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My book: Walking the English Coast
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Category Archives: 07 Hampshire
I see a Kestrel and eat a cream tea. Checking my map, I realise I have crossed over into Dorset. I am making progress!
The small ferry-boat is well guarded by a fierce little black labrador – with a very waggy tail.
I can’t get close to the sea in the New Forest. Ignoring ‘beware the bull’ signs, I walk through woods and hear things falling from the trees. I realise it is horse chestnuts (conkers) falling around me.
Sometimes during my walks – not often, but sometimes – I wonder why on earth I am doing this. What posessed me to start walking? And why have I continued? Continue reading
I’m not looking forward to the walk today. At Fawley, the map shows a huge oil refinery and then a power station. I am particularly dreading walking along the A326. But I am pleasantly surprised …. Continue reading
You can’t mistake the Hamble Ferry. It is coloured pink. Bright pink. My second ferry crossing is over to Hythe and poses more of a challenge. I am impressed by The Queen Mary 2 and enjoy the views from the Itchen Bridge. Continue reading
I get wet and am irritated by ‘private beach’ signs. But I enjoy a stretch of vegetated shingle, where unusual plants struggle to maintain a foothold in the inhospitable surface of dry, shifting, shingle stones. I marvel at the extreme fragility and the incredible tenacity of life.
Portsmouth is barely recognisable – changed from the grim city I once knew. And The Spinnaker Tower is wonderful. We strip off our shoes to walk across the glass floor – a vertigo inducing experience. But what are the mysterious buildings on the seafront in Gosport? Continue reading
I remember walking across a derelict wasteland of scrub and wind-blown rubbish to the edge of the water. I stood on a rock and gazed over brown mud and grey water and wished I was somewhere on the other side of the ocean – somewhere warm and sunny.
I get through the not-so-rigorous MOD security to begin my walk around Thorney Island. Saddened at the thought of wasted young lives, I cheer up when I reach Emsworth – an unexpectedly beautiful town. Frustrated by my lack of decent photographic equipment, I end the walk with the stink of sewerage. Continue reading