Friday 30^th January - Day 28

Walking song of the day: ‘Henry Lee’ - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Let me tell you about the house I stayed in last night. Firstly you need to get your head around the fact that it was a medieval house and that it also used to be in a place called Ware in Hertfordshire. That’s right, somebody, a lady to be more precise, literally moved house. This is the story.

Hertfordshire council wanted to knock the place down but she refused to leave it. She started ripping out all the plaster and discovered old beams held together with wooden rivets and leaded windows. She numbered all the beams and somehow, begun moving it across to Wells-next-the-sea, 104 miles away. According to Christine, the lady’s niece, it took her twenty years and when she died she gave it to Christine on condition that she and her children finished it. It was a proper labour of love. The antiques road show came to look at some of the amazing furniture therein, but apparently, one of the presenters said upon entry “never mind about the furniture, what about the house” . All the furniture and fabrics were ancient also and my room had the wooden panelling and a hand-carved oak bed. It was cold, very cold; I could see massive cobwebs (not what I want in my room by any stretch of the imagination) blowing around in the draft coming through one of the windows but I put up with it for the night as it was such an extraordinary place..

Meanwhile back at the walk. Another 16 miles along the same road took me to Hunstanton. After about 11 miles I came to a pub whose name escapes me but they were having a fundraiser for the RNLI, whereby, you paid a fiver and you could have as much soup as you could eat/drink. Do you eat soup or drink it? Eat it I guess, especially if it has potato in it, as Leek and potato assuredly does. I mean, you don’t drink potato’s do you? Well, unless you make vodka out of them but you see what I’m getting at, right?

Anyway, there were four varieties of soup to choose from, mushroom and tarragon, chicken and sweet corn, tomato and basil and leek and potato (which I didn’t drink). I couldn’t help thinking that the chef showed a bit of a lack of ambition in choosing those soups. A bit boring if you ask me. I tried every one though, to be polite and they gave me loads of bread as well so for a fiver, that wasn’t bad.

Unfortunately they sat me on a table next to a load of middle-aged toffs, one of whom had exactly the same voice as that old DJ and Crackerjack host, Ed Stewart. Then I looked at him and I became pretty much convinced it was Ed Stewart. I toyed with the idea of shout out “CRACKERJACK” really loudly but, if it wasn’t him I would have looked a twat, and if it was him, I would have also looked a twat too. He possibly is bored with having that shouted at him, not least by men in anoraks such as myself.

Their conversation was appalling. It was all, who shot this, who owns that. At one stage they debated who owned ASDA (I nearly shouted out WalMart but remember what I said about listening in to peoples conversations in a pub and being smug in an earlier blog?) It was proper, rich country people kind of talk. Then one of them really upped the namedropping ante (he’d already mentioned Stephen Fry and Barry Norman by this point). Anyway, this guy started telling a quick story about his mate who lived in Sandringham and had the Queen as a neighbour.

“And do you know what, she only invited him to come and shoot on her land. Trouble was he couldn’t make it that day but he invited for drinks at his local the following Friday and you’ll never guess? Her lordship only turned up with Philip and had a drink with him. How brilliant is that?”

The answer mate is not brilliant at all. If I had ever brought the Queen to the old Castle in Brentwood I would have been barred for a week at least, and quite rightly. It would no doubt have kicked off in there to: “Oi are you looking at my bird?”
“Of course I am, you’re Prince Philip”.

It was great in an awful way listening to them. They all had daughters called Annabel as well it seemed.

Cheers

Al

Ps Pic below is of me trying to fit in in the posh pub this lunchtime

Thursday 29^th January - Day 27

Walking song of the day: K-Jee (full length version): M.F.S.B

There is virtually nothing to say about today at all. I do wish that my feet wouldn’t ache so much after about 8 miles. Because of this the last 5 miles today were a real struggle. It’s a real shame, as without this problem I could go on for far longer. Perhaps things will improve but it is a bit of a hindrance.

