Day 1 - Berwick To Beal

And we're off! - I bounded through the streets of Berwick-Upon-Tweed this morning hoping no one would see me, and though there were a few folk about I was largely ignored - in that marvellous English way, rather as if they woke up every day to the sight of some tosser parading down the high street in a gorilla suit and green hat. (I had originally attached a knotted hanky, but the clouds looked a bit threatening so I plumped for the paddy field job). There was the odd toot of a van's horn as they drove past me, but save for a little girl - "Mummy, what's that?" and a well spoken lady later on on the coastal path - "Excuse me, but can I ask what you're doing?" it was all quite painless really.

It's really remote up here mind and when I located the B and B I noted that there was no road or path leading up to it, just a small stream, and failing to hitch a ride on a Poo Stick, I had to walk all the way round, sticking another couple of miles on the journey. When I arrived there was nobody here, and I hung around for a bit before ringing a number I spied in the porch. "Oh, my wife doesn't get back until 4, just go inside - it's open (not a cat in hell's chance of a burglar finding this place - and the drive is a half a mile long!). After a quick shower, I went out to seek a shop, for I was starving. - No shops, no nothing, just vast, well...nothingness. In the end had a meal in a pub and bought 3 packets of salted nuts for me supper.

I haven't even seen Holy Island which is why I stayed here, by the time I got round to looking for it, it started throwing it down so I bid a hasty retreat and never ventured out again. Tomorow it's the 16 mile trek to Beadnell.

It´s 4 weeks to the off now for the “Big walk” down the east coast, I´ve been building up slowly – and I mean slowly, it´s taken 2 months to pluck up courage to walk as far as 17 miles, which I did today. This was a triumph, I managed the last couple of miles without thinking I was wading through axle grease and my knees were only aching instead of downright killing me, unlike last week when they screamed out at me to stop and came up like Kenny Ball´s cheeks. I´m not bitter about that ludicrous challenge inside the centre circle, whereby I was scythed down needlessly and had my kneecap rammed round the other side of my adams apple during an Over 30´s versus Under 30´s football match back in 1981 – I hardly ever mention it in fact. (ah-em). But it´s been murder these past few weeks, and I´ve been reliving the incident over in my mind of late (you can read a full account in my book “Are You Affiliated” – available as a free download on www.kevinholt.net (advert over). The fact is, at 18 my career was in shreds and it would have been absolutely tragic – if I´d have been any good. I´ve achieved these recent results by basically walking slower and not lifting my feet up off the ground so much, this results in me shuffling about rather in the manor of an old man in his slippers padding down his garden path to the wheelie bin, - but so be it. The only problem is, now that the weather is getting warmer I´ve started to develop this horrendous heat rash which is especially bad on my legs, it resembles a cross between German measles and injuries incurred by being flung off a motorbike at high speed whilst wearing nothing but a pair of Speedos. Problem is I wear a pair of tennis shorts in the show when I do Cliff Richard, and I´m on in “Sinatras” tomorrow night. – Will a bit of talc hide it do you think, - or will I have to wear tights?