THE last Saturday in September saw me return to Plymouth on an overnight coach, only to then jump on the first bus out of the town. I was joined on this public transport extravaganza by Simkin, who hadn’t been to Plymouth in a while and so used the gap between coach and bus to wander about, much as I had before, taking in all the changes.
Tag: sign
XXXI – Exmouth to Torquay
I WASN’T planning to walk last weekend. Instead, I thought I’d rest my tired knees, which were starting to complain, in an achy sort of way, about the billion or so steps I’ve recently forced them up and down. No, I decided, this weekend I will stay home.
XXIV – Swanage to Kimmeridge Bay
MY LEGS hurt. Actually, I think even the hurt hurts. But on balance, I’m feeling pretty good about it.
It’s been a while since my last walk on account of a number of factors including, but not limited to, being a bit busy, my finances dwindling and not wanting to climb hills in the heat of the summer.
Continue reading “XXIV – Swanage to Kimmeridge Bay”XXIII – Bournemouth to Swanage
ALTHOUGH I very much wanted to do another walk yesterday, my finances are dwindling and so I was in some doubt as to whether I should. Imagine my surprise then, when I found that by buying advance tickets (which restrict you to travelling on a specific train) I could travel First Class more cheaply than Standard Class.
XXI – Southampton to Lymington
MONDAY’S walk is perhaps best characterised by ‘fun and failure’, which, if it wasn’t a phrase before, might well become my walking motto.
Failure number one was on the part of South West Trains, whose service over the bank holiday weekend was looking to be less than Sterling.
Continue reading “XXI – Southampton to Lymington”I Spy… Signs of Old Age
During my investigative wander last week, when I went in search of the Kingsway Tramway Tunnel, I also encountered an old pre-Worboys road sign. By which I mean that it predated the Worboys Committee, which redesigned the UK’s road signs in 1964 to make them clearer, more suited to greater traffic etc and (quietly) more in tune with the rest of Europe.
XVIII – Bosham to Emsworth
FRIDAY’S walk was mostly enhanced by the colour yellow (narcissi, celandines and gorse flowers) and the smell of coconut (gorse flowers smell of it. Although, since gorse is native to Great Britain and coconut is not, surely from a British perspective coconut should smell of gorse?) Less delightful ‘enhancements’ involved becoming festooned with the webs of what seemed like every single spider in West Sussex, the occasional aroma of decomposing seaweed and an extremely unwelcome case of sunburn.
XVI – Bognor Regis to West Wittering
IF LAST week’s walk was brought to you by the words ‘flat’ and ‘dull’ then yesterday’s walk was sponsored by the noises ‘brrr’ and ‘thud-clang!’ The latter is of course the sound of a metal alloy simian undergoing meteorological castration. The Met Office had promised, more or less, that the day would be bright and sunny but only sunny enough that the ‘brisk’ wind (their adjective) would elicit surprise as one’s sunglasses froze to one’s face.
XII – Hastings to Eastbourne
I HAVE to admit that, as I lay awake at night listening to the wind drive intermittent sleet against my bedroom window, I wondered if the Met Office’s forecast of ‘sunny intervals’ was perhaps a tad optimistic and that maybe I shouldn’t get up early to catch a train back to Hastings.
It was admittedly still bitterly cold when I did catch that train, and indeed had not stopped being so by the time I got to Hastings at around 9 am.
Continue reading “XII – Hastings to Eastbourne”X – Dungeness to Rye
IT’S been a few months since my last coastal perambulation and several things got in the way, not least of which were snow and Christmas. I’ve realised though that I’m spending too much time sat on my sofa in front of my computer. Thoughts along these lines were then greatly exacerbated by two visitations of pain, likely related:
Firstly, I did something to the muscles in my spine, an unpleasant development probably not unconnected with the fact that my battered old sofa has become less an item of furniture and more a torture device.
Continue reading “X – Dungeness to Rye”