the red sea (apologies for awful religious analogies), I wasn't taking rubbish from man nor beast.

The damp boots that I'd donned this morning were now well and truly sodden again, yet this time not even my trusty "1000 mile" socks could help; I had a killer blister on my left little toe.

After a few more hours of hobbling in the rain, I'd made great time to just South West of Midsomer Norton - now to check out this campsite.  Upon arrival, I could see the house of the couple that owned the site; ferrari and a merc parked strategically so EVERYONE could see from their tents and caravans.

I explained what I was doing to the drip at reception but she still said it was going to the £15.  If I was getting a lap dance for this price then it would have been reasonable, but for this place it really wasn't.  It was out of her hands and I could understand it's not her decision to make, so I paid up and waited for the owner to return home so I could tackle the issue with the head honcho.

The site had a real Guantanamo Bay feel to it, with vast electric gates that required a passkey to open.  I was waiting for someone in an orange jumpsuit to be escorted past, but alas it never happened.  Instead I took a look around the overrated campsite and stumbled across a notice explaining what they charge extra for.

Dogs - £5

Visitors - £5

Extra adults in your tent - £7 (unfortunately I was alone that night...)

The air you breathe - £10 (ok maybe not)

The list went on and it made me chuckle as I waited nearly 2 hours for the boss to arrive back to his manor.

He finally turned up and ironically this huge messy oaf was called Mr.Small.  After waiting a further hour in the rain for him to make his mind up, he finally emerged from reception with the helpful suggestion that "The pub across the road is open if you want to go and get some dinner...", before returning inside.

On that note I took his advice without even responding, only to look back at him from the drive and see him totally confused as to why I was frustrated.

The pub I staggered into (yes most people stagger out), was only just opening and the two hyper women who were working made me feel right at home straight away.  I told them what I was up to and they let me know there was very little I'd get away with at the campsite; the owner didn't see to have the best reputation it would seem.

To boost my mood, I ordered a huge plate of local bangers and mash.  It worked, and some as I tried to stop myself from wolfing down the entire plate in minutes.  The white chocolate cheesecake was big help too, but not at much as the fact the owner hardly charged me for any of it!

Washed down with a few pints of Tawny Owl, the campsite was just another little blip in the bigger picture of this challenge... more worrying was my addiction to West Country Ale!  I think I need a few alco-pops to make me more Brighton-esk again.

Nearly 3 Weeks In ...

Resting in Taunton then off to Street

This entry is going to be very short and sweet as I had very little to
get off my mind this weekend.

apart from hunting around for a postcard with Taunton castle on it (my
little brother ben is studying them in his year 2 class), I spent most
of my time eating comfort food from tescos next to the b&b. it was
nice to watch awful tele including the eurovision song contest,
especially without having to wake up to a wet tent.

Sun 17th May - Taunton to Street...

I woke up to... oh I think you know how this goes by now... it was
raining as per usual. however this time it wasn't drizzle, it was
stair rods.
as I left Taunton, everyone was still pressing the snooze buttons on
their alarms, with only a tiny trickle of activity to show anyone
actually lived there.

pavements soon turned into footpaths and then into towpaths along what
was left of the canals. these clearly weren't the council's priority
as half the time I was hacking through nettles and crapweed high as my
shoulders.

leaving the natural canal routes, I now moved along what was clearly
man-made channels, straight as an arrow. strafing these canals was
the always enjoyable sight of a lot of bulls, eager to make my life a
pain in the arse.
I think the bulls from the other day had rung ahead to give this bunch
the heads up that I was on my way, seeming as from a mile off they
were making tracks towards me.

in this driving rain I couldn't be bothered to mess around, so I
walked straight at them with a swagger that clearly pissed them off a
treat. they were moving in two groups, one ahead and one behind like
something from the film aliens. when I felt their breath on my neck,
it was time to bolt for the fence and get out of trouble, however wet
metal isn't too grippy.

this leap of faith caused my leading leg that was supporting my weight
and my bag, to slip off the fence and leave me to drop suddenly.

the sight must have been priceless for the group of walkers I'd just
passed as I landed bang smack on my goolies, screaming in pain and
slumping off the railings into the wet grass below.
on the plus side, I was due for a rest, so staying down on the ground
in a pile was as much of a great time as any to rest up.

after a bit of recovery time, I was back on the "footpath" and trying
not to think of my shattered crown jewels.
the route now went from short grass that didn't even register with me,
to long nettles and reeds that again easily met my shoulders.

within minutes my boots were soaked through and through, even with the
waterproofs and gaiters I was wearing. I could hear my feet
squelching but unlike on Bodmin Moor, I was wearing my '1000 mile
socks'. this may sound like nothing, but the designer should get a
knighthood due to the fact I had absolutely NO blisters to speak of.

around this time, the weather turned even more miserable and walking
through this long grass wasn't doing much too boost my spirits. I
foolishly thought getting back on the roads was gonna be easier, but
when faced with straight roads that stretch over 4 miles without a
feature or interesting change, it becomes a mental battle in not
becoming bored beyond help.

after a further couple if hours of preventing madness setting in (more
than it had already), I arrived at the outskirts of Street. my route
had pointed me towards a possibly b&b, but to save money I was aiming
for a campsite to the west.

