Walk 105 -- Skegness to Anderby Creek

Ages: Colin was 63 years and 18 days. Rosemary was 60 years and 160 days.
Weather: Soft cloud, clearing to a hot sun. A warm wind from behind.
Location: Skegness to Anderby Creek.
Distance: 8½ miles.
Total distance: 822 miles.
Terrain: Some beach where the sand was a bit sinky. Mostly concrete walkways, occasionally covered in soft-blown sand.
Tide: Out.
Rivers: None.
Ferries: None.
Piers: No. 24, Skegness.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: None. (Colin is very scathing about seaside bars that ‘only serve keg’!)
'English Heritage’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: No.3, at Ingoldmells in a theme park called ‘Fantasy Island’. It claims to be the biggest in Europe, but it was closed because of the wind!
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We drove up the day before and set up camp at Anderby. It was only a mile from Anderby Creek car park (free!) where we took the bikes on the back of the car. Then we cycled to Skegness where we padlocked our bikes to a proper cycle rack.
At the end, we had a cup of tea, then Colin drove me back to the campsite so that I could get on with cooking the dinner. Meanwhile, he drove down to Skegness and collected the bikes.

Eleven months! I was determined to get us back on track, before we got too old to be capable of completing this trek which I have reckoned will take us a total of twenty-five years. (That would make Colin 81 and me 78 when we finish!) So why eleven months? We were exhausted and miserable when we got back from Walk 104 for all the reasons previously explained. Colin had been trying very hard not to get depressed about his incontinence but it was dreadfully awkward and embarrassing at times, particularly as he is such an active person. He tried to think positively, empathising with friends who are battling with prostate cancer, but it was difficult. The urine didn’t just seep out, it gushed at times and he had absolutely no control.
Then there was our house move. We have planned for years to retire to Yorkshire, but we don’t seem to be getting on with it at all. The main problem is Colin’s clutter—and I am talking clutter big time here, like eight motor bikes in bits, several canoes, a shed, garage and large bedroom so full that you can hardly squeeze in through the door, and much more! Colin is a hoarder—he never throws anything away and we have lived in this house for twenty-seven years!
Bognor used to be a nice place to live, but now it is seedy. There are plans to build sixteen hundred new houses—not new roads, schools, clinics, community centres or shops—just houses, houses, houses. Plans have been thrown out, but they keep coming back and they will build them—we have no doubt.
A new neighbour moved into the bottom flat of the house next door, and he was bad news from day one. Noisy, loud, swearing, parties, thumping pop-music, vans and cars parked all over the place (several of them untaxed), and a whole series of horrible ‘friends’ and hangers-on. Fights in the back garden in the middle of the night, holes made in our front hedge where they also left their beer cans after consuming the contents in the street, and rubbish, rubbish everywhere—mostly dog-ends and empty cigarette packets.
I was desperate to put the house up for sale and get out. Colin said he couldn’t get on with ‘sorting’ his clutter (why not just take it all to the tip?) because we kept going away. So I agreed to put the Round-Britain-Walk on hold to allow him time. Effectively he did nothing! After eleven months he had sold a few items, moved a lot more from one side of the room to the other, but the only time he did go to the tip with a car load he got a puncture because he drove over a nail! He was still going on his beer trips, I was getting more and more miserable because I so wanted to get on with the trek, and we were no nearer moving house than we had been before!
During the Summer of 2004 Collin went for a lot of rather unpleasant tests at the hospital to find out if his condition could be improved by inserting an artificial sphincter round the neck of his bladder. One or two of his subsequent appointments were a complete and utter waste of time because the only surgeon who knew anything about this pioneering operation wasn’t always there, and her underlings knew less about it than Colin did! In early October he was at last told that he was a suitable candidate for this particular operation, but he would have to wait six months. Why? That’s our National Health Service for you!
He was given a date at the beginning of April 2005. He couldn’t wait! Despite being warned that it was a major operation, he didn’t find it nearly as bad as the prostatectomy he had undergone eighteen months before. He was put in a private room because there was a very real danger of infection, and sent home after only 48 hours. He didn’t get an infection and healed up very quickly indeed, but he had to wait a further seven weeks before they would switch the device on. It worked!! He now has 95% control of his bladder, instead of the mere 5% he had before. He was over the moon, life could return to normal. We agreed to resume the Round-Britain-Walk immediately.
One more thing. In December 2004, I turned 60 and officially became an OAP. I knew I had gradually been putting on weight over the years, and usually dismissed it because I am ‘getting old’. That Christmas I measured my BMI (Body-Mass-Index) and found it to be 29.9—only 0.1 of a point off being clinically obese! No!!! That is not the way I want to go! So, on 1st January 2005 Colin and I started a ‘food-combining’ diet—he said he would keep me company because it would make meals a lot easier, and anyway he needed to lose a few pounds too. The weight just started to fall off! In five months I have lost over a stone and brought my BMI down to 27.4! Colin lost his extra pounds too, and then he started ‘cheating’—but that doesn’t matter because he doesn’t need to lose any more. We have neither of us been hungry, except just before a meal. We haven’t had to give up any of the foods we like, just separate our proteins and carbohydrates. It is a new way of eating, and I have been experimenting with lots of new and exciting recipes. I really love my food now, it is not the slightest bit boring, and we haven’t had to give up our beer, cider or wine. Not only that, I feel a lot more energetic and healthier than I have ever been in my life! I can’t believe I’m an OAP, though the pension does come in very handy!

