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Third Week Changes

Well guess what? Poole has been experiencing a seven-week scorching stretch of a heat wave- until we showed up. It rained, hard. Some of the locals, who had been concerned about their gardens, thanked us. They are welcome. 

So back on the busses and trains, this time to the Cotswolds and the home of Diddly Squat farm and its irrascible and sometimes cringey owner, Jeremy Clarkson. It turned out that there's a public pathway leading right through the farm, starting in a barley field, threading it's way between Jeremy's house and cattle barn, and then following his long driveway back out to the road. Matthew recognized his custom Land Rover and told me that Jeremy must be home. Later the fact was confirmed when I met one of his family, a charming and caring girl of about 20. I was sitting on some pallets next to their gift shop after hours ( a  couple miles from the farm) when she and her boyfriend dropped by for some artisan bread for their dinner. She was worried that I was lost or confused, bless her. We chatted a bit about the farm, how Matthew was a fan, the Cotswold country, and Jeremy's latest unfortunate comments about Megan Markle, which seemed to genuinely cause her pain. She assumed I knew what she was talking about, but I didn't. "Old guys say stupid shit sometimes," I said, trying to console her. "Don't worry, it'll all blow over." After she left, I googled the issue. Hmm. Maybe it won't blow over, and maybe even it shouldn't. Old guys say some stupid shit, for sure.

So, after a brief brush with celebrity we bussed and trained back to the trail again. This time to Port Isaac, near where we had first abandoned the trail because of the rain. Once we were settled, it started raining. Our host Linzi-, a sheep and cattle farmer thanked us. The fields needed it she said. She was a sweetheart and a wealth of information about Cornish farm life. Economically, and almost any other way you can imagine, it ain't easy. This, about her flock of 400 sheep..
"Sheep's favorite pastimes is dyin' (pronounced 'doy-yin') it is, so's it's work to keep them from doin' it, it is. They just loves to die, they does. No sense makin' it easy for 'em innit." 

The other big change, is that Matthew and Rhonda went home early and I'm hiking alone now. They had to change their flights home, for a fee of course. If you're  like me, you've always wondered how much a person would pay to get away from you.  Well, I know  my value now.  To quit sharing a tent with me and my soggy socks and underwear it's $800.  Not bad, huh? What's your worth?

Actually, the rain wasn't the problem for Rhonda. It turns out that the Coastal Path slavishly follows the coastline, something that should have been obvious during our planning phase months ago. But a consequence of that, which became clear to us once we got here and started the hike, is that as the path follows the coastline, it completely ignores contour lines. The trail goes like this.. straight up a steep 400 feet, along the top of a cliff for a half mile, then straight down to cross a little creek. Then straight up again 400 feet to the top of a cliff for another quarter to half a mile. Good exercise in the rain maybe, but not if the beta-blockets you're on object to it. Which is what Rhonda's did, strenuously. Still, she did about 60 miles of it, cheerfully, with angina.

My first day alone, I ran into Emma again, who Matt and I had met our first day on the trail.  We walked into Padstow together, just in time for a film shoot. Emma and her partner were asked to be extras, but they didn't ask me or even tell me what was going on. A scruffy, bearded guy hopped up on a crate, told people to gather round, and started reading a passage from 'Beowolf'.  Emma (who is British) and all the other extras seemed enthralled. There were cameras, and a big fuzzy microphone on a stick. 'This must be the British version of Car Karaoke,' I thought. I'd already seen some British TV, so however weird it looked to me, it wouldn't surprise me if it was popular here.  While he talked, a tiny woman took her hat off and held it out for people, begging. I took her to be a cat lady with dementia, but then remembered I was in Britain. A crazy pigeon woman then, I assumed. 

The orator finished and walked off with the old pigeon woman, then came back alone and started chatting with the folks he'd just entertained. People seemed star struck. Turns out, he's costarring in the movie adaptation of The Salt Path. He'd played Lucius Malfoy in all the Harry Potter films, and without long blonde hair and a black cape, is a hell of a nice guy. Not evil, arrogant, or bigoted at all. The demented pigeon woman turned out to be his co-star, Gillian Anderson. She never came back to chat with everyone after the scene, so to me weirdly in my gut, she's a pigeon woman. In my head, I know great actors can convey any reality they need to, but seeing is believing you know. I spent some time on the trail wondering how Gillian, who always seemed to be the reasonable one on X-files could have been brought to such dire straits. 

I've had a couple days and several miles alone now. I've only met a couple other 'thru-hikers' on the path, and none of them match my schedule or pace. I'm just going to keep going till my knees or hips hurt, then take a rest day or two to recover. Maybe then I'll see Justin, Emma, or Leanne again on the trail.

And if not, I'll be able to see them when the Salt Path movie comes out, because unlike me, they are youthful and good looking and were invited to be extras in the movie. 

Fine with me. Gillian can go feed her pigeons, for all I care anyway.

Here's some photos from the last week.  


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