Category Archives: LEJOG

… a nice easy start to the day, easy terrain, pin-point accurate navigating, that sort of thing. Well the topographical features a propos the walk out of Kington aren’t my fault guvnor, forces beyond my control. However, gotta fess up to the latter and taking Becca up hill and down dale for no discernible benefit

Yeah baby, self-referential riffing (for any newcomers or sporadic users please see blog of a few days back)….. ANYWAY … Here in Kington and the route in is along The Ridge and here it is: For those unaware this is Hergest Ridge, yep, that ridge where Mike Oldfield used to go at the crack of

Today was a day for words like ‘vista’ and ‘panorama’. You could justifiably put them in close conjunction in the same sentence and even use that over-used ‘awesome’. How green is your valley? I know I should put this in whisper size font but there’s a small chance that we starting to begin to just

John who? you’ll be frantic to know. John met us about 968 steps into today’s walk, he be doing the Offa’s Dyke path so our trails were coincident for the day, sauntering up the eastern (i.e. English) side of the Wye. John is I guess about a decade older than me, a Scouser from the

having ambled alongside the river Amble a few days back and enjoyed beautiful small quaintly arched brick bridges dappled in watery afternoon sunshine as they took us over babbling brooks today we had the joy of these:   i realise I will have sent the pontists amongst you into veritable raptures with these but hey

if you’re gong to walk many many miles (and we were) then a long flat bit of disused railway makes for relatively rapid walking albeit with uninspiring views. So we traded the scenic delights of the Cheddar Gorge and Beacon Batch for the Strawberry line and pretended to be loco (si, senor). The old line

After the scenic delights of the last few days it was back to level earth in eastern Somerset. Stagnant drainage ditches and rank streams were the ongoing order of the day. As an auspicious start to things we played what I guess is the local game in Bridgwater of ‘jump over the discarded needle, sidestep

So here we are, in the very place that inspired Paul Simon to write one of his greatest songs; apparently he was here 45 or so years ago, a Saturday night watching it all kick off as two rival factions were disputing ownership of this strategic point with access to the Parrett rivet. Got a

yeah baby, we’re back in the saddle again … casting all to one side as we bestride the trails like colossi, blades and stalks quivering in our wake; our images a blur to astonished bovine, ovine, equine and porcine eyes. Climb every mountain … follow every byway … indeed. Becca did at one point unleash