The route today of 16 miles did not deviate once from the same road. This made for a boring walk, made slightly worse by always being in sight of the sea but never really being able to walk alongside it. The sun may have been shining all day but that did nothing much to lift the mood.

Nothing to report really. Maybe I will get a blister tomorrow.

Cheers

Al

Ps: Check yout the speed camera in the pic below. It's made of wood and the 'flash' is a jam jar.  Also check out the elephant topiary

Monday 26^th January - Day 24

Walking song of the day: “Where is My Mind?” - The Pixies

I told you about Sue Dodds from yesterday being lovely, well get this: as I left her this morning she gave me a box of seashell chocolates (her guesthouse is called ‘Seashells’ don’t forget), two pens and a calculator. Thankyou again Sue, that was a lovely gesture and they will all come in very handy.

So today, Great Yarmouth to Ingham. I had to come inland to find a bed for the night. I am staying at a place called the Swan Inn. My poor mum spent hours on the phone trying to find something on the coast but this was the closest place she could find with a room going. £60 mind you but they have thrown in a free meal because the heating in my room is broken and I have to make do with a fan heater which is fine but very dull for you from a blog point of view.

As you know, walking along roads is not my idea of what this walk should be about but sometimes it’s unavoidable. It started on the prom by Yarmouth pier and included some nice parts along the beach near Caister, but shortly after leaving the hilariously named California, it was road all the way. This though was a country road and there were times when again, there was complete silence, I mean literally not a sound. Think about how often that ever happens in your day to day life. Even in the dead of night you can often still hear the distant hum of traffic. In my case, from my old flat in Brentwood I could hear traffic from the A12. But out there today there were very brief moments when all life seemed to have stopped. There was though, one great sound that I will remember for a long time. I was walking past this enormous field for a good half hour when I realised it was full of geese. There must have been a thousand at least and when they spotted me they all began flying away. The sound of two thousand wings all flapping in unison sounded magnificent, kind of like a thick bicycle tyre gaining momentum on concrete. Then though they all started shrieking which is altogether, a quite different racket.

So hear I am, in a converted barn which is lovely if a little chilly, just over three weeks and three hundred miles into the walk. I am getting fitter and stronger although depressingly, no slimmer. I am enjoying it a whole lot more than I was due to the fact that there is far less pain and walking seventeen miles, as I did today, was far, far easier than it was twenty days ago

Cheers

Al

Ps: The swan in the picture is actually eating my banana underwater

Saturday 24^th January - Day 22

Walking song of the day - ‘If You Want Me, Say It’ - Love Unlimited

Apart from Frank Sinatra singing ‘One For My Baby’, there is no more beautiful sound on earth than the noise of the sea. Today I listened to virtually nothing else, my Walkman relegated to the pocket for the most part as I walked the twelve or so miles from Southwold to Lowestoft along cliffs and deserted beaches that incorporated the Benacre Wildlife Reserve.

When I first thought about what I wanted from the walk, this was pretty much it. To be by the sea, to listen to the sea and to be at peace with my surrounding in a way I never could be in Huddersfield. I am not someone who finds it easy to relax but today I came as close as I have done in years to totally emptying my head and being calm. The sea does this to you in a way music never can. Music is my passion and it moves and stirs me like nothing else on earth, but I can never relax to it. The sea though, no matter how tempestuous or how calm, just soothes me, like a giant radox bath or a mother’s love.

That’s how it was all day. Twelve miles of sandy beaches, eroding brown cliffs and more wild woodland. For a mile or so, the beach was littered with dead trees, their brothers and sisters perched petrified above on the cliff edge, knowing that they too, would shortly be joining them on the sand.

I stopped for lunch in a place called Kessingland at a pub called The Sailor’s Home. Pictures of men with fish adorned the walls and the welcome was warm. ‘Cream of vegetable soup’ read the blackboard, which I thought to be a rather grand boast, so I ordered some and I have to say, it was pretty good. They were also showing the West Ham game so I quite happy there in front of the log fire.

