From Temple Ewell to Brêmes

The clocks ticking to remind me of my death; I am awake at six. Why does anyone require more than one time piece? And why must they all tick off another second from our short mortality?

Such a snug bed otherwise and Ruth provided a wonderfully healthy supper. Last night she went to a Pentecostal Church group and took the lovely Husky girl - but I only just heard them return as I was fading fast. Can't have been later than nine.

Reading a few pages of RC last night it is impossible not to think those people venturing out on the wild seas really were brave and resourceful. To manage not to kill himself with the food he prepared, butchering goats, birds and turtles. And to discover methods of drying grapes and basket making. It makes me certain the industrial revolution made us dispossessed of the land and the ways of the land. Now we have artisans then we had to survive.

The village is named for the Knights Templar and a water source. This morning I will set off at eight and head to the river/stream which I will follow into Dover; I can be on a 10am ferry perhaps. Breakfast at 7:30!

...

Following the minnow which is the Dour into Dover, through many housing estates and passed dog walkers and parents taking children to primary school, I reflect on how unwelcome I felt in that host's house - she seemed a little neurotic and kept apologising for nothing - I didn't want for anything. Now I will be required to write a review which isn't tinged with dispassionate regard!

Having arrived at Dover Docks just in time for the 11:10 crossing my hosts this side meet me at the terminal building and we've just had three hours talking about our lives. How they ended up in Brêmes and how I set off on this walking mode of being. Pat is the deacon for the Calais Anglican congregation and David, who used to work on large construction projects (the Channel Tunnel, Suez, Saudi), is retired. They have a massive Black mongrel, which has some Lab and I think one of the giant French breeds, his name is Barak and he is a big softie. Can't show him too much attention as he might eat moi!

The crossing was beautiful - the Channel (le Manche) was almost calm and the clouds were high. This morning was icy and exhilarating, but I only did 5 miles before I chucked Dover away with the other floating turds! It is such an terrible gateway to Britain! The Welsh and Scots would have nothing to do with its rankness and never would I either! Yet there are only three foot carrying ferries from the southern ports and Dover is the shortest ... Beggars can't be choosers.

Got the hours wrong so arrived in Calais 2pm French time. I was intending to meet Pat's husband at the main church Saint Pierre, but that was curtailed.

The tourist info in Market Square advised I could get the cheapest ticket from a discounter, but I didn't trust the gentleman behind the counter who was going to charge me standard rate (£30). So I sped to the dockside and pleaded with the two port employees who gave it at mates (day return) rate (£20). Boon indeed!

When I was hovering around Dover I felt watched, and perhaps followed, by a couple of gentlemen. But I eyeballed them as I am not oblivious to the rogues of flotsam Dover tides brings upon the pebble beaches. Something must be done with this town! Was this the location of "Everyday is Like Sunday"? Only Morrissey can tell!

Now I am laid up and tomorrow I will head directly south to Wisques Abbey. From here it is SSE where I can join the GR145 at Tournehem. At twenty kilometres I should be there in good time! I am very happy with being on the Gallic side of the great divide again!