Is Your Journey Really Necessary?

I was awake early again on the Monday morning, after my rather haphazard exploration the day before (see  …And Also The Trees .) When I looked out, a good number of the other tents had gone, and my own looked rather sad and lonely in the field. I gathered a few things together and walked down to the farmhouse for a nice hot shower. There were a couple of children playing in the next field, and there were signs of life in a caravan parked next to the fence. The chickens were roaming around in the yard, and I muttered a quiet curse towards the cockerel, who had woken me for the second day running. I emerged from the shower room refreshed and ready to face the world. It was only about eight o'clock. I decided to hit the road early and aim for the 0925 bus to Monmouth. Even though I wasn't in a great hurry to get back to Aberdare, I could feel the usual post-trip-away-comedown coming on. I wasn't looking forward to the next job of the day – dismantling the bloody tent. It was s...

Having breakfasted in fine fashion at the Log Cabin near Symonds Yat Rock (see Rocking Around the Forest ), I retraced my steps through the trees and eventually emerged onto the minor road to Coleford. It didn't take me long before I found a signpost. It wasn't a great deal of use, to be honest – I already knew where I was, and travellers wouldn't exactly be spoilt for choice. To the north lies the village of Symonds Yat; to the south lies Coleford. There's not much in between, unless you count Berry Hill/Christchurch. But it confirmed that the strange twisting path through the forest hadn't totally confused my sense of direction. I was heading south, exactly as planned. The signpost also advised me that Coleford was two miles away. Once again I found myself in the unenviable position that Achilles had been in when racing the Tortoise. I was pretty sure that I'd walked a lot further than two miles to get to Symonds Yat in the first place. I looked at my phone an...