The accommodation in Lowestoft was again brilliant. My mum is becoming an expert at finding places for me to stay and getting discounts. Sometimes it can take her a whole day and more to find a single place willing to rent me a room so well done mum. Tonight I am staying at the Wavecrest Guest House and not only that, Sue Jackson, the landlady has donated the room for free and thrown in breakfast. It’s people like Sue who, with such a warm welcome and her generosity, keep this walk alive. Thanks Sue, it’s really appreciated. And was lovely to meet you.

Right’ that’s it

Al

 Ps The last picture on here loks as though the big tree is patting the smaller one on the head. Or something

Wednesday 21^st January - Day 19

Walking song of the day: ‘Expansions’ - Lonnie Liston Smith

Back into the walking swing of things today and it was a pleasure to be back on the road. I am now in the Three Tuns Inn in Pettistree, which is about 12 miles north of Ipswich. This meant again walking along roads but mostly they were small country lanes so for hours, I didn’t see a soul.

I left my walking boots with Steve and Merry and changed into a pair of trainers that Anna had kindly posted to me after I had left them in her car in Brighton. I am not sure if this is yet a sensible move as, although they are lighter, they don’t quite give as much protection to the souls of the feet and you start to feel it quicker than you normally would. Saying that though, today was the first day of the whole walk that I have felt no pain whatsoever, apart from achy feet right at the end. Even my shoulder is hurting less although since stopping for the day, it has begun to revert to type. The Ibuprofen gel is not really doing anything but I think the painkillers might be.

I passed through a gorgeous little town called Woodbridge, which is about five miles south of where I am now. Another one of those English Tourist Board poster towns, all craft and teashops with names like Frangipani, where I had lunch, and The Rolling Scones. I made the second one up but you get the idea. It was also, utterly silent when I arrived there, so much so I had to stop and check my phone to see if it wasn’t a Sunday. As I passed through the main drag, I could almost imagine myself as Clint Eastwood, riding slowly through the town, whilst eyes spied him from behind shutters and foolish gunslingers lined up their last ever pot-shots from behind the swing saloon doors.

Actually I didn’t really imagine myself as Clint Eastwood. I had a rucksack and was wearing an anorak. The Man With No Aim?

So at the moment I am in the middle of nowhere and I am hoping I will not be abused when it comes to ordering food tonight. I have no choice but to eat here so really they can charge me what the hell they like. Trying to eat cheaply is a problem as is trying to eat healthily. I am foregoing fried breakfasts each day and instead ordering poached eggs and cereal or porridge but come evening time, and being that this is a walk around the coast, it is very difficult to find anything other than chip shops and Chinese takeaways. I had a Chinese prawn curry last night which cost £3.80 including rice. See if you can guess what that tasted like.

Right, that’s it

Al

Ps It tasted rubbish

Tuesday 20^th January - Day 18

Over the years I have done a fair amount of radio interviews, chiefly to promote one comedy show or another and I enjoy them immensely. Radio is by far my favourite medium; if my lounge was on fire, I would save the radio before I saved the TV, although thinking about it, I listen to the radio through the TV thanks to the digital revolution and don’t actually own a radio. But this morning I was a bit more apprehensive than usual. I’m not worried so much about making a fool of myself, I am something of a master at that. No, I’m always worried that I might swear.

I am not by any stretch of the imagination someone who considers swearing the sign of a limited vocabulary. On the contrary, swearing only adds to it, literally. If you have a child who has never sworn before, then he/she comes home from his/her first day at school and tells Grandma to piss off out of the way of the TV, then, apart from upsetting Grandma, all he/she has really done is add a new word to their own little lexicon. Then you can spend some quality time together finding out where that particular word originates from (France in this case, from pissoir for toilet) and where it might not be appropriate to use it.