Now to the Walk. First I will talk about Skegness where we spent a couple of hours on one of our ‘rest’ days. When we were here nearly a year ago, what struck us most was the number of obese people of all ages walking the streets. Then we were tired, wet, cold and miserable—this year we are energetic, dry, warm and cheerful. Skegness hasn’t changed, it is still full of hopelessly obese people! Perhaps I am more aware of them now, since I have so successfully lost weight, but I really don’t know how some of the worst cases can allow themselves to get like that. Measuring my BMI was my ‘wake-up call’, I was always so skinny as a child.
A recent item on the News (it must have been a ‘low-news’ day) said that Skegness was the ideal town in Britain to retire to. This is because it is flat, has a nice promenade by the sea and lots of Bingo houses where the Wrinklies can go to enjoy themselves. (Why do they think that people lose their intelligence just because they are old?) They didn’t mention the cold east wind, the featureless landscape, the greasy fish ’n’ chip shops nor the crowds of fat people! Colin was equally disappointed this year. He remembered the dancing fisherman statue and the beautiful sandy beach — I’ll give you that, the beach is lovely — but not much else because he was very young when he used to come here with his parents. He couldn’t remember where he stayed, or anything else about the place much at all. He concluded that it has probably changed a lot over the past 50+ years, and I could tell he was rather disillusioned. He didn’t even take any notice of a fat girl showing her knickers on the beach!
The Ferris wheel was going! We bought enough tokens for three rides, then we went on it together taking photos of each other and of the view. Then I stayed on for an extra ride while Colin took photos of me up there. It was very exciting—is that what they meant when they said ‘Skeggie’ was an ideal place for OAPs? (Colin thinks I am a nutcase!)