I explained what I was doing as the bitter old crow who ran the site
opened the door, but unfortunately she didn't have a caring bone in
her body so I set up and headed for the local.

seeing it was closed, I headed to the next pub I came across and was
glad I did. as I opened the rediculously small door, I had to stoop to
get anywhere near the bar and was instantly hit by a tide of sound.
about 8 to 10 older gents and ladies were smashing out some classic
beach boys tracks that in seconds turned into beatles songs due to
them forgetting the words.

it was a fantastic atmosphere as I enjoyed being the stranger in the
pub, overlooking what to them was run of the mill but to me was a
priceless change from the wet grass, bulls and painful goolies.

A week of solid rain but big smiles!!!

Mon 11th May - Launceston to Bridestow

Well the day started VERY well with yet another full English (good
thing I'm burningvthis off) prepared by Bill at the Rose Cottage B&B.
soon I was on the two castles trail heading out of town, but it was
proving to be a pile of rotten eggs. looking at the map, I was adding
a rediculous number of miles onto the journey all in the name of
seeing a few more trees. After 2 miles of messing around with
farmland and blocked styles, I hopped over a fence and got back on the
road.

I was making reasonable time when all of a sudden the pain killers
numbing my lower right leg wore off. With every step I could feel my
ankle tightening up, but with cars shooting past, I couldn't really
stop to get out the medical kit. diving into a gap in the hedge, I
administered a comical amount of deep heat to get me going again -
later realising that Deep Heat REALLY needs to be washed off your hands!

At lunchtime I stopped at a post office in the sleepy village of
Lifton in order to post home some unwanted kit, as well as get a stamp
on my route sheet. In no time I was chatting with the lady who ran
the shop who clearly loved my cause. in fact she loved it so much
that she bought my entire lunch, throwing in goodies left right and
centre! with a smile on my face and a spring in my hobble, I was off
again.

sticking to the main roads which seemed to make a beeline for
Bridestow, I made good progress - even with my leg in pieces - and was
soon at the campsite.

when I started this walk, I really felt like I wanted to remain
anonymous; moving from place to place just getting the miles under my
belt. my mood has totally changed now and there's not a soul I pass
who isn't informed. this seems to have had the fantastic fantastic
effect of bringing out the charitable side in a lot of people. If
worked with Marie in the post office and now it had the same effect at
the campsite, so a massive thank you to Graham at Bridestow campsite
for letting me stay for free!!

After getting settled in and enjoying the last of the sun, I hit the
pub... purely for medicinal reasons of course.

As I sat by the bar writing this entry in my notebook, I saw umpteen
people glancing over to sneak a peak at who I was and what I was
doing. soon enough, the first of a lot of people came over and
introduced themselves. they were so welcoming, especially once they
knew what I was doing... our troops certainly have a serious lot of
support in the south west.

Tues 12th May - Bridestow to South Zeal...

The previous evening I'd asked numerous people what the forecast was
for today. it seemed there was a landslide victory in favour of it
raining so much that I'd need an arc. much to my delight, I woke to
clear skies... even if the wind blew my ears off and shook my brain
like a marracca!

Today was mainly following a route called The Granite Way, which does
exactly what it says on the tin. it's the tarmaced route of an old
granite railway line that crosses some viaducts. luckily on a day
like today, they've been windproofed.

The remainder of the trail is dull as dishwater; continuing to follow
Tarmac and gravel until finally breaking off at okehampton to follow
the Tarka Trail. with the amount of water around, I assumed this had
something to do with Tarka the otter but had no time / want to find out.

I was very hesitant about following this trail due to its general
direction; DARTMOOR! how wrong I was and on a glorious day like
today, I'm over the moon that I grew a pair and overcame my fears. it
was a beautiful trail with some sections requiring me to cross the
river back and forth via stepping stones, aswell as climbing near
vertical steps with sheer drops either side.

After thoroughly enjoying my speed date with Dartmoor, I was back
strafing the river Taw in the direction of South Zeal. for the first
time in a while, I had a smile on my face whilst walking; although in
hindsight this mayhave been due to the Adam & Joe podcast... still, a
smile's a smile!

Arriving in South Zeal I refuelled at the local store before hunting
down the campsite marked on my route. "hmm, that's funny?! this looks
less like a campsite and more like a hole in the ground" I thought.
yep, you guessed it, it's no longer there. this day had to cock up
somewhere.

I'd spotted a pub with rooms on my way into town so off I marched...
really gotta start checking my accommodation more, but it's easier
said than done in the middle of nowhere.

As I got into the pub I really hoped that did have rooms as there was
a huge roaring open fire in the corner. unfortunately even with £25
off the price it still cost me too much. I was over a barrel so
anything was better than nowhere to stay.
one thing that took the pain away from the price was the fact my
roomhad a bath, which the B&Bs and campsites I'd states at obviously
didn't go in for. I felt all the miles washed down the plug hole as I
collapsed in a heap in my comedy sized four poster bed. it's a hard
life...

We'd 13th May - South Zeal to Crediton...

