Returning to the Peldon Rose, I find myself alone in the breakfast room. Heading out into narrow lanes that take me through the Wigboroughs, dodging traffic and finding nowhere for a late morning cup of tea.

A left turn across a field leads me to Salcott Cum Virley and the tip of the creek I am to follow out to Old Hall Marshes. Walking past the village church I notice an invitation on the noticeboard to visit the church where tea and coffee facilities are available –  I jump. Inside a familiar name catches my eye but one which i had never expected to see in a church. i later discover that Rev. EP Starbuck had been the rector of the parish in 1878 – a long way from Seattle.

Refreshed I turn left out of the church, over a gate and onto the sea wall where a familiar sight greets me – a long grassy path snaking its way into the distance, acres of mud and choppy grey sea. Head down I follow the right hand bank of Salcott Channel and as I turn the blunt end of the peninsular I get a better look at the grey hulking shape of Bradwell Power Station, now decommissioned.

I continue, through intermittent bursts of rain, with Old Hall Marshes on the right, the grey landscape occasionally broken by the delightful colour of wild mushrooms and the cries from a flock of soggy sheep.

A little later I pass a few drenched photographers with their eye on the sea birds and turning inland, past stables, i head out towards Tollesbury Fleet and finally to the charming Marina at Tollesbury. I am drenched, cold and hungry but am about to meet the kindest tea shop ladies in the World. Not only do they let me owe them a meal. (I only had a plastic card) they also point me in the right direction of a B&B for the night. That evening, having finally found somewhere to rest my head I venture out into the ghoulish Halloween night to find something to eat. I find the Indian restaurant and as at breakfast, sit alone watching the young indian waiter, who has never been to India, fold napkins obsessively with his fine elegant fingers.