I wanted to rewrite this post as I'm cross it got lost in the no-man's land between 'publishing' and 'published'. But because it got lost it's just going to be my adapted journal entries instead of original material....
From Much Wenlock early, under an overcast sky but feeling humid, I passed a recently mauled dead sheep before ascending the back of Benthall Edge. I walked along the line of the ridge, slowly descending, all the way down into Ironbridge. It was very very muddy and slippery - Shropshire is full of mud. As I was descending I was aware of huge red structures looming over the trees which was disorienting, not being able to see the top or bottom of them. They were a set of over-sized cooling towers in narrow valley. I arrived into Ironbridge (the photo is the iron bridge) into bright sunshine and a mini tourist haven. I felt very muddy and less than presentable dodging large school group photos on the bridge. After this, a few miles along the Severn, on a disused railway, past canals and many varieties of industry museum. In Jackfield, as I rounded the corner after the Tile Museum, a chap approached me and asked me if I'd like a leaflet about 'The Future'. I asked him what it was and he just repeated that it was a leaflet about 'The Future'. I clocked his dark suit and tie, the bad artwork on the leaflet, and his slightly awkward personality and said that I was walking a long way and didn't want to carry anything extra. In all my life I've never been visited by Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormons (I couldn't tell what he was but he was on his own), and walking with a large backpack on, mud up my legs, in post-industrial Midlands museum-land on a quiet street by a building site, I get approached. I must have looked uncertain about my immediate future at least. Anyway, he understood and was then a teeming source of tourist information. Shortly after, I passed the Boat Inn in Coalport which had a dramatic flood record board, with the most recent entry from March this year. Then a section of canal so thick with green algae you could have stood on it. And woods on an almost impassably overgrown path and more mud. The afternoon was long and hot and tiring on wide tracks and minor roads all the way to Sherrifhales which had no pub or shop, even though the map said it did. So, out of the village and to the quiet farm campsite - quiet because it's not really near anything of note for tourists and it's in the middle of flat Midlands agricultural countryside. There was a friendly elderly couple in a caravan though, and an overly interested peacock. And the farmer was lovely and gave me the night for free.
The next day ... there was a heavy dew. I still don't understand why there is sometimes and not at other times. Ten minutes into the walk and was immediately beset by unclear footpath problems. Nettles at eye height and water made me trespass up a private farm lane. Then over fields to Blymhill, I dragged myself through a hedge to clamber over a stile, bruised my leg on another stile trying to avoid brambles, got wet feet, traipsed through crops, and turned back because of flooding and cows. So beyond Blymhill I lost confidence in the 'footpaths' and went by road for a while. Towards Wheat Aston I plotted a clear bridleway route to discover it was completely flooded and overgrown, so ended up taking another two mile detour. It was too hot as well. So, after buying lots of cold drink in the village shop I stuck to minor roads all the way to Penkridge and found myself vowing I'd never walk on public footpaths again unless they were national trails. This would make the rest of the journey, on reflection, quite difficult. And decrease my chances of endearing myself to my hero, Robert Macfarlane. I am covered in scratches from head to foot though. I only took one photo today, of endless strawberry polytunnels which made the air smell sweet.
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