In the morning I was totally confused as to whether the price had
includes brekkie as nothing had been mentioned the night before. I
hoped it did and as I tiptoed downstairs, I fortunately saw a pot of
coffee on the go and a place set for me in the restaurant. my mood
shot from about 10% happy to about 1000% as the landlord Mark offered
me a full english, freshly made with all the trimmings. this turned
out to be sausages the size of my leg and bacon as thick as a slide of
bread!

being in an altogether great mood, I tried the black pudding and much
to my suprise couldn't get enough... who knew?! I've had great
breakfasts, but this one put me on top of the world.
even looking outside to see the mist and rain didn't phase me, neither
did knowing my phone was totally dead. maybe I'd just come to accept
some thins were out of my control. whatever the case, it allowed me
to laugh off events of the day which previously would have brought me
near to tears. these included being splashed in the face by a van's
wipers, not being able to see more than 20m infront of me and the rain
proof cover ripping ok my bag.

so ok I plodded, a campsite just south of crediton my goal and a smile
on my face. the walk itself was pretty indescript, due to both the
drizzly mist preventing me from seeing much and the hedgerows that
made me feels about 2 feet tall.

maybe due to the lack of rubbernecking, I was there in good time,
setting up the tent before hobbling over to the cover of the only hut
around. no one was there, but soon enough a little old lady on a
quadbike came chugging up the drive. I explained what I was doing and
she let me make myself at home for only £2... "as much as I could at a
place with no electricity, a toilet with no light and all in the rain"
I chuckled to myself. she let me know I could use a matress from the
shed, and looking back at the size of my tent I could only laugh at
how it was going to fit, but thanked her all the same.

we soon got chatting about her farm that sat on a hill south east of
the campsite, barely visible through the drizzle. they'd only just
secured themselves a place in the world of farming again after being
totally wiped out by foot n mouth a few years back. I remember seeing
the stories on the news but it really hits home when you see someone
who's lived to tell the tale. with that sobering thought, she jumped
back on her quadbike and shot off to the frantic world of farming.

looking up at the ominous sky, I had a painful urge for a hot meal so
after a few stretches I was back on the road heading into crediton...
shame I ended up walking 3 miles more just for fish n chips. I guess
things could be worse, my phone could be dead - oh wait it is...

Thurs 14th May - Crediton to Tiverton...

The day began exactly the same as yesterday; misty, drizzly and yet
strangely quite chipper. I emerged from my cacoon like a damp
butterfly and switched over to auto pilot as I packed away my soaking
wet tent. I even slept in my waterproofs last night in order to save
me wriggling into them in the rain (which I was very smug about to
myself).

the route out of crediton wasn't too bad and I was making great time.
this was soon changed when I began moving north; crossing hills which
were cut into deep valleys by the river Exe's bastard tributaries. in
no time I was as wet on the inside of my waterproofs as I was on the
outside, but at least I was eating away the miles.

thankfully, I left the killer hills and moved along the A396 which in
hindsight was a mental idea. it was either trudge through mud and
long grass, or follow a busy road that headed towards Tiverton... the
road won hands down.

it's funny what you see when you venture into tucked away areas, and
Bickleigh castle was one of these sights. as I walked along a tiny
lane with my head down and iPod in, I was suddenly faced by vast metal
and oak gates that announced the beginning of this vast 14th century
building. as I nearly wondered over the side of a bridge with my eyes
locked on this miracle of architecture, it was time for more walking
and less sight seeing.

I finally left the A-roads and arrived in Tiverton, the guidebooks
destination for the day. it would have been nice to have relaxed now,
but I didn't have that option as I was heading for a campsite 6 miles
east.
This meant eating into tomorrow's miles which was nothing but good
news (although my feet didn't thank me).

one silly mistake was to look at the section of canal and think it's
east just because it's flat... it's not! the Grand Western Canal is
more like the Monaco F1 track and took another 3 hours to complete in
the rain.

by the time I arrived at the campsite, the heavens had really opened
and it didn't look like stopping amy time soon. it was a great site
I'd picked, with everything I needed in the morning to dry all my
gear. in the meantime this tent wasn't gonna put itself up.

as I stood in the rain setting up my tent, aching and shattered, I
heard the words which made me forget everything bad about my
situation...

"would you like a coffee to warm you up?" came a voice from the
campervan beside me. I dread to think what I looked like, sitting
under a tree in the rain with my coffee, but that didn't concern me
one bit.
like a scene from popeye, the coffee sprung me into action and the
tent was sorted.

handing back the coffee mug, I introduced myself to the lovely David
and Helen. just when I thought their kindness had peaked, I was
offered beans on toast with cheese... I could have hugged them both!!
trying not to wolf down dinner in one mouthful, we had a great chat
from the warm comfort of their caravan. I couldn't get over how lucky
I was to have pitched up next to them.

after another coffee and handing over a well deserved 'official nice
person' card, I retired to my writing and rain soaked bed... night
readers.

Fri 15th May - Tiverton to Taunton...

I woke up to the all too familiar drizzle that seemed to be following
me journey (can't wait to change this intro). weirdly enough, I seem
to have acquired the ability to not give a damn about the weather...
can't be anything BUT fantastic!

