Friday 27^th February - Day 57

Walking song of the day: ‘This Is A Low’ - Blur

Scotland - home of the ginger and the retroactive farewell. What do I mean by that? Well, I’ll tell you. On three occasions today I have heard someone say to someone else: “Goodbye just now” (pronounced, 'joos noo'). Oh I love this phrase so much and it makes me laugh every time I hear it. What does it mean? I have no idea, it's a Scottish thing. In the south, some people say “Goodbye now” which is similar but very annoying, but this way it seems more urgent, almost desperate. Desperate for others not to consider you rude by walking away in silence. “What do you mean I didn’t say goodbye, I said it just now!“

I am hoping one day to see a lady heading for the exit of a post office up here in Scotland, and for her to turn around and say simply, “Goodbye”. Then a few moments later, pop her head back round the door and say “joos noo”.

The one I really can’t stand is normally said by folk of a certain age and it’s “thanking you”. Why are you telling me you are thanking me? I understood that when you said thank you. Do these people conduct a running commentary on their everyday movements?

“I am watching television and thinking about changing the channel I just can’t get on with Countdown now Carol has gone where are the biscuits I might have a bath later I wonder if I should buy a lottery ticket oh I wish I had someone to go to the pub with and talk to but people seem to avoid me like the plague”

The one I don’t understand and never has is the phrase ‘believe you me‘. My mum says it when she wants to make me understand that I am about to do something stupid again. “You’ll regret it” she’ll say, “Believe you me”. I have never worked that one. Surely it should be ‘believe me, you’?

Meanwhile, back at the walk and the whole day was spent on the same road and was pretty dull until a few miles from Haddington, from where I write to you now. The scenery is really starting to become far more interesting and varied and the coast has become noticeably more dramatic. Haddington itself has many shops, none of which, apart from Ladbrokes and the ubiquitous Greggs, are chains. Nearly all of them have hand painted facades and most sell hand made goods of varying quality. It’s such a refreshing change not to see Starbucks and Burger King but instead Baguette-Me-Not and the Bead Shop, where, no word of a lie, I went in and looked around for a ciabatta roll before realising I had misread the sign. I was quite embarrassed, to say the least.

Cheers

Al

Thursday 26th February - Day 56

Walking song of the day: ‘Always On My Mind’ - Willie Nelson

Oh man, the wind, the wind. And why do I keep forgetting to take food with me every single day? I have got into this habit of assuming that there will always be a village shop or pub where I can have a short break or a bite to eat. Today I walked 18 miles and saw nothing at all that could be described as a place to eat. All the way there though I saw turnips and sprouts littering the country lanes that had fallen of the back of farmers’ trailers but you wouldn’t want to eat them, not because they had been on the floor, rolling around in all sorts of crap, but because they were sprouts.

Within moments of leaving Eyemouth this morning I knew I was in trouble. Trying to negotiate the first hill, which as hills go, was not that steep, was exhausting. This was because of a gale that was blowing, not in gusts but constantly and, though I didn’t know it then, it would be stay like that for the whole day. It was relentless and it made walking very difficult.

I followed the A1107 for about ten miles, through Coldingham, took a short detour to St Abbs, a stunning little harbour town, before picking up the A1 again later. This was a tough bit of the walk; high up in the hills and against the wind with no shelter or anywhere to rest. The views though, were out of this world and, apart from the enormous blueish-grey power station, all I could see for miles was coastline, hills and in the far distance, mountains. It was breathtaking, metaphorically and literally.

I arrived at the very friendly Rossborough Hotel exhausted and starving but very grateful that my boots, the same pair I had swapped in Chelmsford for trainers, had turned up. I am hoping I will now be able to get back to doing 15 mile days regularly rather than being in agony at 9.

I didn’t want to go out again at all so I decided to have dinner ‘in house’. I met another guest in the dining room who was very friendly and I was about to start up a conversation with him, when I found out from the waiter, (whom incidentally, was wearing a bobble hat, a touch I rather liked), that my nearly new friend had ordered the very last pork chop. After the waiter in the bobble hat had taken my order, Cumberland sausage and mash in onion gravy since you ask, I looked at the other guest, sniffed haughtily and dismissively in his general direction, and began reading the paper.

