What a start to the month - worldwide contagion, plunging stock markets, panic buying and many now in fear of their very futures. It has certainly knocked a very large hole in our hopes and plans for the next year or two ! In the circumstances we have chosen not to renew our annual subscription to THS as we feel that opportunities for future sits will be severely compromised in the same way as the travel and hospitality sectors are being hit. You will still be able to see our profile, and history, on the THS website however and we dearly hope to rejoin and resume normal service once this global disaster has been overcome. Nil desperandum ! n a vainglorious attempt to improve an already battered cardiovascular system, in readiness for the inevitable onslaught of the Martian virus, we thought we would set a new UK record and knock off the 630 miles of the South West Coast Path in time for tea with friends in Poole. 47 miles after leaving home we were in Minehead, sheltering from the rain and clasping a comforting Americano and hot chocolate whilst summoning the courage to set off. It was so sunny when we left home - grrr. And so, dear readers, off we went, with hope in our hearts, wind in our sales, two ridiculously large pasties in our pockets and rain dripping everywhere else. After bidding our best to the brave souls of the Minehead lifeboat crew, we covered, oh, at least 400 metres before sheltering in the nearest hut. 10 minutes later the rain stopped, the skies started to clear and we resumed our epic journey, uphill. And I mean uphill, boy it was a steep climb up the cliffside that was to get us most of the way up to the highest point of our journey, the 1024ft Selworthy Beacon. The stumble uphill reminded me of our stay on La Gomera a few years back when, a few weeks past major surgery, I thought it a good wheeze to scale the local 2000’ hill, 20 yards at a time, gasping for breath. What was supposed to be a 5 hr trip took over 9. Ho hum. But back to Somerset and Exmoor. Slowly we climbed and climbed, along the usual rain soaked and muddied paths to reach the ridge - and what a panorama ! Blue skies, stunning views across the Severn Estuary and to the land of the Barbarians on the other side of the channel. Blowing a right hooley mind you. Sheltering from the westerly gale as best we could it was time for lunch and we devoured the pasties with relish. Then bumped into a couple of gorgeous beasties - a breed we never knew existed. Well, not quite true as we had looked after two pairs of Hungarian Vizslas in the past few months, but these were ‘wire haired’ and just looked that bit chunkier, albeit due to the extra fur. Fab creatures. At this point, having covered 6.3 miles (forget the decimal point and it at least looks like 630) we decided that, rather than stop and retrace our steps back to Minehead, we were enjoying the route so much that we decided to keep going to the village in the next large bay, grab a cuppa and find a bus to takes us back to our start. So on we went, westwards for several more miles before descending through the woods to Allerford and the fast flowing river that gives the village its name. A bus ? On a Sunday in a small rural village ? Dream on. Sad.y the tea idea bit the dust too as nowt was open this early in the season. The tourists didn’t arrive for a week weeks more. After a quick stroll around the metropolis of Allerford, and with tired legs feeling the strain, we plodded along the road in the direction of Minehead hoping for divine intervention, or a passing taxi. In desperation I started to thumb a lift - without any real hope. There can't be many good folk that would stop to pick up a 6’3” bloke in a voluminous, bright orange sailing jacket that made him look even more menacing. Except someone, amazingly, did - a smashing couple that proved we don’t all recoil in horror at the thought of the atrocities that might occur if we have a little faith in each other. We did though have to murder them anyway lest anyone think its safe to offer hitchikers lifts. In a jiffy (actually a Citroen Picasso) we were back in town and hot on the trail of a cream tea. Strangely, despite it being tea time in this seaside town, all the cafes were closed, bar one. In no time at all we were regretting polishing off the biggest scone IN THE WORLD, a giant carrot cake and various potions. If we had burnt a few calories in the hills, we made sure we replaced them here - rats.
And then the drive home on roads a lot emptier than usual. This virus thingamajig certainly seems to have scared the bejeezus out of many who were obviously staying at home. 630 miles ? Not quite. Maybe another time. A truly fabulous day !
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