SWCP Wembury to Kingston

Wednesday 20th July

The ferry from Warren Point does not start until 10am and it is about 40 mins. walk from my b and b so there was no point in setting off before 9.00am. Being me I arrived at 9.25, and the ferry, being itself didn't, arrive until 10.10am. I had swivelled the board to signal my need of the ferry and then sat on the steps watching a number of yachts preparing for departure. I saw three set off, all under power although there was an ideal wind blowing straight down the estuary which would have conveniently taken them out under sail.

After some initial climbing this walk was on a wide track and almost level for several miles high above the sea with clear views - perfect walking.

The next problem was the Erme river which the SWCP crosses by wading, if you get there at low tide. I didn't. The accepted procedure is to phone for a taxi which I did at 3.15. The first refused but gave me another number. They agreed to pick me up in about half an hour at the Mothercambe Tea Rooms. It is now 4.20 and I received a call a while ago to say there had been an accident delaying the taxi, and another call just now to say they won't be here until 5.00, then suddenly Phil Greenwood from my B and B appeared in front of me having brought his son and chums down to this beach, so we had the opportunity for more conversation. The taxi arrived about 5.20. My lady driver was part of her own business ( the best description I can give from what she told me). She was a complete extrovert, never stopped talking, but made it happen both ways, a likeable character running this business for 19 years based on personal and attentive service judging from some of her anecdotes.

I was dropped off at the Dolphin Inn in Kingston (Cornwall) where I had pre-booked. This is an ancient, archetypal English village pub, the sort the Americans may dream of. I was told it is Quiz Night and by 7.00 the place wil be heaving so I agreed to eat at 6.30 for their convenience.

Quizzers arrived. A collection of twenty or so high earning middle classers, with loads of laddish badinage, until the ladies arrived, and then some very quiet confidential stuff whispered entre deux. I overheard the word "BBC". The routine is that a special menu has been prepared for this gathering before they embark on the competition.

One snippet: he had been invited to a business "brunch" and it turned out to be just coffee and croissant, talk about "Disgusted from..." and commiserations and advice from his audience - "I would have..." etc.

I departed the scene before the fun started to avoid being arrested for possession of an iPad linked up to the Internet.

From my open bedroom window one of the aforementioned had sneaked out for a smoke, then one of the ladies arrived who said she thought the gent had given up up on the baccy.

"Don't tell the wife"

"My lips are sealed"

A classic case of denial thinking he could disguise the stink

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