Cheers

Al

PS Look at the house below. The snails are enormous in Scotland

Monday 23^rd February - Day 53

Walking song of the day: ‘How Beautiful You Are’ - The Cure

To paraphrase an old football cliché; today was a walk of two halves. The first seven miles was fine, if a bit dull but the second was much more interesting, thanks mainly to me going the wrong way again. I followed a very quiet country road out of Dunstan which would have taken me all the way to Bamburgh but as often happens with me, I was distracted by first a train and then the two mountains far off to my left, the names of which I have been unable to determine.

This happy wandering lead me through the village of North Sunderland and into the fishing village of Seahouses, which also happens to be the burial place of Grace Darling’s brother who died there in 1904.

Anyway in Seahouses I stopped for a coffee at the Koffee and Kreme café on Main Street. I have to admit that I was just a little bit drawn to the very pretty lady running the place whom I later found out was called Lynn Manion. So, off I went into a little reverie about helping Lynn run the café for the rest of my life when in walked possibly the biggest man I have ever seen in my life, a proper man mountain if ever there was.

This turned out to be Pete, Lynn’s husband.

Being a tea drinker by and large, I quickly went off the idea of running the café with Lynn and instead we all sat around chatting for a bit, before Pete revealed to me an astonishing coincidence from our past.

Pete, it turns out, used to be a doorman at Hollywood’s Nightclub in Romford, Essex; (there is an old joke debating whether there is a Romford's nightclub in Hollywood). This was an amazing thing to hear as from the ages of around 20-30, I used to go to Hollywood’s every Monday night and throw some shapes to all the Indie tunes they played. In those days you could hear The Smiths, The Cure, The Pixies, Echobelly, Sleeper, Nirvana, The Cult, Pulp etc. Whole swathes of us would travel up from Brentwood on the train (It's only a ten-minute journey, but long enough to guzzle a bottle of wine or two) and I vividly remember seeing my former partner Sarah in there, long before she became my girlfriend, with cropped hair (shaved for comic relief if I remember correctly)and wearing a long red dress and looking stunning. It was a really happy time and a great time to be a music fan. The former Radio 1 DJ Bruno Brookes used to play down there sometimes but he was rubbish. Anyway, I don’t remember Pete from those days but I can’t imagine anyone kicking off, not on his watch, blimey. Makes you realise though what a tiny country we live in (unless you walk round it of course). Pete is now a personal trainer and runs New Life Fitness. Give him a call if you live up that way on 07931322460. Good luck to you Pete and Lynn, and thanks for the coffee, it was delicious and just what I needed.

Onto Bamburgh then and past a beautiful beach as you can see below. This was Aidan Dunes and Exmoor ponies are now grazing there. Needless to say I went and spent a bit of time with them, but this time didn’t share my apples as they were a bit stand-offish and if I am honest, I found them to be a bit rude. It was though lovely and a nice surprise for those birds to form the letter ‘A’ to point the way for me, also below, (or maybe they were sonsored by Slazenger). I felt very special. This bird signpost occured just as two fighter jets were out on practice runs. I couldn’t help thinking that this was my belated birthday flypast and as I approached the castle, I was half expecting a ginger flag to be flying in my honour. It wasn’t. Don’t ask me what the jets were (oh you weren’t going to) but they were very loud and very fast. And I want to have a go in one.

Bamburgh Castle has existed in one form or another since around 420AD but the original fortifications were destroyed by Vikings in 993. William II unsuccessfully besieged it in 1095 and it also became the first British castle to be defeated by artillery fire (thanks Mum). I am a fan of castles and as some of you have heard many times, the Dynevor family owned one in Wales a few years back.  This would be mine now if the National Trust hadn’t nicked it in the 1970’s. I don’t see them running to claim my house in Huddersfield, oh no. Sybarites, one and all.

Cheers

Al

Ps It's true, look up Dynevor Castle on Google (or Dinefwr Castle if you are Welsh)

Pictures will appear very soon

Sunday 22nd February - Day 52

Walking song of the day: 'Reward' - The Teardrop Explodes

For the second consecutive day I had to walk a couple of miles inland to cross a river, this time the Coquet river at Warkworth. Warkworth also has a castle, known locally as Warkworth Castle, (built by Henry, son of David I of Scotland in the 12^th century when Northumbria was still part of Scotland), which I wanted to go in and have a look around but a) it wasn’t free and b) I didn’t fancy lugging my rucksack around with me. Instead I went and wrote a postcard in the very pretty Warkworth village and carried on my way.

