Day one of the Guild Wheel, seven or eight miles of it, was relatively easy, certainly compared to the 14-mile stretch which faced me today.
From the Tickled Trout Hotel, I walked on along the River Ribble towards Preston city centre. Some ways into Preston are less than beautiful, but the three miles along the Guild Wheel takes one along the scenic river route and into Avenham Park, what must be Preston’s hidden treasure. If you ever visit Preston, seek it out. It’s down the side streets but well worth the detour.
One time I walked this way – via the River Ribble – with Mum (just to the city centre, not the whole Guild Wheel route). There was a nervous moment when we came across a herd of cows but there were no calves and they ignored the strange two-leggeds. This time the bovine beauties were safely in a field, enjoying their grass.
I had a little tea break at the cafe in Avenham Park and then set off again.
Past the New Continental Pub, a popular entertainments venue, into Broadgate and here I continued along the river.
Eventually this took me to Preston Docks. Now it has pubs, cinema, shops and residential waterfront living but it was once a major industrial point, which opened in 1892. Cotton, timber, oil, coal and fruit were among the products imported and there was even a ferry service to Northern Ireland. By the 1970s though, the Docks started to decline until it eventually became today’s leisure and residential centre.
This was where I thought I would get lost but the trail is so well signposted, with clear markings on the road itself and on signs, that it was remarkably easy to find my way.
The Guild Wheel also passes a railway track – the train sets off from the Ribble Steam Railway Museum.
Circling the Docks, I found myself next to a main road. For the first time, I doubted my map-reading skills. And for the first time, the signs seemed a little lacking compared to before. The road section is a tad boring but then I found a sign and realised, thankfully, I was on the right track!
After crossing a bridge over a dual carriageway, my river and dock stroll turned into a canal ramble, along Lancaster Canal.
And then it was past the university sports hall, and into the world of suburbia and new housing developments.
And at 3pm on Sunday, I reached home. A full circle that was 21 miles long and took about 28 hours (with a night’s sleep in between).
And if I wasn’t tired on the Saturday after 8 miles, I was definitely ready for a sit down and a cup of tea after my 14-mile stretch on the Sunday!
It was raining, my friend was too ill to join me on my Preston Guild Wheel walk, I was alone and wondering if I would get bored and then…
I saw a deer (pictured below). Of course, with my rather average camera phone, it doesn’t look like one unless you enlarge it and then you might see a little blob. But it really was a deer and I saw it with my own eyes. This part of the walk is suburbia but a path leads onto a large open space of green that has been left for people and dogs to enjoy, and wildlife to live. The Woodland Trust looks after part of it.
This curiosity (below), and others like it, can be found in the parkland. I think it’s an ‘insect hotel’ for bees etc to live.
The Guild Wheel took me through both a natural and industrial landscape.
Sometimes it was a path with railings on either side, hiding behind were factories and offices.
Other times it took me on a detour of beautiful greenery – despite a motorway just minutes away.
Along the way, I entered the exterior of Preston Crematorium, a peaceful place, and continued along a tree-lined path which took me to Brockholes Nature Reserve.
But first I encountered the now disused site of Courtaulds, a manufacturer of rayon. Built in 1939 and closed in 1979, it was the largest site in Britain to produce rayon (according to Wikipedia). At its peak, 4,000 people were employed there and when it closed in 1979, 2,800 jobs were lost (Keith Johnson, Cherished Memories of Old Mansion and Rise of Industry, https://www.lep.co.uk ).
There also used to be an old mansion in this area but alas, it is no more.
It always surprises me how brown belt land often seems to be reclaimed by nature.
The trail continues towards Boilton Wood, neighboured by Nab, Redcar and Tunbrook Woodlands. Boilton Wood is a site of special scientific interest and forms part of the biggest stretch of ancient woodland in Lancashire (information from Visit Preston website).
When I reached Brockholes Nature Reserve, I spotted this delightful fellow.
And another colourful resident can be seen here…
Brockholes is a fabulous and unusual 250-acre nature reserve, owned by the Wildlife Trust. It’s such a peaceful natural haven that you wouldn’t think it is so near to the M6 but it is. The former gravel quarry actually supplied materials to build the motorway and only opened in 2011, after being bought by the trust in 2007.
It’s located on a flood plain of the River Ribble so has a unique floating visitor village!