Now for the real Walk! We padlocked our bikes to the railings near the pier because we wanted to start there. It is very short, doesn’t even reach the sea, but then the tide was out. It also isn’t very high, when we later wheeled our bikes under it we had to crouch. It looked very new, and we wondered if it was a millennium project like Southwold Pier. Colin said he couldn’t remember there being a pier when he visited as a child. At the shore end there is a kiosk which says, “Next stop Hunstanton” with an arrow pointing to the sea end. This is really the end of walking round ‘The Wash’ (thank goodness!) so I stood on the end of the pier pointing towards Hunstanton —just as I had stood in Hunstanton sixteen months ago and pointed through the mist towards Skegness. Only today it was clearer, and we could just make out the Norfolk coast on the horizon.
We pushed our bikes to a car park at the northern end of the resort and padlocked them to a post because it would be easier to pick them up from there at the end of the day. The concrete walkway continued for miles, which made walking a lot easier even though it was occasionally covered in soft-blown sand.
We passed a school party sitting on the edge of the prom eating their lunch, and I couldn’t resist a smirk because I no longer have to cope with the responsibility of looking after other people’s children. However, these quite little kids were really very well behaved, and further on we looked back to see them all happily paddling in the edge of the sea.We thought the warning notices on the railings were a little OTT. Is it really necessary to state the obvious—that open water and the sea can actually be quite dangerous if you are stupid? Whatever happened to common sense? Perhaps it has something to do with the plethora of ‘Fish ’n’ chips’ and ‘Happy hour’ establishments we passed along the way. I do believe that diet has a lot to do with intelligence.
As we made our way northwards, a number of features of interest caught our notice. Bunches of flowers tied to a fence. Why? They seemed to be in memory of someone’s Grandma, but we didn’t think she had actually died at that spot.Everywhere we go these days there seems to be bunches of flowers left about because someone has died. Bereavement is a difficult thing to cope with, but we fail to see how leaving bunches of flowers about helps you through it, particularly as the flowers—rarely in water—die within a few hours leaving brown straggly bits wrapped in ugly cellophane. Surely it is better to remember the good times and move on. Flowers are not going to bring the dead back, only give the flower shops a good trade! Flowers for the living, yes, because it cheers up the recipient, but flowers for the dead I have never understood.
We passed a single-storied flat-roofed house with an interesting external staircase, and further on a miners’ convalescent home. We wondered what it was used for now because there aren’t any miners left in this country, are there?We sat on a breakwater to eat the first part of our lunch, and as we moved on the weather got hotter. We were glad of a slight breeze along the shore. The beach got lonelier, with small dunes next to the concrete walkway and very few people. No one walks between resorts like we do! Soon we passed the original Butlin’s holiday camp—the very first to be built in the 1930s. I have given the history of Butlin’s in the chapter for Walk 74 when we passed Clacton, the site of the second camp to be built. Unlike Clacton, Skegness has survived into the 21st century. It has been renamed, refurbished and reinvented—and there it was, under an inverted cow’s udder just like the one at Bognor! Their access to the beach was busy, mostly with obese people, and we could hear a loudspeaker inside the big white tent where everyone was (supposedly) having a wonderful time! But we couldn’t fathom the significance of the American flags flying on the prom just there.
Butlins may have been open and running, but it is now dwarfed by ‘Fantasy Island’, a modern funfair with all the latest stomach-churning rides that are guaranteed to make you sick! The Ferris wheel is HUGE, but is nearly always closed because of the wind. It takes intelligence—she says sarcastically—to build such a large and flimsy structure in one of the windiest places in Britain.
(Sorry to be so cynical—but it does seem daft!) I never got a ride on it because it was closed all the while we were there. The whole area is a marsh, too, with acres upon acres of caravans. As we passed Ingoldmells Point we looked over at the main drain, and it didn’t look attractive in the least. No, Skegness is not a place I would be happy to retire to!We sat on some beach steps there to eat the second half of our lunch, and idly watched a tractor mooching up and down ‘combing’ the sands. The beach didn’t look much different after he had passed, we wondered if it was worthwhile him doing it. Again we lost the crowds after we had passed all the holiday camps, and didn’t pick them up again until we approached Chapel St Leonards, despite passing wall-to-wall caravans. Few of them seemed to be occupied, yet we are almost on the busiest bank-holiday weekend of the year.
Colourful beach huts marked our approach to Chapel St Leonards, then the familiar smell of greasy fat and “ping-pong-ping” sounds of the local amusement arcade. There seemed to be a desperation to get us to stop and eat their awful food—first we passed a sign reading, “2 meals for £6.95!” Then it was, “2 meals for £5.95!” Finally, at the very last establishment we passed, it was, “2 meals for £5.50!” We didn’t take any of them up, instead we sat in a rather nice log-cabin style gazebo on the Point and ate our chocolate to give us an energy boost for the final fling.
After that the concrete prom ran out, so we had to resort to the beach. Fortunately the sand was fairly firm below high water mark, though a bit too soft amongst the dunes. Since the tide was out, it was really quite enjoyable walking the last couple of miles to Anderby Creek. There we had a little bit of difficulty locating the correct path through the dunes, but we soon found it and cut through to the free car park with toilets—where our car was waiting for us—past a new beach shelter with a ‘round window’!

