The journey I describe in my new book is one that is deeply familiar to me: the South West Coast Path.
It is a linear journey, which blows westward and then turns east, following, for 630 miles, the contours of natural borders.
My journey started at Minehead in Somerset, clambering up North Hill to a gorse-tangled plateau, and from there travelled through three counties, finishing in Poole in Dorset.
It passed through big towns, small towns, villages and hamlets; even wilderness. It wove between gone worlds that have risen and dissolved. It offered artistic associations and rocks that are more durable than the gathering of heavens. It gave me freedom on blond beaches under blue skies, and God over saint-wooed