Today was a day of highs and lows. Some of the highs included fabulous weather (I have worn nothing under my anorak except a t-shirt for a couple of weeks now and haven’t a clue where my long johns are) and terrific scenery. After having gone wrong for a mile or so near Anwick Castle, (which doubles as the exterior of Hogwarts School in the Hrry Potter films) I found a way back by walking through fields signposted as conservation areas. Here I saw rabbits and at least two hares, not to mention a couple of pheasants. When was the last time you saw a hare? I hadn’t seen one for years. Getting back to the road required me crossing a railway line which happened to be the East Coast line between London and Edinburgh; the amount of dead animals, and skeletons of animals by the side of the tracks was pretty shocking and made me think of my beloved dog Brutus Maximus who was killed by a train in Cambridge a few years back at the age of 2.

Some of the lows started out as highs. Just after finishing a phone call from my pal Steve, I slipped over. Normally I would incorporate this into a dance routine to make it look as though I had planned it, but that’s not easy when you are sitting in a large muddy puddle, unable to get up because of the weight of your rucksack. Not only that but I had my iphone in my hand and it got covered. Miraculously it still works but my trousers look as though I have…well you can guess. I didn’t bother with the dance moves when I finally got up. I just swore a lot.

As I was only a mile from my digs for the night I wondered up a steep hill to pick up the road again. This was really tough going as the grass was very long and thick. I was in a world of my own when I suddenly realised I was on the edge of a cliff. A cliff about half-a-mile inland and facing away from the sea. It was sheer, and at least 80 feet high, so I had no choice but to go back the way I had come, swearing again. If I had been paying less attention I would have been found at the bottom of a cliff with a big brown patch on my trousers. I could see the headline as clear as day. “Idiot found dead after falling off inland cliff no-one else has ever fallen off, ever. And with shit on his trousers. Idiot”.

Cheers

Al

Saturday 21^st February - Day 51

Walking song of the day: ‘Mirrorball’ - Elbow

All of a sudden I have been walking for 51 days. What have I learned? Have I found myself? Am I a different, more rounded individual? Well, I haven’t learned anything, except, to walk very long distances you need footwear of a standard yet to be attained by Nike or Merrell or Hi-Tec. I have lost half-a-stone but I have not found myself. I don’t need to, I am already well aware of who I am. Some of me I like, some of me I don’t much care for. This makes me pretty much the same as everyone else on the planet and hurrah to that.

Much of the first part of the day was spent walking along the A189 against a wind so strong I was half expecting to see Judy Garland go whizzing by my ears. At one point on a bridge perhaps 60 feet high, I was blown from the middle of the pavement against the barrier, which, as any self-respecting barrier should, stopped from falling into the very shallow and probably very cold river below, in which I would almost certainly have looked a fool, just before drowning.

So with the wind and the lorries hurling themselves toward me, creating a noise so deafening I was unable to concentrate on any single thought for more than a second, I decided to get off the road at the earliest opportunity, which luckily was about a mile onwards when I picked up the national cycle path.

As soon as I got to the village of Cresswell I was able to walk next to the beach for about four miles and the first thing I saw was a horse., tethered by a chain to a pole. This horse was so gentle that it let me take a picture of us together several times, not remotely bothered by either the flash of the camera or my fussiness. On at least three occasions I styled his hair so it was out of his face and behind his ears. He was very patient. In the end, my arms proved too short and as you can see from the picture, I have cut off his nose, not to spite his face mind you, but by accident. I gave him a Braeburn apple by way of thanks/payment and this he held in his mouth for a while, turning it around with his tongue for better grip before I am certain, swallowing it hole. Then I gave him half a banana but he didn’t seem to like that and dropped it on the floor. Waste not want not, I didn’t think. It was tough to leave my equine pal, I adore horses and find it hard to pass one in a field without trying to get a stroke, but leave him I did and as soon as I got over the sand dune I saw at least 40 more horses all tethered, some with hay, some without. Then I spotted a traveller settlement so I figured they must have belong to our nomadic friends.

As I approached the aptly named Amble, I realised that one of my earphone for my Walkman was not working properly which is a massive pain. If any one has a spare set of ipod earphones, please let me know. There is nothing much to say about Amble really; quiet, friendly and a bit dull. It did have a laundrette though. Get in.

