The England Coast Path beckons me towards it in the bookshop's window. Soon I'm engrossed in plans.
“Cornwall?” I suggest.
Reluctant rambler Seán needs better bait. “Poldark?”
“Definitely not,” Seán says.
“Marconi's hut – the oldest communications site in the world?” I try.
“Radio waves,” he answers.
I play my final card: “Cornish ales?”
Soon Seán's wielding a spreadsheet of campsites and cosy inns. The deal is sealed. We'll walk the longest coastal path in the world; but this is us, so it'll be random and take some time!
Our first stop-off is Moreton, Dorset, and nowhere near the sea; it's the only place with weekend space. The CL's one-legged pheasant greets us. The owner says to enjoy watching the sika deer and that her Alsatian is friends with a mild-mannered stag. We wake to find a deer staring through the window.
The chain ferry takes us across the Tamar to Cornwall. Antony House, one of the finest Queen Anne buildings in the west, is just over a mile away.
Ever the optimist, I insist the biblical downpour will clear by the time we've finished our pasties. ‘Himself’ shakes his head as I hand him his not-as-waterproof-as-they-should-be shoes.
I barrel past the handsome colonnaded porticos flanking the gracious house to escape the rain, almost colliding with a ship's figurehead