Swearing on the radio, especially the BBC is a definite no-no. I have heard DJ’s ask very well known guests to please not swear after they have let slip a ‘bloody’ or an ‘arse’ accidentally and you can almost hear the embarrassment for all concerned floating on the airwaves, not because of the words themselves, but because one has to gently upbraid them for saying them. It’s all a complete nonsense of course but folk will phone in or write a stiff letter of complaint. These people usually live in Tunbridge Wells and are often arses.

So as I sat in BBC Essex in Writtle Road, Chelmsford, I was quietly telling myself that there was no way I would let any profanities slip, not least because this time, it wouldn’t just be me who looked like a bit of a fool, it would also reflect on Tellus Link Network, my sponsors, and also the charities I was representing, two of whom are children’s charities.

As it was, the airways stayed clean and unblue and the interview went very well. Dave Monk, who has had a show there for years was my interviewer and he had a woman in with him who asked some pretty good questions. At least this time I was not asked to tell a joke, which is what has happened every time I have ever be on the radio before and which is something I always beg them beforehand not to ask me to do.

Incidentally, BBC Essex Radio was opened by the widow of Guiglielmo Marconi, who invented the radio in Chelmsford. In fact, Writtle Road once housed the huge Marconi Communications Company, for whom my dad worked for many years in the capacity of PR manager. The site is a housing estate now. They also had a large social club in Beehive Lane where I first started playing snooker seriously as an eleven-year-old and had dreams of one day being world champion and where I worried how I would fit in all the practice required as well as playing for West Ham. Happy days.

After the radio, I made my way to Ipswich by train, having decided that, due to the fact that much of the Essex coast was very difficult to traverse, due to lots of rivers and no bridges, marshlands and other obstacles, it was far more sensible to head to Suffolk and walk back to Aldebrugh and pick up the coast there.

Having researched other peoples’ accounts of this self same coastal walk that I am undertaking, many of them missed off exactly the same bit. It would be totally nuts to walk 30 miles inland along a river and then 30 miles back along the other side just to gain the 20ft from one side of the river to the other. This will also save me weeks of walking time and considerable living expenses.

Right, that’s it

Al

Monday 19^th January - Day 17.

Although I know that all publicity is vital for the walk, I couldn’t help thinking that today was a wasted day. I would have much preferred to have got back to the coast and continue walking, but instead I had to make my way to Chelmsford in readiness for the radio interview.

I lived in Chelmsford between the ages of 3-15 before I moved to Brentwood in 1986, so obviously I know it well, although on my first visit back there in 1989, that did stand by the Regent bingo club and waited 20 minutes for a bus before I realised that the whole place had been pedestrianised. No-one had told me, I know not why.

A major plus of my Chelmsford jolly was the chance to spend time with lifelong friends Steve and Merry Hart. Steve I have know since I was a toddler and he used to come to watch West Ham with me and my Ma and Pa in the late 70’s where we would stand week-in, week-out in the ‘Chicken Run’, invariably freezing and drinking hot chocolate from a flask and eating cheese and onion rolls. Steve figures hugely in many of my happiest childhood memories, not least the very happy childhood memory of being at Wembley Stadium on Saturday 10^th May 1980 to see the Hammers thrash the Arsenal 1-0 in the FA Cup Final. Happy days indeed.

Merry, who has been Steve’s partner and wife for way over 20 years was as usual very welcoming and great company,. Together, like the well-oiled machine that only years in the company of someone can produce, they provided me with easily the best meal I have had in years, a sproggett of lamb with mash so flavoursome that I thought for a moment that I might pass out. It was a lovely night and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing them both. Thanks Steve and Merry.

Right, that’s it

Al

Beer Watch: 1

Apple Watch: 0

Banana Watch: 0

Saturday 17^th and Sunday 18^th January - Days 15 and 16

Rest days are very important; even God, for those of you who believe in him/her/it, had his secretary (who could have been a man) pencil one in during his busy week of creating the world. Whilst I admit I haven’t been creating anything at all, I still waited a fortnight before I built in a rest day to my walking schedule. I am not saying this makes me better or fitter than God, I will simply let you draw your own conclusions.