I couldn't help smiling as I packed away a soaking wet tent as Gene &
Alan from the campervan behind me not only brought me a morning
coffee, but a bacon sarnie too!

just before leaving for today's mission, u made sure I said goodbye to
David & Helen who'd made my previous evening so enjoyable. kindly
handing me some fruit for my trip, I waved them farewell and made
tracks.

minutes later, I bumped into a guy walking his dog along the canal who
stopped me and asked how far I was walking. "john o'groats hopefully,
I'm doing a charity walk for help for heroes" I explained. instantly
his ears pricked up and he explained that Major Phil Packer (the
injured soldier who recently walked the London marathon for h4h) was
one of his officers. with a huge smile and an even bigger pat on my
back, he was off and so was I.

after an annoyingly short amount of time, the canal towpath vanishes
and it's back to jumping over fences and avoiding the minefield of cow
and sheep crap. a week or so ago, I read mark moxon's story about
being confronted by bulls. until now I'd been lucky as the only ones
I'd seen were from a mile away on Bodmin moor... however today my luck
ran out.

I hopped over a fence and found myself cornered by about 10-15 young
bulls who thought it would be fun to charge at me before turning away
at the last minute to gauge my reaction. I already knew I had to
stand my ground, but it's easier said than done.

deciding 2 miles of backtracking was worse than these bulls, I walked
straight towards them and blew the whistle attached to my bag. It
only bloody worked as I laughed my way out of the temporary roadblock.

back on the road, I thought nothing could stop me from using the
public footpaths which made a straight line to Taunton - I couldn't be
more wrong. 1.5 miles down a tricky path, I saw a cow, then another
and then about 10 more. "nope, that's not an udder, that that would be
a bull"... nuts, so to speak.

the previous hurd of bulls were like bunny rabbits compared to these
bruisers who resembled rhinos rather than bulls. what's more, they
didn't even batter an eyelid when I tried the whistle, making me think
backtracking was going to be enjoyable compared to navigating this
mooing brick wall.

by early afternoon I was running on empty, so I popped into The White
Horse Inn for a steak sarnie. I was over the moon when the lovely
lady who ran the place paid for all my drinks to keep me fuelled.

with my batteries recharged, I made excellent time to Taunton and for
some reason whistled the song "English Country Garden" all the way -go
figure.
only upon entering Taunton, did I realise I'd actually left Devon a
while back and was now in Somerset. this was reinforced when I heard
my first really strong "ello thaair" since western Cornwall, causing
me to childishly chuckle to myself whilst repeating the accent.
certainly took my mind off my aching feet!

the heavy rain this week had totally fried my phone charger, meaning
I've had no contact with friends or family. with my fingers crossed,
I collapsed through the door of Taunton's Vodafone store and explained
what I was up to. disappearing for a few seconds, the shop assistant
returned with exactly what I needed and what's more, it was FREE!

seems even big companies have a heart afterall and with that
refuelling my smile and spirits, I hunted down a B&B and looked
forward to a rest day tomorrow.

Sat 9th to Sun 10th May - Resting in Launceston...

In all fairness, even though this weekend was a nice break (albeit
injured) from walking and well earned after 6 days solid plodding, I
was feeling totally deflated.

After stupidly reading a long way ahead in my route book, I came
across the horror stories of The Pennine Way. This included 3 weeks of
pete bogs, horizontal driving rain and all during Summer months!!!
When you're walking on your own, half the challenge is psychological.
Being bored doesn't come into it as you're always kept busy taking
readings from the land, checking your bearings or simply enjoying the
views. It's more the fact that you can seriously beat yourself up and
doubt your ability, meaning you're planning to fail even before you've
set off for the day.

After a good team talk with Dad and the wise words of "why make it
harder for yourself than it is already?", a few things clicked. I'm
walking to John O'Groats from Land's End... who cares which route I
take?!

I think once I reach Bath, a serious sit down at a computer and some
maps is in order. For now, I need to let my leg get better.

After a pretty good nights sleep and a hearty breakfast, my ankle was
feeling a lot more flexible and fancy free. It's still not 100% but
there's not a lot I can do apart from get moving.

Using the excuse of 'keeping my strength up', I hobbled off to The
White Horse Inn for a Sunday cavery... just what the doctor ordered.
It literally didn't touch the sides, so I'm thinking the makers of
Voltarol pain relief gel should start a new line in rub on Sunday
roast gels. If you can get over the issue of rubbing Yorkshire pud
purée into your skin, the recovery times would be miniscule!
!! Business Opportunity Alert !!
... or maybe too many pints of Tribute Ale.

I definitely need to stop thinking about this walk as much as I am.
It's a fine balance of keeping your eyes fixed on the end of your nose
in order to get through the day - and looking at the bigger picture to
keep you on track.
Getting pissed in the pub helps too evidently.

One thing which is going to keep me going is the thought of getting to
Fort William, although let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm just
hoping once I start heading more North, things start looking up so to
speak.

This is turning into a drunken rant so I'm gonna head back to my B&B
and collapse.

After my head cleared, I had a moment of clarity. This book is
actually controlling my trek far too much!! I read about how Mark
Moxon bounces into his destinations with a smile and cheeky comment,
where as I arrive close to tears and even closer to death. That book
is staying in the bottom of my bag for a while and I'll make this walk
my own experience instead of a miserable carbon copy of someone elses.

With that thought, I firmly threw the guide book into my bag and went
about sorting my gear out... Christ I'm carrying too much!

Note to any readers out there...

Sorry for the odd typos here and there, but updating the blog on an
iPod Touch isn't as easy as you'd think after a long day. I hope you
can enjoy, even if half of it is jumbled :)

Indian Queens and a bit of Brown Willy...

