Time : 10.18 a.m. (slightly later than planned due to a good five minutes trying to work out if Whitts’ car could be locked without having to set alarm, gave this up as a bad job)
Location : Benjamin Britten Memorial, beach between Aldeburgh and Thorpeness (really quite a lot nearer Aldeburgh than Whitts had said)
Aim : Walk from Thorpeness to Walberswick, back in time for G & T and footspa (latter kindly loaned by youngest son)
Weather : Sunny but a tad on the blowy side
Gratifying to see that the front cover of the map featured the very landmark that we had chosen to start The Big Walk but not sure we’ve got the hang of selfies yet.
Roughly 400 metres into our 4,500 mile walk I was considering how best to break it to Whitts that I had made a terrible error. Walking into the wind, eyes streaming, nose running, shingle sucking the life out of me below my feet – there’s no way that I could possibly go on. Not for the first time in my life I had bitten off more than I could chew. I could see that Whitts was talking to me as she was striding ahead gesticulating as she went, however the howling wind and the inordinately loud shingle ensured that I could hear nowt. Kept my mouth shut and battled on. I’m extraordinarily brave. Whitt is extraordinarily fit and healthy.
Spent quite a large amount of time testing various routes on beach. Big shingle, small shingle, dry sand, wet sand. All felt we were walking backwards. Don’t like shingle. This maybe a drawback as we’re walking the coast of Britain.
Arrived at Dunwich at 2 p.m. for best Fish & Chips ever consumed. Whitts said we were bang on schedule. I didn’t realise there was a schedule. Whitts asked if I could make sure she didn’t “bolt” her haddock and chips down in one. We had just walked nearly seven miles into a head wind and I could see how she was eyeing that plate of food. I felt it was best not to get between them.
Arrived at Walberswick at 4 p.m. (apparently still on schedule). Arrived at pub at 6 p.m. Gin and Tonics necked. Strange red wind burn on face replaced by flush of alcohol and smugness. There’s nothing to this walking lark, you simply put one foot in front of the other.