Packed during a rare dry spell after a very wet night. Got talking to Carolyn, a fulltime mobile homer. She complained about the difficulty stealth camping. I gave my own and only van tip, free parking in Lossiemouth.
Set off using maps.me walking route and though it was better than the last it was still very muddy involving a tumble at a stile and a fall on to my back, stopped by the rucksack. The rain fell so hard that by the time I’d finished it had been washed nearly clean.
The walk felt good, the rain refreshing, feet were perky and back didnt feel overburdened by the bag as on Day 4.
Walked through a residential park of Whalley and through little York Village and then over the hills where the rain turned to sleet and was bitter.
I dropped into Blackburn, through scruffy Little Harwood with Moroccan levels of litter (Litter Harwood?) and then into town centre, which has tidied itself up since my last visit. For research purposes only and to see if all pints cost nearly a fiver i put aside my hatred of Tim Martin and visited the Wetherspoons. Beer there is £2.10. Why is it so expensive elsewhere?
I got talking to the sweariest man in Britain. It started as i was eating my pizza. I heard a “f*ck me!” and saw him hunting on the floor for something. I gave him a minute and asked him what he’d lost. A ring. He was 70ish and so i got on my hands and knees. Is it silver? I asked. No, gold, none of that effing silver rubbish for me. I found it and he offered to buy me a drink but i declined as i had to get going. He ordered a double brandy for himself. Effing wife doesnt let me have these. Whys that? Cos i fall over. Before christmas i fell down the effing stairs. From top to bottom? Yeah, broke my head, collar bone, 10 ribs. Maybe his wife had good reason for the ban. But i dont give a f*ck! Then he ordered a taxi and started talking about his effing pension, how he had two effing grand in the bank but was waiting for an effing 23000 lump sum. His phone beeped to say the taxi was outside. He crowned his previous swearing by tapping the phone and saying “black c*nts here”. (Dear diary reader, I’d normally write these swears out in full but I’m thinking of you.) It was an awful thing to say but he delivered the line with perfect comic timing on a crescendo of obscenity.
As well as the ring I’d seen a pound coin on the floor coming back from bar. Given my penniless state i would have picked it up but i feared the same trick as was played in moss’s supermarket and that it was glued to the floor to humiliate anyone poor enough to bend down and pick it up.
Anyone, the sun came out while i was inside and so that last two miles to Rita’s (auntie) was pleasant enough. Maps.me took me through some of bburns grimmer backstreets but got me there quicker than 25 years of local knowledge could have managed.
Evening spent with her familiar, Danielle and Paul, their 4 much bigger sprogs and Bethanys man of few words, footballing boyfriend Jack. Had singapore noodles. Calories restored. Nice evening. They convinced me to stay another night so that I’d arrive in manchester on sunday night rather than saturday, and pay £30 for hotel rather than £60. It means once i leave here I’ll have 4 shortish days, which will be good for the feet.
In other news i got email from border force arsehole Steve Dann that they cant cancel my ridiculous fine and so it goes to court. I hope my costs include flying back from wherever i am.
Distance today (km) 20, total 103.4