That ended Walk no.105, we shall pick up Walk no.106 next time on the beach at Anderby Creek. After we had enjoyed a cup of tea, Colin drove me the short distance back to the campsite so that I could get on with cooking the dinner. Meanwhile, he drove down to Skegness and collected the bikes.

Walk 104 -- Friskney to Skegness

Ages: Colin was 62 years and 45 days. Rosemary was 59 years and 188 days.

Weather: Hot and sunny with a lovely breeze.

Location: Friskney to Skegness.

Distance: 10½ miles.

Total distance: 813½ miles.

Terrain: Overgrown tracks and field edges across private land. Beach, dune-marsh, and eventually concrete prom.

Tide: Out.

Rivers: No.40, the Steeping River near Gibraltar Point.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None – we decided to save Skegness Pier for the next Walk.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: The ‘Jolly Sailor’ in Wainfleet-All-Saints. Although it is recommended as the main pub for the nearby Bateman’s Brewery, it had no real ale when we went in! So we didn’t stay. (Isn’t there a song about the pub with no beer?)

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: No.2, in Skegness! Unfortunately it was CLOSED!! It had been going on Sunday, but not on a Tuesday evening. We shall have to hope it is open at the beginning of the next Walk. (Nearly a year later, we rode on it!)

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We were camping at Burgh le Marsh. We drove – with bikes on the back of the car – to Skegness where we parked in a residential street for free, avoiding the £4 charge in the car park. (These Councils shouldn’t be so greedy!) Then we cycled to Friskney where we padlocked our bikes to a post.

At the end, we walked into Skegness at 7pm on a Summer’s evening to find practically everything was CLOSED – even the toilets!!! The seafront lights looked good, except that they weren’t on! There were loads of people about – most of them repulsively obese – but all there was for them to do was play Bingo or visit a chippy. The latter is what we did, and a horrible greasy meal it turned out to be. We returned to the car for a cup of tea, then we drove back to Friskney to collect our bikes, and at the ‘Jolly Sailor’ only to discover that they had run out of beer!

The next day, after a wet and windy night, we packed up our soaking wet tent – which fortunately has proved to be sturdy and 100% waterproof – and returned home.

We did a bit of research before we started today’s Walk. If we kept to public footpaths we would have to walk a long way inland putting miles on our route, so we were prepared to risk continuing along the sea bank which was private land from the very start of the Walk. (They can only ask us to leave, after all.) The difficulty was the Steeping River that needed to be crossed by a footbridge which was marked on the map. We wanted to find out if this bridge really did exist, and if we could get across it. If we reached the Steeping River and couldn’t cross it, we would have to backtrack miles and it would be worse than if we had stuck to the public footpaths in the first place—so it was very important that we found out.