After a delightful and filling leek and potato soup at the cafe, I continued the last mile along the River Ribble to the Tickled Trout Hotel in Samlesbury. I was lucky enough to have a lovely pastoral river view from the room window, and was able to watch the cows munching the grass alongside the River Ribble.
Near me is a 21-mile cycle route called the Preston Guild Wheel. Although I don’t ride a bike, I think it is a marvellous route, connecting the outer ‘green ways’ of the city, courtesy of founder and keen cyclist Peter Ward. Happily for me, it is an inclusive path and cyclists, families, dog walkers, canines and intrepid ramblers can co-exist as we explore the natural highlights of the city.
As a dog walker, I have walked a little of this circular pathway several times. I have also rambled a stretch of it with Simon, family and friends on various occasions to the fabulous Brockholes Nature Reserve and back. But this year, a friend and I thought we would walk the whole route.
All 21 miles of it.
It is possible to do it all in one day but we thought we would make a weekend of it and stop off at a hotel en route. A new swanky hotel was due to open in the city centre and we thought we might be able to splash out a little for one night. But alas, it turned out it would not be open by the time of our adventure so we opted for The Tickled Trout Hotel instead, three miles out of the city and overlooking the River Ribble.
The date was set – June 1. Maps were printed off. We agreed to meet near a point of the wheel and either walk 8 miles the first day and 13 miles on the Sunday, or vice versa.
But sometimes things don’t go according to plan.
The afternoon before, my friend texted. She was feeling ill and didn’t think she would be able to make it. She hoped she would but was alerting me that, just in case, she might not be up to it tomorrow.
I felt a sense of disappointment and, if I’m honest, was tempted to cancel the whole endeavour and snuggle down on the sofa with a good book.
It may have been June but the weather wasn’t very summery.
But the hotel was booked and, as it was so much short-notice, I would have lost the money.
So that decided the matter.
Ever the trooper, the next day, when I received confirmation that C was too poorly to do the walk, I put on my walking boots, lifted my rucksack onto my back (including a paperback thriller which I swear got heavier and heavier with each step) and left my house, heading to the start of the Guild Wheel, a mere 10 minutes walk away.
Now, I love spending time by myself on walks. However, these are usually for shortish periods of time, and rambling, ruminating, musing and daydreaming for an hour or so is very pleasant but a whole weekend of listening to my own thoughts? Will I bore myself?!
And to match my mood, it was raining, a miserable drizzle….
But I will persevere… Preston Guild Wheel, I have arrived and I will explore all 21 miles of you. The adventure begins now! ☺️
Back in October 2012, I have an entry in my diary saying ‘Lake District Mountain’ and ‘sunny’. Wainwright would have been horrified at such scant details. Thankfully at a later point, I had penned the name of this mystery mountain in a different colour of ink.
Bow Fell. My first ‘proper’ mountain (excluding Pen y Gwent in the Yorkshire Dales) and my first ever Wainwright. I actually can’t remember my first time that well, maybe I was too focused on breathing while going steadily upwards! I seem to remember a river while going down though…
So it is now May 2019, with about 12 Wainwrights completed, Snowdon, the three Yorkshire peaks (not all at once), Mam Tor and Kinder Scout, I may be a few years older but surely more experienced at hill walking?
Bow Fell Part 2 must surely be easier than Part 1…
It was a bad start when we realised that we didn’t have the map we actually needed. It was left in the house and instead we had an older, less defined map which would just have to do.
There were a few flattened out plateaus, but it felt mostly uphill and heavy going. Strangely, for a bank holiday, there were not many hikers until nearer the top.
We passed three tarns and walked and scrambled up many peaks, each time I thought, is this it?
And each time my hopes were shattered. We finally reached the top and decided, instead of going back the way we came, we would take a shortcut down and walk along the river. We followed the river the last time so it must be the right route.
By this time, the rain had got heavier and it was getting more difficult to see with the increasing mist.
Wearing glasses ironically makes it even harder to see when the water lashes down onto the lenses and smears the vision.
So there was poor visibility, poor weather, and the steep downhill section had, what looked to me, slippery rocks, ready to trip me up.
Here’s the truth – I’m not scared of heights. I am scared of falling, slipping, sliding and doing myself an injury.
I did it on Skiddaw (skid by name, skid by nature). I ended up with a sprained ankle, not a nice experience but it could have been worse. Much worse.