Wed 6th May - Indian Queens to St.Breward...

The only reason this day isn't called "I give up" is purely due to the
unrivalled kindness of two people in St. Breward, but we'll come back
to that later.

I woke up at 7 and jammed all my gear into my bag ready to make up
lost time. I soon had Indian queens behind me (steady on, this isn't
carry on Cornwall), but what I hadn't taken into account was the
amount of distance I needed to catch up... about 7.5 miles, which was
going to take a while.

by the time I'd joined up with the original route, my blisters were
well and truely on fire. Taking a break on a bench next to an old
couple mowing their lawn, I went about doing a routine check on my
feet - cutting away what I thought was a bit of loose surgical tape.
needless to say I soon realised it wasn't as the mother of all
blisters exploded, instantly making me writhe in not only pain but in
concern about how on earth I was going to make it to St. Breward.

The old lady had come over by this point to enquire what I was doing.
upon telling her I was walking from land's end to john o'groats she
kindly reminded me I hadn't come far... cheers love! I strapped my
feet up as best I could and hobbled off.

My pace had slowed to a crawl when a couple passed me asking if I was
okay. the man explained he was a homeopathic doctor based right
nearby and began listing numerous potions which could help me. I sat
there waiting for him to magically spawn one but he had other plans,
disappearing into a side lane... always thought man-made meds were
better anyway :)

I soon made it to the Camel River and ducked into The Borough Arms. it
was a gloomy affair with groups of old men sat glaring at each other,
occassionally passing a snide comment about something they'd seen
before going back to their Clint Eastwood impressions. too drained to
give a damn what they thought, I ordered a giant bowl of pasta and
collapsed.

Back on the trail and eating away at the miles, I was grateful that
this route hugged the river camel. although windy and ever so
slightly uphill all the way, it made a nice change from the
rollercoaster Cornish hills.

by the end of the trail I was totally dead and now feeling like I was
going to vomit from the cheap processed chicken pasta lunch.
regretibly I was back on the windy Cornish lanes but by this time I
physically could not go on. with one last push (whilst fantasising
about a bed and a roof over my head), I made it to st.breward but
there was a massive problem.
in too much of a rush in the morning I hadn't booked anywhere to stay,
which hit me in the stomach and winded me when I found everywhere was
fully booked - SHIT!

I even asked one b&b owner if there was a field I could pitch up on,
but unfortunately my only option was a campsite. this would mean a
further 7 mile yomp on top of the 22 I'd just barely finished. I
headed back to the village store to stock up on food and sugar for the
journey, explaining to the lady who ran the shop what I was doing. A
man soon joined in and seemed interested in what I was doing, jaw
dropping when he found out where I'd walked from.

Thinking nothing of it, I sat outside stuffing my bag with the food
and drink I'd just frantically bought before the store closed.

"we used to run a b&b" said the man from the shop who was now beside
me at the store's entrance. "hmm, right com'on follow me" he gestured.
"you can't carry on, we'll put you up forcehe night - not sure what
Cath is gonna say, but... no com'on".

In the state I was in I didn't need asking twice. the look on Cath's
face when Peter opened the front door was priceless. he'd gone to the
shops for bread and brought back a charity walker in dire need of
rescue.

I instantly warmed to Peter and Cath as they showed me to the room in
which I could stay. 'Double bed!' I high-fived myself.
We were soon sitting down to dinner and talking about our lives,
family and such - and I couldn't help but shake the feeling of shock
at how caring and selfless these two were. All I can say is thank my
lucky stars that I went back to that store!!!

The time flew by as we moved on to what St.Breward was really like at
heart. their house had the most amazing panoramic view of where I'd
just come from and with the sun setting, I couldn't resist taking a
picture before hitting the hay.

Thurs 7th May - St.Breward to Tredaule "campsite"...

I woke up in the best mood since leaving Brighton and all the more, I
had a cooked breakfast courtesy of Peter. we talked more about his
family as well as some fantastic stories about their move to
St.Breward which was a great thing to wake up to over coffee.

Soon it was time for me to be making tracks although I could have
spent the whole day there; it really felt like a home from home.
Exchanging contact details, I made sure I had their address to
letvyhem know how I was doing, as well as handing out the first
"official nice person" card which truely meant something to me.

Back on the "road" I was soon trapsing across Bodmin Moor and towards
the fantastically named hill 'Brown Willy'. I was planning to climb
to the top as my route suggested, but an hour later it seemed fate had
other ideas for me.

In a moment of stupidity I slipped and found myself knee high in
marshland. I totally scared the &#*! out of myself as I'd only just
read a sign about how dangerous unmarked bogs were - and this was
certainly both dangerous and very much so unmarked.
Every step in every direction seemed to take me deeper, but using my
trekking pole I managed to get out in a manner I can only describe as
a blind panic.

I now had both sodden boots and socks meaning only one thing,
BLISTERS! within no more than 20 paces my feet were agony as old
sores opened up. To add to matters I could see mist and rain coming
in fast. Hurrying off as fast as I could, I prayed to the gods of
sure-footing, but it seems they were unanswered as I felt my lower
right leg muscles cramp up after climbing over a rock.

I was now barely able to walk and had a very long way to go over the
worst terrain I'd ever seen.

