From Hastings
It's a tradition now that every year I go with my friend on a multi-day hike somewhere in the UK, and this year we started in Battle to have a look around the site of the Battle of Hastings, and then took the train down to Hastings itself with the intention of aiming towards Dover.
Every year I get less and less fit. I had promised myself to be in-shape enough this year not to stumble into the campsite exhausted each evening, but the time had slipped through my fingers, and here I was again.
It didn't help that on the first day I was attacked by the seaside. I don't mean by people at the seaside, I mean by the seaside itself. The beach at Hastings isn't proper sand but a carpet of sharpened stones, grit and dust, which moved unexpectedly under my feet. I stumbled, my poorly-packed backpack tipped forward, and as my centre of gravity changed I immediately and comically fell over.
This meant that I picked up a few minor but surprisingly deep cuts and grazes. There were public toilets nearby I could use the sinks in to frantically clean the cuts and apply inappropriately oversized plasters.
An additional note, based on the time spent in Hastings sitting in a pub garden drinking a welcome pint of cider, and watching the seagull at the next table investigate some empty glasses in case they were made out of food: seagulls are much bigger than you'd think.
We walked from Hastings through the Fire Hills, which weren't as ominous as the name suggested but were definitely hills, with all that implied, and at that point it also started to rain. The Fire Hills are wooded, and every now and then we'd emerge onto a hilltop, looking out at the distant tiny shadows of ships passing across grey water and vanishing into damp mist.
I stumbled into the campsite at the end of the day exhausted. The Dutch couple who were the only other residents that night commented on how pale I looked and offered to share the pasta that was their evening meal.
The next day started better, and I was determined not to let the poor start put me off. In the morning we stopped by a chemist to pick up some better plasters and some anti-bacterial wipes. The assistant at the pharmacist assured me the wipes were fine to use on my injuries. Several miles later I read the packet, which said not to use on broken skin under any circumstances.
And there were a lot of miles to cover. We took it a little easier than the first day, but at times the fields seemed endless. We were theoretically following the Saxon Shore Way, which sounds fairly coastal, but this refers to the shoreline as it would have been to the Anglo-Saxons, before much of the ground had been reclaimed from the marshes for agriculture.
This meant in reality that the Saxon Shore Way runs inland, alongside and frequently straight across a lot of fields in use for farming, most of which were barren and uncomfortable to walk on, just hard earth ploughed up and dried out by the sun, and the open fields meant that any patches of woodland that provided the least shade were very welcome indeed.
I stumbled into the campsite at the end of the day exhausted. The family in the camper van next to our tents commented on how pale I looked and offered us a glass of rum each.
We didn't get anywhere near Dover, diverting to Sandling for the rail link, but we did go through a good few places on the way. We went through Rye, which was lovely, and we saw a lot of countryside, woodland and brown grass completely dried out from the recent heatwaves, which had only broken at last into welcome rain during our hike itself.
I've always liked rain; my friend isn’t as much of a fan. It often felt as though our spirits inverted depending on the weather. In the bright sun he'd stride ahead as his mood lifted, and when it rained...well, he'd still be striding ahead because of his comparatively high level of fitness. But I'd feel better anyway, happily plodding along as the raindrops pattered around me.
We ended up in Sandling, from which we could get the train back home, and it was all suddenly over. Reading this back it sounds like a bad time, but it's always good to spend the time with my friend, getting out away from the normal routine, and seeing new places. And I've promised myself that next year I'll definitely be fit enough not to stumble into the campsite exhausted.