We drove to a place called Gibraltar Point, parked and walked a hundred yards along a private track to the Skegness side of the footbridge. Yes, there was the bridge, BUT—it had a tall padlocked gate with spikes all round half way across it, and on our side was another tall padlocked gate with rolls of barbed wire along the top!! Talk about unfriendly, it looked impossible! While we were looking at it all in horror, a lady wearing an apron came out of the only house nearby and asked if she could help. Colin explained that we were trying to walk the coast of Britain, and today’s Walk was intended to be from Friskney to Skegness. We had been wondering about walking the seabank, but we now saw that we couldn’t get over the river. “Oh, we don’t mind coastal walkers!” she exclaimed, “we get all sorts through here!” (I’m sure she was going to say “all nuts” but changed it at the last minute!) “That bridge belongs to the Nature Reserve—old Mr ‘Jobsworth’ over there! The gate on the bridge isn’t really locked you know, it looks as if it is but you will only have to gently push and it will open. And if you don’t fancy climbing this gate, you can always go the fox’s way!” “What’s the fox’s way?” I asked. “Just look at the fence as it goes towards the river,” she replied, obviously enjoying herself, “and you will see it gets lower and lower. The fox goes that way because he doesn’t like climbing fences any more than you do! If you walk through the long grass right to the edge of the river bank, the fence is so low you will be able to step over it without any climbing at all!” (I remembered doing a similar thing on the Isle of Sheppey to get out of a farmyard where we had taken a short cut!)

Our ‘saviour’ then continued to rant on about ‘Mr Jobsworth’ at the Nature Reserve, how she was the fly in the ointment as far as they were concerned and they wanted to get rid of her and demolish her house because it was upsetting the wildlife (“What about the Yanks bombing the hell out of everything?” I asked. “Quite!”) and how she was going to set up an amusement park (all this was ‘tongue-in-cheek) and have a huge Ferris wheel with hundreds of coloured lights and loud music, etc, etc. She was quite a character! We thanked her, and as we left she called out, “Don’t let Mr Jobsworth see you, and remember I don’t know anything!” We assured her that, if challenged, we had never met her!

By the time we had parked in Skegness and cycled to Friskney, it was lunchtime. The inner seabank we had walked yesterday—chosen because it was furthest away from the jets bombing the marsh—is a public footpath as far as the lane where we had experienced the double rainbow. It continues northwards, but is private from there on. We walked about a hundred yards up it, and decided to sit down in the long grass, surrounded by beautiful wild flowers, and eat our lunch where we were relatively secluded. The Yanks were still bombing the marshes to the East, and there were some agricultural workers in a field way out over by the seabank. We conjectured that they were immigrant workers, and as such wouldn’t be at all interested in our trespass—so we didn’t mind if they saw us.

So far so good. Then a tractor was driven out from the farm and started running up and down a field much nearer to us, spreading fertiliser or some such. That was a more serious threat, because if we stood up the tractor driver would see us immediately. This was less likely if he was at the far end of the field, especially if he was driving away from us, so Colin started timing his ‘laps’! We would have less than a minute to scoot about two hundred yards to the next bit of ‘cover’, but we didn’t have to do it because he ran out of fertiliser—or whatever—and returned to the farm. We got up immediately, and walked as quickly as we could without appearing to be in a hurry. It was real ‘cloak-and-dagger’ stuff! Our hearts were pounding fit to bust, we ought to know better at our age! The track became quite overgrown, so we walked along the field next to it. Since the track was on a bank, this meant we had a low profile and we felt more comfortable. We kept the bank between us and the isolated farm buildings we saw, just in case someone was there.

We came to another lane, our last ‘let-out’ to a legal path. The track continued as a tarmac road to a farm, and the entrance was plastered with PRIVATE ROAD KEEP OUT notices. We ignored them, and continued walking along the field edge. A ‘services’ jeep took us by surprise as it sped up the road to some place hence. The driver must have seen us, but he took no notice. He was not the landowner, so we supposed he wasn’t bothered who we were.

Then we came to a covered reservoir which was right up against the road. We dithered for a while, not knowing whether to risk exposing ourselves on the road or walk round it on the field side. Just beyond it were a couple of buildings which could have been cottages—then our number would have been up as we boldly walked in front of their windows! (They turned out to be empty farm buildings after all, but we couldn’t tell that from our side.) We decided not to risk the road, but found our way was all prickly and stinging nettles. So we changed our minds and returned. We were just about to step out into the road when Colin urgently whispered, “Quick! Duck!” We threw ourselves into the long grass as a car sped past on its way to the farm! We couldn’t stop laughing—there we were, a couple of old crinklies, aged 59 and 62, behaving like the ‘Famous Five’ on an adventure! The only thing missing was ‘lashings of ginger-pop’!! We were rolling in the grass shrieking with laughter, we had a crazy five minutes.

