Doing things your own way.

It must have been in July, the height of the camping season. There were hundreds of barbeques being started on what could only be described as the perfect weather for cooking outside. The grass was green. The sky was blue and the temperature was set to soar to new heights. It was definitely the kind of day you felt uncomfortable in if you had to do hard work. All around there were people enjoying themselves. You could hear them and felt good yourself. The bus arrived at Hunstanton and although you couldn't see the beaches, it was a fair guess that they'd be busy today.

It was fairly early when i found out this was the day's last bus. I decided to walk the 17 miles to Wells. If I walked and stayed on the coastal path it should be easy to get there. Then i'd pitch the tent up and Bob's your uncle. What could be easier than that? I left about 7, which gave me plenty of sunlight. Slinging the tent over my shoulder i began to walk into unchartered territory. Looking behind me, i could see nothing that grabbed my attention and noticed that i had walked about a thosand metres. There was a slight breeze in the air which came as a welcome difference to that of the bus.

The birds arond me were getting quite excitable with me being there. They were making a hell of a racket and It wasn't until i'd moved on that i realised that i was an unwelcome visitor. It was at this point that i dicarded my trainers and socks and walked along the sandy footpath. It felt right. It was a bit cooler now and i was glad of the coat i had on - a camouflage jacket which had made me look a bit out of place, but i was glad i had brought it. The sunlight was rapidly changing even though i was still full of energy. It wouldn't be light for much longer.

When darkness came, the footpath seemed to change and i was caught between sand and very deep water. It was pitch black and i got worried when i began to sink. I could hear the sea. I could see a light that was about a mile away, but i couldn't see where i was going. I felt all alone and my cries of "help!" were wasted because no-one was going to hear me. Somehow, miraculously, i managed to find my way back on to the footpath. All i could think about was my family and what they'd be thinking if the worse had come to the worst. I found an old building which had no windows and was empty. The chill in there was quite breathtaking. It was hard to sleep, but as soon as it was light and i put my socks and trainers back on i found the road. It was still seven miles to Wells so off i set.

With my tent hanging around my shoulder and my camouflage jacket tied around my waist, i was overtaken by a cop car. He looked as though he thought i was crazy to be out on a Sunday morning. We came to a village that had a pond that i couldn't resist getting my feet wet in. I was starting to get some blisters and it was good to dip them in cold water. After a short stop i was on my way again. This was Wells. A young girl tried to make conversation with me, but i wasn't interested. It had been a long walk. I can't really remember pitching the tent. I just remember waking up. After a few stretches i could hear voices. "You don't want to put you tent up like this" (meaning me). I thought of what i'd just been through which was something along the lines of "why don't you piss off, clever clogs!".
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