5 hours later I was cold, wet and wanted to cry but at least I was
back on country lanes. I'd tracked down a campsite and literally
hobbled there, however upon finding it to be a pile of static homes,
reality sunk in that I was yet again screwed.
I then spent half an hour tracking down Mr Sprogg who apparently owned
this tip and exaplained my situation. I was hurt, wet and shattered.

"Hello, mr sprogg? my name is Edward"... went formal... "im doing a
charity walk but I've injured myself on the moor. I saw your campsite
but now I see it's for static homes. could I please bed down for the
night, let my leg heal and be gone first thing?"
After a few seconds of deliberation his reply was shockingly clear and
cold.
"pitch up, be gone first thing and don't come back".

I wanted to wrap my trekking pole around his face but I thanked him
and quickly left before he could change his mind - adding an
appropriate "arsehole" as I shut his gate. funny how as I pitched up
my tent, the sun came out... good night.

Fri 8th May - Tredaule Tip to Launceston...

After the worst nights sleep of my life, I woke up way before my alarm
and lay there listening to the rain hammering my tent. I flat out
refused to move an inch and the thought of packing my tent away whilst
the rain took free potshots at me confirmed my stance; glued firmly
inside my sleeping bag.

During the night, temperatures have regularly fallen below zero. even
going to bed fully clothed with my body warmer and hat hasn't helped
one bit. My alarm brought me out of my daydream and back to the
reality of the increasingly heavy rain outside.

Like a moody teenager being told to get out of bed, I slowly gathered
my gear together in an attempt to delay any real work. my strop paid
off as the moment I opened the door to the tent, the sun welcomed me
with open arms. I still had to on wet boots, but standing in a field
with the sun on my face seemed to charge my batteries.

chomping down a kit-kat, I gladly left my home for the night without
looking back once. After hooking up with my original route I began
following narrow Cornish lanes that strafe the river kensey, but there
was one major problem.

I'd originally planned to make this my rest day after injuring myself
on the moors, but with Tredaule's lack of, well, everything - it meant
I had to put my best not so crippled foot forward and walk through the
pain.

I'd previously managed to pick up some seriously strong pain killers,
but even these barely made a dent. at one pointvibwas sure I felt a
rush of wind as a snail overtook me, but this could have been the
strong painkillers.

taking a break and funnily enough having a kit-kat (the power of
marketing), a lady walking her dogs introduced herself and kindly
reminded me how I was only just beginning my trek - I'm gonna need to
start blocking that out!
I soon forgave Audrey as she and her two rediculously old dogs walked
with me for just under a mile, sharing stories and keeping my mind off
the pain.

She also mentioned that whilst driving earlier that day, she'd spotted
me from her car when someone had offered me a lift. I'd laughed at
the time as I replied "thanks but due to stupid charity I'll have to
decline".
I'd only have made his car muddy anyway...

Sure enough the Cornish weather gods really kept me on my toes today.
it's as if they knew that's where my most painful blisters were!
In the space of 30 minutes I was first rained on, but even stranger as
I clambered into a field, I was pelted with hail! I had to do a
double take... yes that IS hail!!!

All I could do was chuckle to myself as I donned my weatherproofs,
stuck two fingers to the sky and marched onwards. you'd have to do
better than that mother nature... I made it down from Brown Willy!

After a few more painful hours I made it to Launceston and with the
help of Dad, tracked down a b&b for 2 nights to repair my bruised and
battered body. downing some fish n chips like a hungry seagull, I
hobbled off to the 'Rose Cottage', dumped my kit and crawled into
bed. Taking one last look at my map and notes, I later realised I'd
crossed the 100 mile mark and with that thought I smiled and collapsed.

Truro to Tregolls farm with some Indian Queens along the way...

Tuesday 5th May

well this was my first long distance walk and I knew from the get-go
that it was going to be tough. Leaving Truro was a bit of a shame as
I'd not really had enough time to have a look around.

The only real sights I saw were at the William IV pub, when I was
firstly dumbstruck by the serloin steak I got for next to nothing, and
secondly by the barmaid (good to see my priorities are in order)...
but back to the walk!

As you enter the middle of Truro, or in my case leave, you are
overwhelmed by possibly the grandest cathedral this side of the
Vatican. however, after a few snaps it was time I made tracks.

if the whole of this leg were as enjoyable as the first 2 hours, I'd
have arrived at Tregolls farm with a spring in my step and a smile on
my face. alas it wasn't the case and with the fact that every shop
and pub was closed at lunchtime (very Spanish out here), I was totally
out of steam. for this reason I dumped my stuff at a campsite a few
miles outside of the farm and hunted down some dinner.

what I haven't said yet is that this campsite hosts a clearly buzzing
tourist hotspot, namely "Gnome World". I actually couldn't believe my
eyes when I arrived at the gates but I was in no mood to walk any
further.
The people in their static homes resembled the scene from Deliverence
as I skulked past them to the lonely tent area, but the further away
from the gnomes the better in my eyes.