When we had calmed down, we thought more seriously about the consequences of being ‘caught’. We could play the ‘we are lost’ bit, but couldn’t claim to know that the gate on the footbridge was unlocked. That would mean extending our Walk by several miles and we couldn’t bear that. So we returned to Plan A and fought our way through the prickly undergrowth round the reservoir. At one point Colin’s foot disappeared into a hole where there was a hidden ditch, but fortunately he came to no harm apart from stinging himself on the leg. We regained the field edge by the road where it was easier walking, and we were shielded from sight by the bank the road was on. But then we had to cross an open track in full view of the farmyard which seemed to be full of people. It was about a hundred yards away from us, but if any of the people happened to be looking in our direction they would surely have seen us. We peeped round like two naughty schoolchildren up to some prank, and decided to go one at a time. Colin’s eyesight is better than mine, so he went first, signalled to me to stop—then to come. We both got across unseen—phew!
After that our confidence grew. There were no more buildings, the seabank was overgrown and there was absolutely no one about. The sun was shining and the flowers were blooming, including a whole bank of wild orchids! Everything was fine, except Colin’s stinging leg was troubling him. So he did his ‘Ray Mears’ trick—he rolled up a couple of dock leaves in his hands and squeezed them until green juice ran out. This he applied to the sting, and because it was in concentrated form it afforded much better relief than just rubbing the leaf on the affected area. I was eulogising about all the flowers, especially the poppies which were growing in profusion, and we both felt very pleased with ourselves. We ‘scrumped’ a few fresh peas from the field edge, and they were sweet and delicious. (Naughty! Naughty!)

A tarmacked road came from somewhere yonder, through the seabank we were walking next to and continued along our side for about half a mile before it disintegrated into a track. We couldn’t think of a reason for it, but it made walking a lot easier. Our seabank was fast converging on the real one, the one in between (remember from yesterday, there were three) having disappeared about a mile back. Surly nothing could go wrong now! Except there was a deep drainage ditch, too wide to jump over, on the other side of our bank, ‘Mr Jobsworth’ was leaning on a bar outside his Visitor Centre on the Nature Reserve staring at the marshes where we were walking, and would the gate on the footbridge really be open?

We needn’t have worried. The drainage ditch went through a culvert where the two seabanks met, and we were slightly north of the Visitor Centre where the warden was staring at birds so he was not actually looking in our direction. After crossing the drainage ditch, we walked along the other side of the seabank so he couldn’t see us anyway, and the fearsome gate on the Steeping River bridge was unlocked just as the lady had said! We reckoned she had broken the padlock herself because she was fed up with rescuing people who were trying to cross this tidal inlet and getting themselves into trouble. I often refer to a book called, ‘Two Feet, Four Paws’ by Spud Talbot-Ponsonby because this lady walked the entire coast of mainland Britain with her dog, Tess, in one year! Here is her description of crossing the Steeping River:

“The seawall continued to the River Steeping, which I had been told we could cross via a sluice. But when we arrived here the gate was padlocked. I was determined to avoid the five mile detour inland, and knew I could negotiate the spikey palings somehow. First I had to make Tess think small and fit through a square hole at the base of the gate, about the size of a cat flap. But folding Tess up enough was a little like trying to thread a needle with baler twine, and I sat back with a defeated air, wishing for the first time that I had a miniature Chihuahua for company.
As I began to accept our position a man came out of the only house on the other side of the river. He had the air of one who had seen a good few people in the same predicament. “The key’s held by the NRA,” he told me.
“I was told it was open!”
“It is for one day of the year! For the annual run from Boston to Skegness!”
We were joined by the man’s wife, who was a homely figure wearing an apron. “I’ve just been cooking a chicken, perhaps if I get a piece we could persuade her through?” she suggested. That was all that was needed. Tess took one sniff at the woman’s hand and popped through the hole, where she was duly rewarded. I scrambled over the spikes, and we set off happily along the dunes to Skegness.”I am sure it was the same lady we had spoken to that morning—no wonder she made such disparaging remarks about the Nature Reserve people if they insist on keeping the gate locked. Don’t they realise that people like us will come anyway, and some may put their lives in danger rather than turn back at that stage? We negotiated the ‘fox’s way’ round the second gate, waved a ‘Thank you’ towards the house, and turned along the road towards the Visitor Centre.