So our wet, slippery journey down the mountain was not fun. Hence why there are not many photos of this particular walk, I gave up taking photos fairly early on.
Finally we reached the bottom and continued along the river, where we passed a tent, feeling envious of the dry person or persons inside while we traipsed on what seemed a never-ending trail, sogging wet.
Eventually we got to a farmhouse and a road, not quite a main one, but a road nevertheless.
But it was bad news. We didn’t have a clue where we were. The river was not our river, not the stream we walked along the previous time. This watercourse was some random one that had no connection with where we wanted to be.
We were tempted to ring the bell at the farmhouse. Instead, we looked at the location in the red phone box, tried to locate it on the vague 1972 map, which isn’t much good, and eventually we two luddites tried to get Google directions on our phones.
We hovered at the side of the road, soaking wet and miserable, awaiting unsuspecting passer-bys.
A cyclist came around the corner, he was in no mood to stop but Simon waved him down and asked about directions. The cyclist was annoyed, he was actually in a race but he reluctantly – though helpfully – told us we were eight miles away from our car park and two miles away from the nearest village in the opposite direction.
This was not good news.
We grovelled our thanks to the cyclist, feeling bad about interrupting his race, and feeling even worse about our location. If it was not wet, if we were not tired or exhausted, we could walk to the nearest village and hopefully there would be a pub to dry off and a number to ring for a local taxi to take us where we wanted to be.
It was our only option.
Later, Simon told me he didn’t think I would be able to walk those two miles – that even he would have found it hard. It’s amazing to think how little two miles sound when you’re not soaked, exhausted, chilled and hungry.
Despite this, we started to head in the direction of the village despondently.
There may not have been a pub, or even any taxi service nearby. But we will not have been able to walk eight miles, that was for sure.
And then two angels (that is how it felt for me!) arrived, in the form of a young couple driving a large blue van.
Simon asked about directions again and…
Words to my ears…
‘Do you want a lift back to your car? We’re going in that direction anyway.’
They even apologised about us having to sit down on the floor of their van! They chatted throughout the journey, putting us at our ease and after about 20 minutes or half an hour, we arrived at our car.
They wouldn’t even take any payment!
There are two ways to see this particular and memorable day.
We should have had a proper map, I shouldn’t be so reliant on Simon, we both should have paid more attention. If I was fitter, I wouldn’t have been so exhausted at a point that could have been more worrying had we not received such kind help.
So a lot of lessons to learn.
On the other hand, it’s when you fall on hard times, even as temporarily as this, that is when you do encounter kind, generous people, such as Phil and his partner, who restore one’s faith in humans.
I started June on a high with the 21-mile Preston Guild Wheel walk on Saturday, June 1 and Sunday, June 2.
And then, on the third day of the month, I had a consultation with a personal trainer.
The fourth day? I started personal training sessions.
I was on a roll.
Funnily enough, after the Guild Wheel walk, I didn’t think I would be working out for at least a week afterwards!
Meeting up with a personal trainer, and the resulting weigh-in, made me feel more accountable to go to the gym at 8am twice a week. I was getting up early for the hens and didn’t go to work until 10am, and the gym was five minutes away from my home and work so the logistics worked.
It was a pay-by-month with no contract which also suited.
In the meantime, I tried to go to the gym every day the rest of the week, allowing myself a day off. This is unlike Lazy Clare who usually bores of a regular gym routine very quickly but the convenience of the location made it much easier to drop in for 30 minutes.
When I went to the gym, I used the treadmill, rower, cross-trainer and the bike. So far, I haven’t got bored (touch wood!)
I also went to Zumba on two occasions, one on Thursday and one on Sunday. Both were fun, the Sunday Zumba was very fast and energetic! And even better, she had excellent taste in music!
A 21-mile walk around the outskirts of Preston. The ‘wheel’ is popular with cyclists, but also used by walkers, families and dog walkers. I stayed at the Tickled Trout Hotel on the Saturday after walking seven miles, and the remaining 14 miles was completed on Sunday. It was a pleasant day on Saturday, with lunch at Brockholes Nature Reserve, and a more difficult day on Sunday, with resulting tired legs.
Wales – Bethesda to Cym Pen to Ilafar
Simon and I stayed in North Wales for our holiday this year. Our holiday cottage was located in Bethesda and, from there, we went on a valley walk along the River Afon Llafar. The setting was beautiful but not a soul to be found. Were they all climbing Snowdon instead? Curious sights included an old dam and weir, meadow pippit and wheatear. Unfortunately I wore my trainers rather than walking shoes so ended up with a blister! Ouch. Will I ever learn?!
