✉ Sensible shoes

Convictions, directions, opinions, are of less importance than sensible shoes.
— Thomas A. Clark

My hips are sore, my back is tight, my eyes are drooping, but my feet are fine. My shoes were/are a gift from Grandma. Three months ago, when I got back from New Zealand, nearly the first thing she said to me was “you need proper shoes, I want to buy you some proper shoes”. Apparently my socks and sandals didn’t qualify. So grandma bought me a pair of shoes and I broke them in on Dartmoor with Paul (they smelled to high heaven after that. The shoes, not Paul) and amongst the North Yorkshire Moors with Manu. The shoes are very good, better even than a pair of sandals, for this anyway. Thank you Gran! x

That said, they’ll be no more marathons until my hip is feeling fine. Bag pressure plus lots of eneven ground today has made the left one mighty sensitive. 33km today, 45,953 steps, and many hours spent in The Barge Inn, between the bar and the pool table with a trio (Darren, Helen, and Nick) of caravanners from Portsmouth. Ziggy the sheep dog was our enthusiastic cheerleader at the table. Much of the day’s walking passed under the watch of the White Horses of Devises and Alton Barnes.

The Grey Heron is a common sight along the canal, often ‘leading’ me along it, stopping just a few hundred yards ahead, and taking flight again as I catch up. See also the sixteen tightly packed locks at Caen.

Turning in for an early night — hidden somewhere in the estate of the 4th Lord Vestey, whose dog walker almost spotted me about an hour ago 😁 — as I have an early call with a cool bloke from Newcastle in the morning.

G’night, talk soon xx