I've also avoided the name of the village in which this campsite
resides... "Indian Queens"... it had to be good didn't it. With
places such as Pocahontus Ave and a fish n chip restaurant that claims
to be one of the top 10 in England, you'd think the villagers would be
typical friendly Cornish and greet you with a nod, smile and or "ello
there". no, they are in fact completely miserable, even to each
other. it was like the cast of eastenders being forces to live in a
fruity sounding village - in wellies.

and that fish n chip "restaurant" makes me wonder which judge was
bribed for that title seeming as any place with a sign that reads;
"all burgers are now battered once fried. no refunds will be given -
the management.", is clearly hiding something. big push to make up
lost ground tomorrow. night

no rest for the charitable!

well well well, it's been a few days now and I was initially a day
ahead of schedule due to not having a rest day in penzance. although
feeling very proud I'd soldiered on and not wimped out, I made a
tactical decision to rest up for a day at pengoon farm.

the walk to get there was pretty pleasent, albeit long and tough on
the nice set of blisters I'm now sporting on my little toes! the view
out from penzance coastline was amazing, especially st. michaels mount
at which with the clear sunny sky, I couldn't help but stare. with my
experience (if a few days counts) of the Cornish coastline, even
without the pouring rain, I wasn't feeling too hot about taking the
south coast route out of penzance.

I could see the trail a mile off and made the decision to head inland
instead (my feet thanked me). this took me through a maze of hamlets,
each with their interesting stories to tell - none of which my ears,
or legs in this case, had the time for - so on I plodded...

the south coast route, although hardcore and basically like like a
rollercoaster, sticks out like a massive green OS sore thumb on my
maps... the route I'd chosen didn't...
with 15 foot high hedges strafing each side of the road, it made
picking out landmarks a total pain in the neck.

"was that a church? how far is that?" I said to myself about 100
times; no it was just an ancient farm - again and it's not 500m, it's
about a mile and a half... bugger!

even though I'd been walking relatively blind (map wise), I'd followed
my pencilled in route to a T. now this was too good to be true. all
the land marks I'd picked out earlier didn't fit with what I was
reading on the map. to cut a long story short, asking a cross eyed
farm hand for directions is something I DO NOT plan to do again!
finally I arrived at pengoon farm and spotting the sign which read
"scones with cream and jam served here", I basically hurdles lorries
to get there.
2 strawberry & cream scones later, a billy can of tomato soup, a hot
chocolate and a coke later, it was time to pitch up and get some
rest. good night readers...

p.s. it's just started raining :(

p.p.s I've just been woken up to the sound of the family in the
campervan next to me returning home after their, what seems to be
sugar filled night out. the father looks like a pig in trousers and
the daughters best friend is an extremely nervous looking colly. and
yes it sounds funny, but when a dog looks over at you with a look of
"help me please", you can't help but feel concerned.

iPod in and think of home... night.

Rest day # 1...

well this is officially the first rest day I've taken. I was woken up
by the delightful sound of a child playing in the field next to me. by
child, I mean a feral gypsy and by playing, I mean the act of banging
a metal bin with a stick.
I wrighledout of my sleeping bag and headed for the shower block.

after freshening up and covering my entire body with Deep Heat, I
enjoyed a breakfast of a coke, a scone and jam and a refreshers sweet
bar... any of those my 5 a day? thought not.

Cornwall is a real pain in the arse weather wise. where as in Brighton
if a day starts nice, it generally follows suit and stays that way.
here the weather is so unpredictable that it meant I was opening and
closing my tent every 5 mins. can't wait to get more inland so it
levels out more.

... it's been about 10 hours since I woke up in a bit of a grump and
what a day to change my mood! I have well and truely beenhumbled by
the kindness of a family here at pengoon farm. about 10 mind after
raising the colours at camp H4H, a man strolled over dressed in jeans,
a smock and a brightly coloured flat hat. at first I didn't know what
to think, but soon after having a chat about my wind up radio, we wee
onto the topic of what I was up to.

he was clearly a supporter of our troops and I instantly warmed to his
points of view about enlightening the nation about the people affected
by Iraq and afghan, not just those unfortunate to have given their
lives.
he then followed that with 6 of the best words I've heard for a while;
DO YOU WANT A COFFEE MATE?
anyone who knows me, knows I don't need asking twice - especially in
this cold!

it was so nice to be putting the world to rights in the warm and the
coffee went down a real treat. we were then onto the boddingtons and
the convo spanning topics such as the local pedo problem, friends
losing out to cheap labour as well as a resident of the camp who'd
been through the falklands and after losing a best friend, turned to
drink and drugs. although some of the topics were a bit too much for
me, these people had invited me into their home and for that I
couldn't be thankful enough!

apparently I'd met this family the day beforewhen I arrived at the
campsite. I apparently looked like I could have died at amy moment,
and I'm really not gonna argue that.

all this kindness made me wonder if I'd usedup my good luck and if
there would be many friendly faces ahead of me, but that thought was
soon washed away by more boddingtons and even more conversation.

after handing out my 2nd 'official nice person' card, I thanked
everyone and made my way to the crown pub - shame it was closed - what
a bugger! I was looking forward to a steak!!

all was not lost as upon picking up a cold pie from the farm shop, the
farmers wife offered to warm it in their AGA... result!

I'd soon munched it down and got my kit for tomorrow squared away.
it's gonna be wet so I'm off to dream of steak and chips. night.