And so it was that after a lovely night spent with Sonia and Jessica (sis and niece respectively) I caught the train back to the coast, Benfleet to be exact, to meet up with my non-tennis playing pals, Bunny and Suzanne, with whom I would be spending the rest of the weekend ahead of my radio interview at BBC Essex in Chelmsford on Tuesday morning.

Benfleet to Leigh-on-Sea is a very pleasant walk of about four miles, along a tributary of the Thames. Hundreds of different species of birds migrate there each year including, now I think I have got this right, one-third of the worlds’ geese population. Don’t quote me on that; I am not in a position to check just at this moment, but I think that’s what Suzanne told me she had read somewhere. Is that right Su?

As per the rest of the walk so far, the weather was perfect, no clouds at all in a sky the colour of Manchester City’s home kit. (They are known as the Sky Blues, football repellers. Bunny, being a photographer by trade, did what photographers do and took plenty of pictures, mainly of me looking out of breath and with a windswept Bobby Charlton comb-over. I didn’t mind though, looking terrible is par for the course, even when I am not walking in wind.

Leigh-on-Sea is such a stunning little place, world famous cockle huts, notably Osbourne’s, and plenty of galleries, restaurants and pubs, including the Smack Inn in which we stopped for a lunch of Guinness. Fantastically, a large number of my pals from Brentwood had made the 25 mile journey to come and wish me well and give me a couple of presents; a banana guard which surely came from Ann Summers, and an ankle strap, both gifts from Jenny (Lifestyle) Joyce. Thanks again Jen,

The effort made by them all to come and see me, as they did in Brighton, meant so much to me, as do their constant calls, emails and texts. So to all of you who came down and raised a glass with me, thank you so much. It really does keep me going.

Sunday was easy and included watching my beloved West Ham United in the Victoria Arms in Brentwood, before heading back to Leigh-on-Sea for an early night.

Right, that’s it

Al

Beer Watch: 9 (over the course of the weekend obviously)

Apple Watch: 2

Banana Watch: 0

Friday 15^th January - Day 14

Walking to the doctor’s song of the day - ‘Talisman’ - Air

After two weeks of sustained agony, bravely borne, I have finally been diagnosed with a trapped nerve. This is the cause of the pain in my shoulder. A trapped nerve. How does a nerve become trapped? Did it wander into quicksand? Did it get caught in an avalanche of corpuscles? Has it got its head stuck between railings?

Actually, now I come to think of it, my doctor didn’t exactly go overboard with the examination side of his diagnosis. I explained that it felt like a bruise and caused a shooting pain down my back when I moved my head, but not every time I moved my head. “Oh yeah, it’s a trapped nerve” he said confidently, as if identifying his own mother from a police line-up featuring her and the Chippendales. The thing is I totally accepted his summation without question. If he’d have said, “shoulder cancer”, I’d have accepted that to, because he’s a doctor. We, as a people, do tend to accept what is told to us by people in positions of power or authority. I am fully certain that if I said that Mars Bars were actually made on Mars, people would no doubt assume I was making a pretty week pun type of joke. If a scientist repeated the same fact, it would be the lead story on Newsnight and people would believe it without question. I am a fan of science and scientists, but there is a part of me that thinks that 50% of the time they just make stuff up just to see how much they can get us to believe and then laugh at our utter stupidity and gullibility (which isn't a real word). N.A.S.A. stands for Not A Single Answer, of that I am convinced, although they did invent WD40 which smells nice and is essential if you are parent of a small child. (It breaks down wax crayon so you can just wipe it off the wall).

So anyway my shoulder injury is being healed as we speak, not with leeches but with Ibuprofen gel and some tablets. If it works I shall never doubt science again (apart from string theory and the butterfly effect. Yeah right, get real)

So my day off from the walk was spent doing not much except hanging out with my lovely sister Sonia and planning future routes and places to stop along the way. Tomorrow I am meeting friends in Leigh-on-Sea, some of whom will be walking with me from Benfleet. I am looking forward to that immensely, especially as both Kerri and Karen will be taking their new babies, both of whom are absolutely gorgeous.

