And that’s what it should have stayed.  But now it’s starting to develop legs.  So will I have to.

You know those Sunday mornings when the sun is shining, there’s a bit of a cooling wind, the spring clouds are sailing serenely over, there’s decent bread in the bin and stilton in the cheese box, pickles, apples, a tomato, a bit of chocolate. Flap-jack if you happen to be lucky, or industrious.

So you think “Let’s go for a walk” and then you pull the atlas out, or examine the 1:25000 (the best maps in the world, let’s hear it for the Ordnance Survey).

And at 4.30pm, the bread has gone, likewise and ditto the cheese, pickles, apple,  etc, etc. The flap-jack is down your pullover, that part that is not edging its way down the side of the sofa.  And you have gone nowhere.

Discipline is what is required.  A plan to be carried out. A strategy to be put in place.  A target to be accomplished.

So here it is.  A walk round England, beginning at Dover or maybe at Falmouth, sometime in April. And ending in Falmouth, or Dover, sometime, in ten or fifteen years time probably. Not a walk in one massive blister inducing, boot wearing, calf stretching, bottom rubbing go, but just in bits, as and when, days, weekends, weeks.  Not for money or health or records, just somewhere to go for a stroll.

Can it be done?  Maybe not. But I am going to have a try. Join me, here, or if your boots are up to it, somewhere by the sea.