Open Writing

After walking on the high moors all Sunday afternoon and again on Monday morning, the path eventually took us down to the village of Glaisdale, where we hoped to stop for a drink. Unfortunately, the main pub in the village had closed and was being redeveloped for housing but there was a little general store and a butcher's shop. We went into the store where I bought a packet of Eccles cakes but when I looked round there was no sign of Paul. I emerged from the store just in time to see him coming out of the butcher's with two pork pies. I knew it! Now I had the evidence. He must have had a copy of Care's Nutritional Advice all along.

I find that I don't eat much when I'm out walking. If we pass a tea shop, I'm more than happy to stop and have a scone or a flapjack but, if not, I can keep going as long as I have some energy drinks to provide my body fuel (I still like that). Otherwise, I find Eccles cakes are ideal for keeping up energy levels. Paul clearly takes his walking nutrition more seriously. On this occasion, he may have been influenced by the sign in the shop window — Hand-reared Pork Pies. This was an interesting concept. I imagined a clutch of pork pies hatching and being deserted by the parent pies, leaving the defenceless pielings to fend for themselves and the butcher's wife staying up all night to feed them. Watching Paul wolf them down, I was not sure that he noticed the difference.

After our fuel stop, I remembered Tom had mentioned another pub about a mile further on so we walked on in anticipation. We'd be able to have a pint before the others caught up but, and there's always a 'but' and you've guessed it, the bloody place does not open at lunchtimes. Thwarted again, we decided to sit at the picnic tables opposite the pub and wait for the others but, after a minute or two, a man emerged from the pub, the Arnecliffe Arms, and for a moment, we thought we were in luck, assuming he was the landlord coming to offer us refreshments. He chatted to us but made no mention of opening up the pub for us, and I thought it odd that he had a strong Australian accent and began to wonder whether he had come out to gloat about the cricket. Surely, England hadn't thrown it all away on the final morning of the final Test. It transpired that he was, indeed, an Australian and he had been doing the Coast to Coast Walk himself but, when he reached Glaisdale, he fell in love with the place and decided to settle there. Well, that was what I thought he was going to say but, in fact, he was in the middle of a two month visit to Europe and he had left his wife sightseeing in London whilst he undertook the walk. Not for the first time, I wondered how so many visitors had heard of the Coast to Coast. He went on to explain that, unfortunately, he had been forced to give up the walk the day before because he was having knee trouble. We could not imagine anything worse as he had completed ninety per cent of the distance and then had to give up and, being Australian, he was unlikely to have another oppor¬tunity to complete the walk. He had stayed at the Arnecliffe Arms the night before and was waiting for a bus to take him to the nearest mainline rail station.

Whilst we had great sympathy for our new friend, the fact that he had dropped out even though he still had one good leg was not in accord with our vision of the tough Australian male. After all, Joe was suffering considerable pain and discomfort from a leg injury but, even at sixty-nine, the thought of dropping out had not even occurred to him.

At least he was able to tell us the cricket score and the outcome was still very much in the balance. Australia had taken five wickets and England were only one hundred and thirty ahead. If Australia could take the other five wickets quickly, they had a chance of winning the match and retaining the Ashes. Our Australian friend had been watching the match on television but admitted that he was not really interested in cricket and could not even tell us which English batsmen were at the crease. We couldn't believe it. An Australian who wasn't interested in cricket?

Apparently, he had set off to do the Coast to Coast on his own but, on the very first day, he met a group of young Englishmen and tagged on to them for several days, even though they covered the ground rather faster than he would have wanted. Perhaps this was why he suffered later. Our illusions about Australians were completely shattered when he told us about his young English friends:

'Boy, could they drink. They drank me under the table every night.'

An Australian who gave up whilst he could still walk, who was not interested in cricket and admitted to being unable to keep up with a group of Englishmen in the bar. We decided he must be of Italian or French extraction. Nevertheless, he was a good sort and we wished him well for the rest of his European tour.

We were now in Eskdale and followed the course of the River Esk for the two miles to Egton Bridge, which is no more than a cluster of houses, but in a very pleasant setting. It also has the advantage of having a pub, the Horse Shoe Hotel, and on a nice day such as this, people were taking advantage of the tables set out in the garden in front of the pub. This is a place that has pretensions to being something better than it is and sells what must be the most expensive sandwiches on the whole Coast to Coast route. They did not have a TV in the bar but the young barman was happy to go through to the back and return with the latest score. England were now two hundred ahead but had lost seven wickets, so Australia still had an outside chance if they could take the remaining three wickets quickly. Kevin Pietersen was the hero for England and was approaching his century. As long as he stayed there, England must still be just about favourites.