I'm using a trusty string technique for measuring how far I have gone. I note where I go on the map, measure it with a piece of string and then compare the string measurement to the map scale—highly technical. There was a lot to get used to for a first day: sore knees, ankles and feet; sunburn; backpack shaped bruises on my shoulders; scrambly paths in spots; hard to work out signs that resulted in wrong turns that I persisted with until cliff-tops told me that I was truly off track, and which resulted in torn pants. After a mammothly average twelve and a half kilometers I went into a town and stayed in a building. Camping out was not an option.
You may have seen from the blurby bit on the side, over there on the left, yep, that bit, that I have decided that I needed to have a costume based alliterating theme to my blog and that this part of it involved ballgowns. I made a costume based on ninety-three percent of all episodes of So You Think You Can Dance: a corset with a fluffy, tutu style skirt hanging off the back. I had a back-up purple prom dress rolled up in my pack, but this was my darling. I could wear it over my trousers or shorts and it wasn't overly ostentacious. (Okay, it was a little.) By my first stop though I was ready to rip it off. It had boning. Boning and a backpack don't really see eye to eye. I found a sharp stone, and , necessity and mothers and all that, managed to cut the boning out. Much better: although I have got my shirt over it now as there is way to much boobage for a casual stroll through Ol' Blighty.
The shower I had was the best ever. The sleep was the same. Turns out I have to do the whole thing again tomorrow.
Good night to St Just, good night to you.