Wednesday 11^th March - Day 69

Walking song of the day: ‘Gentle On My Mind’ - Frank Sinatra

People, rather than scenery or amusing signposts, took centre stage today.

This morning I met Chris, who was staying in the room adjoining mine at the Ship Hotel in Inverbervie. We shared a breakfast table. Chris is a perfect example of what I like to call ‘proper people’ or in his case, ‘proper person’. What I mean by ‘proper person’ is this: Someone with no nonsense about them, no airs, no grraces, no pretensions. What you see is what you get. Decent, amiable, generous, nice. If Chris and I drank in the same pub, we would be mates.

Chris is what is known in the world of comedy and musical tours, as a swagman. He is the man that drives all the merchandise, DVD’s, t-shirts, mugs etc, to whichever venue your favourite comic or singer happens to be appearing at that night. Presently he is working on Rob Brydon’s tour. I felt a bit sorry for Chris as he is alone for much of the time, either in the van or in guesthouses, whilst Brydon and the tour manager get to fly everywhere and stay in posh hotels. Chris didn’t seem to mind too much though, he seemed to be a happy-go-lucky character. Not only that, he was from West London and a West Ham fan. As we finished our breakfast he offered his hand and donated £20 to the fund. Thanks again Chris, it was a pleasure, and if you still have the card, give me a ring in about 6 months and I will buy you a beer.

Twelve miles up the road I met the legendary Margaret. I was due to be staying at Margarets house but I was early so I decided to find a place to have some lunch. After considering, then rejecting the idea of Carron’s (despite a poster proudly proclaiming itself as the birthplace of the deep-fried Mars Bar) I found a small coffee shop. As soon as I walked in a lady approached me and asked me if I was Al. This lady turned out to be Margaret, who very kindly introduced me to everyone in the shop, (“You’re famous here you know”) all of whom were delightful. The manageress even donated a pot of tea and a cheese sandwich. And there was a lady named Morag

After I had said hello to everyone, I took off my rucksack and sat down, Margaret joined me for a chat too which was nice but then she had to go and push the cake trolley around for a bit. After 15 minutes or so I noticed that that there was a fair amount of religious paraphernalia on display. I was in a Christian bookshop. Here I was, a staunch, lifelong atheist tucking in to a free sandwich provided by Christians. What is the protocol for such a situation? I felt such a hypocrite. I knew immediately what I must do. Return the sandwich, politely and gratefully, but explain that I couldn’t accept the generosity of an institution that I had many, many issues with . And then withdraw to Starbucks. That’s what I should have done, but I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut and ate the sandwich. There is no Starbucks in Stonehaven, and besides, I liked Margaret too much.

Afterwards Margaret and I walked back together, calling in at the local paper on the way to see if they might be interested in my story. Unfortunately, it being twenty to three, all the journalists were still at lunch and therefore, no-one was available to talk to me. Margaret though had put much effort in before I had arrived by phoning the paper, but still they weren’t that bothered. Oh well, thanks for trying Margaret.

When I got to Margaret’s house, she had left me two little cakes in my room, which was just about the sweetest thing that has been done for me since I began the walk and I was quite touched by the whole little gesture. Margaret you see, just like Chris, is a proper person.

Cheers

Al

PS The slide below was just there, in the middle of nowhere, with no other playground type stuff around it

Tuesday 10^th March - Day 68

Walking song of the day: ‘Stormy’ - The Supremes

It is my daughter Harriet’s 16^th birthday today which I can hardly believe. I was there at her birth which is still the most incredible thing I have ever seen, closely followed by Trevor Brooking’s winning goal against Arsenal in the 1980 FA Cup Final. ( I was there too!) Anyway I wish I could be with her today and I miss her terribly. She’s a great girl is Harriet and I love her more than anything. Happy birthday Hazza!!

Inverbervie, where I am staying tonight, sounds a bit like the opening to a Village People song. “Inverbervie, you can sail the seven seas, Inverbervie….etc”, you get the idea , but it links neatly to the fact that the designer of the Cutty Sark, the beautifully named Hercules Linton, was once resident here.

To be honest there isn’t much more to say about the place apart from the fact that a nice meal (gammon and chips) and my accommodation has been donated tonight by the lovely Helen, who has also been very helpful in providing me with info regarding hostels further along the coast. It makes such a difference when people are nice and spend a bit of time with you when you undertake something like this. For the most part, I am on my own and have no human interaction at all except when I buy stuff, so Helen and the lovely girl in Montrose last night are welcome relief. Thanks Helen.