Cheers

Al

 Ps The horse below, not the one I am cuddling, the other one; that is hair growing from his top lip, he is not eating a Barbie doll

Wednesday 18^th February - Day 48

Walking song of the day: ‘Haunted By You’ - Gene

Seaham must be the most hopeless place I have ever visited, and I have been to Canvey Island and lived in Huddersfield.

More dog shit than shops, Seaham is one of those places that needs to be started again from scratch. I arrived there at around 3.30pm and everything was shut apart from a few greengrocers and a branch of Somerfield. A lot of these shops were derelict as were many of the houses on the estate surrounding them and you could almost smell the misery and poverty. There just didn’t seem to be anything there at all of any interest to anyone and there was hardly anyone around either. It just seemed as though the town and its people had given up. Even the poet Byron, who married Anne Millbanke in Seaham Hall in January 1815 was bored: “Upon this dreary coast we have nothing but county meetings and shipwrecks” he once wrote to a friend..

My route to Seaham took me through two colliery towns, Blackhall and Easington. Blackhall beach is famous for having had the final scene of the 1971 Michael Caine film, Get Carter, shot there. I walked on this beach quite extensively today and I can tell you, despite what the tourist guides might tell you about pristine beaches and massive clean-up operations since the closure of the pit in 1981, there was plenty of black sand and also black sea. Not to mention mud, as you can see from the picture below

The story of Easington Colliery is even darker. On 29 May 1951, a massive explosion killed 83 men. Many families lost multiple members. 83 trees now line Memorial Avenue.

All this bad news wasn’t making for a particularly edifying day and it got slightly worse when I went to buy a bottle of water. The shop was across the road so I shuffled across, trying to avoid being hit by anything, just as a bloke, around 65 years old was getting out of his car. As I stepped on to the pavement I heard him say behind me “Fu**ing pr**k”. I have no idea why. I think he must have thought I had cut him up. He was incredibly angry. Anyway it wasn’t the day to be aggressive to me so I let him have it. “Sorry I said, my fault entirely. Really I should have let myself be killed just so you were able to get into the shop two seconds quicker. I do apologise”. Or words to that effect.

I was glad when the day was done today, if truth be told

Cheers

Al

PS: yep, those are beer cans

Saturday 14^th February - Day 44

Now this is what it’s all about. Despite having to stick to the A171 most of the way, the walk to Whitby from Scarborough was at times, astonishingly beautiful, despite my route causing me to miss Robin Hood’s Bay, a place I was really looking forward to visiting. This was down to bad research on my part but the disappointment was tempered slightly by the beauty of the scenery I encountered on the way.

Four or five miles out of Scarborough, around about Cloughton, things start getting pretty and continue all the way to Fylingthorpe and on into Whitby. First you get woodland, then thicker forests and then rolling hills and though I hesitate to use the word ‘patchwork’, oh well, you know what I mean.

At times the road was reminiscent of the one in The Italian Job where the coach full of gold got in to difficulty and I saw a few coaches crawl past with a ashen faced tourists staring out of the window in wide-eyed awe and no litlle terror. They needn’t have worried though, none of the drivers I saw today were taking any chances.

This landscape was so stunning and rugged that it made me wonder how it could be part of the same country as Lincolnshire. And when the cliffs near Robin Hood’s Bay came into view, and later those outside Whitby, well, everything, for a moment or two was alright with the world.

Whitby itself is a gorgeous little town on the mouth of the river Esk and home to under 15,000 people. The views from the ruined Abbey are spectacular and the profusion of red brick houses reminded me slightly of Prague. Apparently, entire skeletons of Pterodactyls (which always remind me of 70’s/80’s kids programme, Jigsaw; remember Pterry?) have been found here but I was more interested in finding a post office, which I did and, amazingly for 4pm on a Saturday, it was open.

Being a single chap , the whole Valentine’s Day nonsense had passed me by completely really (or I had blocked it out, one of the two), that is until I attempted find somewhere to have dinner. One place I went in had a set menu which offered the choice of ONE dish, steak and chips, all for just £29.95. The whole restaurant was empty and I asked the manager if he knew why this might be. He genuinely appeared to be flummoxed. In the end I got a chicken roll from Somerfield and watched Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway in my room. Maybe I need a girlfriend.

Cheers

Al