Aberglaslyn Pass – From Beddgelert, Wales
Beddgelert is a pretty village with a tragic canine legend. We passed the grave and bronze sculpture of the faithful hound, Gelert. He was killed because of a fatal mistake by his owner, Prince Llywelyn, who assumed the dog had killed his son. The truth was that he had killed a wolf and saved the prince’s child. Following on from this poignant, if potentially legendary site, we carried on to the Fisherman’s Path, along the Afon Glaslyn River. The path is narrow here. In fact, it’s so tight that there are handholds. We then walked up Cym Bychan where we encountered the remains of old copper mines and an aerial ropework, built in 1927 to transport ore.
Rhosneigr, Anglesey, Wales
This was a delightful, easygoing beach walk starting from the ancient Barclodiad-y-Gawres, a neolithic stone cairn dating from 2,500 BC, to the little seaside town of Rhosneigr. Along the beach we came across sea glass, seashells, wild flowers including pyramid orchid, meadow cranesbill and sea thyme. Skippers, holly blue and small heaths fluttered by.
Newborough Commons and Beach, Anglesey, Wales
A magical place with wild horses. Our ramble along Newborough Beach led us to the tiny tidal Llanddwyn Island. An incredibly beautiful place with an ancient stone cross and the ruins of St Dwynwen’s Church. The Welsh patron saint of lovers (the Welsh equivalent of St Valentine), St Dwynwen is associated with this island.
July – Goal 100 miles by the end of the month
Ironically I hadn’t gone to many gym classes even though that was one of my incentives for joining a gym. However, I took part in Zumba twice in July, enjoying both times.
I became ambitious and tried a virtual spin class (an indoor cycling class with stationary bikes). 🚴
The super-fit instructors were on a large screen. Alas, I was late and felt self-conscious. The class had more people than I expected, the bike had more buttons and controls than I expected and it was faster and seemingly more advanced than I expected.
I left after about 15 minutes. I will try again at a future time, when I am fitter and more confident. I aim to arrive earlier too!
I continued with the personal training and gym sessions. The personal training is more weight-based, my independent gym sessions are cardio. By the end of July, formerly tight clothing was becoming a little looser and I had lost a few pounds.
I could now do with a new walking challenge to test my fitness!
Otherwise, apart from the two notable walks mentioned below, it was a case of walking the family dogs and walking the three miles into town.
Saltby National Nature Reserve, Lincolnshire
It’s amazing how beautiful spots such as this nature reserve can be so quiet and feel so remote away from people. We only encountered a few dog walkers. One rescue dog we encountered had two different coloured eyes, very unusual. At certain times of the year, seals can be found but not in July. We did encounter a seal skull however. Remnants of the Second World War can be seen here too with a derelict bunker and decaying tank located on the beach.
Stair Arms Hotel to Crichton Castle, Scotland
My mum and I visited The Stair Arms Hotel, Pathhead, while on a visit to relatives in Scotland. This historic coaching inn was a mere three miles or so from Crichton Castle. Or so the signs said. Walking along the country road, it felt rather longer than the miles stated on the sign. Oddly, the way back felt much shorter! 🚶
Could I get up this morning after a gruelling 26-mile canal walk? Well, with the help of plasters (three) over blisters on my left foot and a bandage over another foot (the blister was too big for a plaster), it was possible to gingerly climb down the stairs to the breakfast room of our b&b.
It was a bank holiday so, even though Worksop isn’t generally seen as a holiday destination, there were quite a few guests having breakfast at Acorn Lodge.
After our filling cereal and full English breakfast, we got ready, paid up and headed back to the canal. Acorn Lodge was a good stopping off point for a rest but it was time to move on.
Simon got a text from his dad saying if we wanted a lift back this morning to give him a ring. Tempting (that’s how tired I was) but no, we would continue. 17 miles today, Simon said.
My trusty pole came in handy!
Our walk started off sometime between 9.30 and 10am, later than yesterday.
En route to the canal we came across a fascinating church/former priory, I would have liked to have explored but my legs were determined to conserve as much energy as possible. Simon looked in and took this photo of a very unusual yew door.