We had done it !

We met a school party at the Visitor Centre, which made me smile for I had given up supply teaching seven months previously—after a 37 year career as a classroom teacher—and had not entered a school since. It’s a nice feeling that the ‘little darlings’ are no longer my responsibility. We used the toilets and filled our water bottles. Colin even had a chat with the warden, ‘Mr Jobsworth’ himself, and found him to be very pleasant and informative. (He obviously had no idea which way we had approached Gibraltar Point.)
We followed the path across the dunes to a nice sandy beach—AT LAST! But soon after we turned northwards along the dunes / marsh, we seemed to lose it again. It was very elusive! In fact we got lost amongst the dunes several times, they were so high and confusing. We were also very tired, of course, and unable to think properly. They seemed to go on forever! Every so often we could see the Ferris wheel in Skegness on the skyline—that was our goal and we tried to keep it in sight, but it didn’t seem to get any nearer. Even when we knew very well we were in Skegness itself, we had to climb a high overgrown bank of dune before we descended into ‘civilisation’. There a passerby asked us what were our ‘uniforms’ about—eh? He meant our gaiters! When we informed him why we wore them, he wasn’t very impressed. I walked on, but Colin stood and chatted to him for about twenty minutes. I was so tired, and sat on a concrete wall to wait. All I wanted to do was finish the Walk and get something to eat, but Colin never does know when to curtail a conversation and get moving.

That part of Skegness was neglected and overgrown. Further on the Pleasure beach was closed—empty cars were going round the log flume, we thought to test it—and the Ferris wheel was not going! Nearly everyone we met was obese, some were grotesquely so. The only outlets open were fish ’n’ chip shops—four consecutive buildings in one street—and Bingo. None of the fairy lights on the seafront were on, and even the toilets were shut!! This was about 7pm on a Tuesday evening in late June—it was all very disappointing. We did concede that the beach was beautifully sandy, and the gardens were well kept and fun, but Colin—who had spent several holidays in “Skeggie” as a small child—was particularly disenchanted.

That ended Walk no.104, we shall pick up Walk no.105 next time by the Pleasure Beach, and hope that it will be open then, whenever it is. We had decided to celebrate the success of our Walks by treating ourselves to a fine fish ’n’ chip meal in this famous East coast seaside resort. We chose a place called “Harry’s” because they advertised “ the best fish ’n’ chips in town”. But Colin was in a real state because the toilets were all shut, his pad was full and he couldn’t sit down without it leaking out. The proprietor told us they had no toilet on the premises, but he thought there was a ‘night toilet’ open down by the car park. So I minded the rucksacks while Colin went off to search—he was gone nearly half an hour, but he did find one in the end. Just one cubicle, and it was smelly! At last we could tuck into our fish ’n’ chips—and a horrible greasy meal it turned out to be. We returned to the car for a cup of tea, then we drove back to Friskney to collect our bikes, and to the ‘Jolly Sailor’ only to discover that they had run out of beer! It obviously wasn’t our day. It started raining before we reached the campsite, and we both had indigestion all night.The next day, after a wet and windy night, we packed up our soaking wet tent – which fortunately has proved to be sturdy and 100% waterproof – and returned home. We were cold and damp, and so treated ourselves to a roast meal in a pub near Boston.

Whatever happened to Summer?