Pengoon farm to Truro...

this day should have been nice. the weather ended up being perfect for
walking even if the route went up and down more than a rollercoaster.

all was fine until 8 miles out from Truro when I cut a blister by
accident. 8 miles of hobbling later I arrived and the less said about
thisday the better. I dumped my bag at truro cathedral and nearly
cried. so much pain met by the amazing sight of this ancient
structure. booked a b&b and headed off for steak and chips... short
and sweet today, sorry people, battery is about to die. 21milea
tomorrow, wish me luck :)

the story so far...

"Getting to Land's End"...

Thursday morning I woke to a menacing looking sky over Penzance, but
my mind was taken off the dark clouds by the B&B's full english
brekkie awaiting me downstairs.

If you're ever down this way, David & Sandra rustle up a mean full
English at " Woodstock Coach House"... no, there isn't a discount for
this plug!!

Once I'd wolfed down brekkie, I returned to my room and the unenviable
sight of my bag waiting to be re-packed. Without realising it, the sun
had been slowly showing its beautiful face. so without a second
thought, I said my farewells to David & Sandra and decided to brave
the walk to Land's End (making sure to pray to the bloody unreliable
Cornish weather gods).

A good 11 or so miles later, I arrived at Sea View campsite. As I
walked into reception I asked the two old biddies "have you got room
for a little'en?" and was met with a laugh and a sheet of paper
showing not a single other soul staying in the camp. Most people would
have seen this as a warning sign, but after 11+ miles of carrying an
overly heavy bag, I wasn't one of them.

After I'd set up my very very snug fitting tent (only fits shorter
than normal midgets), I thought I'd throw up my colours and see what
happened. within no more than 2 minutes of lashing my Help For Heroes
to my walking pole, a woman was walking over from her campervan.
'That's what I should have done', I thought, dreaming of not having to
lug my kit around, but have a mate in a campervan following me... not
gonna happen, face reality Ed.

Soon any depressing thoughts about my bag were gone as the wonderful
woman that is Mrs Dewson from Birmingham had sponsored me £10!!
I now had a smile like the cat that got the cream... £10 extra to the
cause and my fears of people not giving two hoots, it was time for a
brew.

Soon after I'd downed a hot chocolate from my billy can, a lost
looking man about 50 or so (hard to tell with walkers as they tend to
be weathered well), asked me where he could pitch up. "no idea my
friend, but I guess anywhere is fine seeming as we're the only two
stupid enough to sleep in tents" I replied with a smile.

"I see your flag there, what are you up to? walking far or finishing
soon?" he asked. "end to end, 1111 miles according to my route" I
replied trying to hide the fear and regret in my voice. "me too,
heading out tomorrow"...

He wasn't exactly a spring chicken, but after he explained he was
gonna camp in the wild and complete it in a lot less time than me, I
didn't need much more convincing that he meant business. this is
getting interesting!

"The official start to the walk"...

After the crappiest nights sleep I've had in a while (foxes seemed to
love my flag), I had the wonderful job of packing a soaking wet tent
into a bag which seemed to have shrunk overnight. With a breakfast of
two asda cereal bars, I could tell things weren't gonna be too great.
the weather had by this time really rolled in and I could see the rain
on the horizon.

After a quick shower to get the spiders out of my hair, I grabbed my
kit and headed for the furthest west point of lands end. having to
wait an hour and a half for a guy to roll out of bed and take my
picture next to the signpost wasn't the greatest start tovthe day but
for a keepsake it needed to be done.

by now the rain had begun and I quickly threw on my waterproofs...
anything now on my body and no longer in my bag was a bloody bonus!!!

It took me all of 1 mile to take the wrong byway into a deadend which
in the rain was not fun at all. finally got to use my compass in anger
though, so maybe not all bad?!

about 3 miles later I had come to the foot of Cairns Brea, a hill at
about 200m above sea level, but looks even more daunting as it's such
an incline. "bugger it, up I go" I unwisely said to myself. at the
top I felt like I could have screamed... not only as my thighs were on
fire, but the hike up this bastard turned into a waterfall, with dark
muddy water about shin high flowing all around my legs. thank god I
bought good boots as my feet were bone dry, even though my sand
coloured trousers now had a new stylish mud ankle design... sexy, but
bloody cold!

on I went to what my OS map told me was a tourist location called
China Clay Works. thought it might be worth a look and it's in the
direction I'm heading so off I trod. about a mile into what can only
be described as a shit hole with the odd signpost warning me "Danger
Mineshafts" ...yep, that's what I said... a kid on a mountain bike
said in a very strong Cornish accent "I wuddna go through thair... I
just put my bike into a puddle and it went in saddle high. had to jump
into a field and got charged by a bull" (gave up writing in Cornish).
fantastic!!!!

a mile and a half of backtracking and one serious blister on my little
toe later, I had finally made it onto the A3071 heading in a beeline
for Penzance. screw the sightseeing, I'm getting there asap!

dreading the thought of walking another 3 miles to a campsite north of
penzance, I gave David and sandra a call and made like the clappers
for their B&B.

I think there's a serious lesson to be learnt from todays
activities... DO NOT leave home without the greatest hits collection
of Electric Light Orchestra. I'd have asked a farmer to put a shotgun
shell in my temple if I didn't bounce along to ELO whilst backtracking.

Possibly a rest day tomorrow but as the weather's supposed to be
glorious, I might trek on ahead of schedule. whatever I do, you'll
hear about it soon - off the record, on the QT, and very hush hush :)