Another treat was in store before we left Worksop. We expected the canal to be in a much more urban setting than previous. What was not expected was the sight of a kingfisher (my second sighting in a fortnight!) It was standing on a ledge on top of the canal, before swooping in and grabbing a fish breakfast.
After this great start, we moved onwards. Only once did we nearly get lost when thankfully a resident gardening noticed us ambling along and pointed us in the right direction, over the bridge and across the canal.
An elderly man on an old-fashioned bike told us ‘not too long to get there’, of course, he told us this before he heard where we were going.
We passed Shireoaks Marina, where many boats were moored, stopping off at the village for painkillers for my feet. The marina was actually built on the site of the colliery basin, used to load boats until 1947. It is surprising how many scenic places have an industrial past.
We reached Turnerwood, a pleasant little hamlet which looked like it might have a cafe…. But no time for a cup of tea, alas.
Past Turnerwood and we arrive at an engineering fan or canal lover’s dream – the land of double and triple locks. It is also a very scenic, wooded section, on the other side of the tow path is Old Spring Wood and Hawks Wood.
The Thorpe flight of locks includes two treble and two double staircases within its 15 locks.
Along with the Turnerwood flight (seven locks), the canal passes through 22 locks in just over a mile. The canal also flows over ‘a three arched aqueduct above the River Ryton which passes from Yorkshire to Nottinghamshire’ (The Chesterfield Canal Guidebook, Chesterfield Canal Trust).
We passed by the site of the wharf where the stone for the Houses of Parliament was loaded. Yes, did you know that the stone used for the famous political arena was transported from Chesterfield Canal all the way to London (via the Trent, Humber, North Sea and Thames)?
While we walked, we decided that, depending on how we would feel after another couple of miles, we might take Simon’s parents up on their offer of a lift back – but not until we reached Norwood Tunnel at the very least.
Time was ticking on, and although normally we could walk three miles in an hour, possibly more, at this rate we were slowly ambling along at two miles an hour. We might end up getting to the end of the canal in Chesterfield at midnight at this rate!
At Kiveton Park, we carried on to the portal of Norwood Tunnel, where the canal seemingly ends. From here, via Kiveton Waters (the site of the old Kiveton Colliery) we continued above the Norwood Tunnel, going under the M1 at one point. The tunnel was once the equal longest tunnel in England, 12 feet high and 9 feet 3 inches wide. Because of mining subsidence, one part collapsed in the 1800s and closed in 1907.
A couple of stretches of the canal reappears, at one point partly overgrown with plantation. And then it disappears – and we realised that the fenced-in gardens were actually built on the line of the canal.
From Killamarsh it is possible to walk to the end of the canal – but with a four mile or so non-canal detour. (The Canal Trust is working on restoration).
Earlier we had made the decision to go back once we reached Killamarsh so, at 4pm and 12 miles on, we got a lift back from The Crown pub in Killamarsh.
I didn’t feel as disappointed as I thought I would. Yes, we cut our walk short by about eight miles but we did walk about 12 miles today and 26 yesterday so 38 altogether. Much of the trek was achieved. We also hiked along the most attractive section. Had we continued, we would have trudged another four miles just to get back to the canal at Staveley Town Basin – and then another four or so miles from there to Chesterfield. As Simon said, we walked the full length of the existing canal from West Stockwith to Killamarsh.
We saw many sights, some of the wildlife I forgot to mention earlier included the migrant chiff chaff, house martin, swallow and goldfinches. We also heard a chaffinch and reed warbler.
It took four days for my legs to get back to normal but I felt happy with my achievement – my first marathon really! And I felt impressed with myself for walking 38 miles in two days.
Here’s to the next challenge…
Facts of the Day
1. Work on the Chesterfield Canal started in 1771 and was completed in 1777.
2. The main trade was coal but stone, iron, corn, timber, lime and lead were also carried.
3. The final commercial cargo was carried in 1956. The canal could have closed if it hadn’t have been for campaigning by the Retford and Worksop Boat Club.
Thanks to their members, Chesterfield Canal Trust and other volunteers and campaigners, we were able to walk along this beautiful part of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire.
9am. We started off at West Stockwith, where the picturesque canal basin connects with the River Trent. It was once a boat building centre where the Chesterfield Canal narrow boats – nicknamed cuckoos – were built.