The walk was relatively short today, around four-and-a-half hours, but I was exhausted when I arrived at my digs. I’m not sure why either. The sun was out, the wind had dropped considerably after the battering it has given me over the last few days, but I felt so tired at the ten-mile mark. It’s a mithtery, as Toyah might say for I am far fitter than I was a month ago, yet I am tiring more quickly. Oh well who knows? I’ll just carry on and see if things improve. Maybe I am getting a bug or something. Watch this exciting space

Cheers

Al

Sunday 8^th and Monday 9^th March - Days 66 and 67

Walking song of the day: ‘Jackie’ - Scott Walker

Montrose has the widest high street in Scotland. As you know I love a good fact and I felt duty bound to share that one with you. I have no idea if its wideness is deliberate, the work of a competitive town planner way back, who wanted to be the widest in something at least. Anyway, wide it certainly is, but I didn’t hear any American tourists exclaim “Gee Selma, this sure is one wide freeway, makes the roads back home look like itty-bitty sidewalks”.

I went to Los Angeles. once, about 23 years ago and despite visiting the three biggest attractions it had to offer; the Queen Mary, the Spruce Goose and Disneyland, I always remembered how wide the roads were. Just crossing from our hotel to the café where we ate breakfast each day took about 6 minutes, and that’s without traffic, so really, as sweet as it is, having the widest high street is a bit of a lame boast.

One boast which is quite interesting though is the fact that Montrose does er, boast, the largest inland salt-water basin in the UK. It’s not exactly Hudson Bay, but it is an important habitat for the mute swan, not that you hear them going on about it.

By now you will have noticed that I have again compressed two days worth of blogs into on. This is not going to become the norm, it’s more to do with catching up and not a lot happening.

Since Dundee my walk has taken me through Carnoustie where I failed miserably in seeing the golf course despite it being one of the most famous golf courses in the world. It has also taken me past the brilliantly named towns of Drunkendub and Mountboy, the latter causing to me to stop, laugh for a bit and then text PJ and Steve, both of whom are old enough to know better.

I am still enjoying this journey, generally the weather has been fine and I feel ok. I am disappointed at the lack of press interest and the small amount of money that has been so far raised. My small but brilliant team are constantly trying to think of ways to improve things so if you have any genius fundraising ideas,, or the phone number of a very rich relative, please don’t keep the to yourselves. I certainly don’t want to finish this walk having only raised a few thousand quid.

Cheers

Al

PS. Speaking of boasters, have a look at the picture of the Timpson shop below.

Thursday 5^th March - Day 63

Walking song of the day: ‘You’ve Got Everything Now’ - The Smiths

I have been following the Fife Coastal Path for a day and a half now and slowly but surely it is becoming magnificent. Leaving Leven this morning I was able to walk directly onto the beach and follow it all the way to Elie, around 8 miles away, before picking up the road again and continuing on into Anstruther, from where I write this now.

From Leven I could have taken the far quicker road route, but I felt as though too much time has been spent on roads lately and I wanted to get back to the sea, away from traffic and away from noise. I wasn’t disappointed. From Lower Largo I was on my own completely for miles and miles. Just me, the sea and not much else. It was bliss.

I know I touched on the lonlieness of being in a city when I was in Edinburgh, but being on your own by the sea precipitates feelings of an altogether different state of solitude, a positive experience rather than a melancholy one. Sure, I wanted the girl I love by my side to see what I was seeing and as always, I was missing Harriet terribly, but rather than the feelings of lost opportunities and squandered years that I seem forever programmed to spend too much time dwelling upon, anything seemed possible again. Maybe I could write a successful musical centred around a department store in Essex, maybe I could learn to fly a plane, and maybe, just maybe, I could still win X-Factor. You see, the power of nature sometimes does this to you. Occasionally, just its sheer beauty, size and impossibility, can move you enough to believe that your maddest dreams and most ’out there’ fantasies are not only within your grasp, but are actually doable and there for the taking.

Today was a good day, despite the fact that I kept pronouncing Anstruther, ‘Anthruster’ and wondered why the girls in the bank were giggling at me. One of these girls was called Morag, which has to be the best and most Scottish name there is.

High on the cliffs above Elie, I stood in the derelict WWII pill boxes and let my imagination run riot. Did men die in these? How long were they stationed in them at any one time? Were they alone? There were no info points which was a shame but then I can’t imagine a whole lot of people traipse up there that often. There are remnants of what used to be a massive security fence; the concrete posts remain but the barbed wire has long since been removed. It had a look not too dissimilar to that of a liberated concentration camp. It was rather bleak but I guess the one bonus, if I may call it that, of being on patrol in such a difficult place, was that the men had beautiful vistas to watch over. It could have been worse, they could have been in Grays.

