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.
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