Right that’s it

Al

Ps: Please feel free to leave comments under the blog in the er, comment area.

Beer Watch: 0

Apple Watch: 1

Banana Watch: 0

Thursday 15^th January - Day 13

Walking song of the day: ‘Cold Blooded Old Times’ - Smog

I decided early on this morning that I wouldn’t spend tonight in Gravesend as originally planned but instead catch a train back to Brentwood and get an extra day’s rest at Sonia’s (sister) house. Plan is to pick up again at noon on Saturday in Benfleet where I am to be met by old pal Bunny, with whom I will walk to Southend and spend the rest of the weekend, before carrying on Monday morning.

Going to Gravesend station proved to be good for blog material but bad for the general mood. There was a guy there, mid-twenties who was so out of it, it was ridiculous. First he was trying to climb over the ticket barrier, watched by an incredulous but patient ticket inspector and his long-suffering mate who was trying to buy them both a ticket. He of course fell heavily from the barrier, head first, but with his booze superpowers working to the max, he didn’t feel a thing. Just as well because he picked himself up and walked face first into the side of the ticket machine, the edge of which, smashed into the top of his cheekbone causing his head to snap back so violently I thought he would get whiplash. This drew gasps of “my God that must have hurt, is he invincible?”, from the now not insubstantial crowd that had gathered.

I was silently praying that he wasn’t going in my direction but of course, being a staunch atheist for the whole of my life, he was. As I crossed the bridge to the London bound platform, things got a little more serious as I saw him lurching towards the platform edge in the carefree and nonchalant manner of someone who doesn’t know they are about to die. No word of a lie, the faces of the people waiting for the train were frozen in horror, Captain Scott style, but just as a teeter was about to turn into a topple and show us just how invincible he really was, his heroic mate pulled him back from the brink. There was no train in the vicinity but the tracks were electrified. He would have been killed for sure. Blissfully unaware of the fatal disaster that had so nearly befallen him, he turned to his friend and asked him: “can you get me some vodka?”

This whole episode left me feeling shaken and quite sad. I had come very close to seeing a young man killed and it was a deeply unsettling experience. Eventually he was ejected from the station along with his mate after being talked to by two ‘community support officers’. What a waste of time and money that is. Any copper worth his salt would have taken him into custody for his own protection, but these two just let him go. No powers of arrest you see. It didn’t occur to them to phone the police and have them pick him up. I dread to think how that all ended. I am pretty certain that Megan, whom our friend was constantly telling anyone who would listen that he loved with all his heart, probably wasn’t going to be letting him in. Also, if I am honest, I was kind of put out that there was a chance that he had a girlfriend and I didn’t. You girls are so weird.

On a lighter note, during the walk to Gravesend, I passed a pub near the mouth of the Thames where I decided to have a quick rest and a sandwich. Turned out they were doing a carvery for £3.43. I think that is what is known in the trade as a result. Not sure why £3.43, but I wasn’t about to complain. It was rammed, mainly with pensioners, who are my favourite group of people to eat a roast dinner with, so all in all, a happy little hour was spent.

Just outside Gravesend I gave another interview and had some pics taken. It was right at the end of the day so the Dr Sex look was in it’s final flourish. Think I pulled it off though. I turned my head slightly so the scab looked like a hill behind me and nothing to do with my actual face. I wonder where in the paper they will hide that particular story.

So now I am in Brentwood, doctor tomorrow and a few days of rest with friends and family. The blogs though, will continue as normal

Right that’s it.

Al

Ps: Yes the pic below is of a barbers shop inside a gents toilet

Beer watch: 0

Apple Watch: 0

Banana Watch: 0

Suicide Watch: Nearly 1