Cheers

Al

Wednesday 4^th March - Day 62

Walking song of the day: ‘Always The Sun’ - The Stranglers

Today I received confirmation that I have indeed torn a muscle in my right shoulder. I went to see a doctor here in Leven and she told me that there is nothing at all that can be done except to rest and wait for it to heal naturally. Obviously I can’t rest as holing up in a guesthouse for a couple of weeks would cost a bomb and going back to Essex for a break would also be too expensive. Thing is, although painful, it is manageably so, so I will just carry on and hope it doesn’t do too much damage. It’s quite an odd thing pain wise. Ususally it’s most painful about ten minutes into each walking day, then settles down and then returns at various intervals during the day. Sometimes it will hurt just if I turn my head or use my right arm to scratch my head and then it won’t hurt at all. As I say though it’s entirely manageable and it certainly won’t be slowing me down, any more than my age is anyway

I’m not sure if the house I am staying in has been left since the 70’s or as been deliberately styled with a 70’s slant, but check out the bathroom in the pics below. I don’t know about you, but I love that bathroom.

I can imagine Margot Leadbetter from The Good Life having a bath in there and leaving her G and T on the side. His ‘n’Hers sinks as well. I didn’t know they had those in the 70’s. In the TV room they had big, squashy, corduroy sofas with those large square side tables that have fabric surrounds and smoked glass surfaces. I was half expecting to see copies of Look-In magazine, casually laying about, next to a game of Mastermind, but there wasn’t, just a large bowl of totally over-powering pot-pourri.

Kettle normal size and from this decade. No bulb in the shavers’ light

Cheers

Al

PS: The colourful stack of rubbish is, I assume, items either left or washed up on the beach.

Tuesday 3^rd March - Day 61

Walking song of the day : ‘Love Potion Number 9’- The Coasters

I am going to start making a list of inconsequential things that, in my real life would undoubtedly cause me to go apopleptic, but in my temporary life as a walker, are just making me laugh more each time they occur.

For those of you who aren’t regular frequenters of guesthouses and hotels, there are many things to look out for in your room that may be different from how you are used to seeing them at home. The first of these is the kettle. At home you will be used to a kettle that you can fill with around 1.5 litres of water, providing you with enough fluid to make around four cups of tea. This will probably be more than enough for an afternoon or an evening in front of the telly and you won’t have to refill until morning. In a guesthouse you are normally provided with a kettle designed especially for the dolls house market and is capable of holding enough water to fill a whole teaspoon. This is fine if you drink your tea from a shot glass, or you are indeed a doll or Dave Cresswell, but, if like me, you like your tea in a mug big enough to take the mightiest biscuit (the plain chocolate Hob-Nob. In the red packet, not the blue) all the way in, then you almost certainly have to boil the kettle twice. This leads on to the next problem. These Lilliputian creations take the best part of a century to come to the boil and to prove it, I filled the one in my room and switched it on at the same time that I started writing this and so far it has taken 5 minutes and is nowhere near ready. By the time it has boiled I will be back in Essex cradling my first great-grandchild, Lenny Henry will have said something funny and Germaine Greer will have said something sensible.

We do get fed a lot of guff about boiling kettles and the environment and I’m sure that the guesthouse owners think that they are doing their bit by buying small, (actually I bet they never gave it a thought, they just bought a small kettle because they’re cheaper than the bigger ones, so really the blame for global warming can be firmly laid at their welcoming door) but now my kettle is coming to the boil after 8 minutes and that can’t be any good, can it?

The other thing is those shaving lights above mirrors. Now, when I arrive at my digs, the first thing I do upon entering my room is pull the little white cord to see if they work. They never do and every time they don’t, I laugh a little.

The walk today was calming and pleasant and took me along through Aberdour, where I met a very friendly post office manager who donated £5 to the justgiving page and taught me the correct pronunciation of Kircaldy, which is ’Ker-caddy’, and down along the banks of the Firth, where I amused myself by trying to point out Edinburgh landmarks 10 miles away across the water. I only saw one other person for about 4 miles so I stopped and chatted to him for awhile. He seemed mighty impressed that I was walking all the way to Kircaldy, which from that point was about 8 miles. I guess that normally you would consider that to be quite a distance to walk but I don’t at the moment. I no doubt will when I get back of course but for now, 8 miles seems like a bit of a rest day..

Cheers

Al

Ps: To watch the thrilling video of my ferry crossing the Tyne, please do click on the following link.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=gk38TH2zJKo

PPS. I styled the horse's hair below myself. Alright isn't it?

PPPS: The second pic is of Edinburgh, taken from across the Firth of Forth in Aberdour. To the very far right you can just make out the castle, and the taller of the two hills is King Arthur's Seat, which is much more fn to climb if you have been drinking all afternoon. The railway pic is in purely because it looked like a model.

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