I had a sense of high optimism about today’s journey, yes, it would be about 20 miles (actually it was 26!) but it was on the flat. No hills, no mountains. I could walk for ages on the flat, yes?
Hmm, let’s see.
We passed boats and dog walkers and attractive housing overlooking the canal. Our first locks – upper and lower – were at Misterton. Both bridges and locks had numbers which, when I got tired, I counted to keep my morale up. There were also milestones too but some seemed to be absent.
The time we embarked on our journey coincided with Duckling Season. We came across many mallards, one had 10 youngsters close by while another sadly only had one. I told myself the others were hiding.
We passed a former brickyard and wharfs, quiet farmland, Gringley-on-the-Hill – probably the only hill we saw on our walk, and Drakeholes tunnel, pictured below, (unfortunately the nearby 1700s pub, The White Swan, closed some time ago, despite its ideal location. Hopefully it will reopen one day). We also passed an ornamental bridge – with an age-worn face on either side – at Wiseton estate.
Clayworth was our first rest stop, it appeared to be a haven for moored boats on either side. Sitting at an outside bench, our cheese sandwiches and water tasted good.
Alas, time ticked on. It was after noon and we were behind schedule – the plan was to stop off at Retford for lunch but at this rate it would be 2pm.
Keep striding ahead, don’t think too much of the time, as long as we get to Worksop before it dark…
My previous ‘dilly-dallying’ became more purposeful, although I kept feeling as if I had a blister on my foot. Our scenery was delightfully quiet and rural and we passed a quirky-named lock called Whitsunday Pie Lock. A strange and slightly eerie sight from across the water greeted us – of what seemed like tombstones dotted around…
We spoke of Eddie Izzard, a British celebrity, he ran 26 marathons in 26 days!! (How is that even possible?!) Well, if he can do that, I can surely walk 26 miles along a canal in one day…
… And 20 miles the next day.
Retford was supposed to be our half way point but it turned out it was actually two-thirds of the way. This cheered me up at the time but little did I know how weary my legs would feel after leaving this stop. That, although we had walked 15 miles to reach this point, the next 10 miles would feel even more of an endurance.
For time and tiredness reasons, we opted to just get a drink in the nearest pub or cafe to the canal rather than venture into town. This turned out to be The Packet Inn (the inn was named after the passenger boats arriving on market days). The landlord of this down-to-earth pub was surprised to be asked for a cup of tea and two lemonades.
‘A cup of tea?!’
But he served those drinks and very reasonably priced they were too. It was just what was needed. The lemonade was heavenly.
Back on track, we checked my feet, no apparent blisters could be seen.
We saw swathes of hawthorn, a few swan nests along the way and a highlight was a kestrel swooping down into a nearby field for his/her dinner.
The terrain varied, I had concerns that this would be a unvaried walk, one that may possibly bore Simon but we were spoilt with different scenery, woodland, farmland, industrial…
Our next main village was Ranby, it must only have been about five or so miles on from Retford but my legs said differently. My feet, once again, insisted they were covered in blisters.
I was tempted to enter a village pub and order a taxi straight to the B&B. But there was no village pub within easy reach of the canal even though we could see the A1.
We carried on.
At Osberton, we walked past several fields with horses, an equestrian centre or some kind.
We reached another bridge. I had been counting the numbers of bridges, locks and milestones but had long stopped. I was merely focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
But this bridge was different. An elderly man, out for a walk with his dog, was looking over it. We hadn’t come across many fellow travellers in the last few miles.
Simon raced ahead to ask this gentleman a very important question, ‘how far is it to Worksop?’
‘A mile and a half’, he replied. It was music to my ears.
True, it felt longer as we trudged on into an ever-increasing urban environment. Even when I saw the big b&q store or warehouse (never, did I think I would be happy to see such ugly industrial and retail buildings!) Worksop did not seem much nearer.
Eventually we reached the right bridge, it took us to a main road, on which was a restaurant Simon had mentioned as being ‘not too far from the guesthouse’. I think it took us 20 minutes from the canal to the accommodation.
We finally arrived at 7.30pm. Such a relief to lie down on a bed! We ordered a pizza takeaway, my legs were now officially on strike. Oh, and the blisters – all four of them – had developed on my feet.
The pizza tasted stodgy. The garlic bread had no flavour, no garlic. Baywatch will never win an Oscar, but to lie down eating and watching TV was simply blissful.
The only question is: would I be able to walk tomorrow?