The car is still holding up after yesterday’s trauma – we are back in the carpark at Flint Castle. I walk over to a nearby bench to change my footwear and as I’m struggling with my boots a young girl appears out of the bushes and starts walking, rather unsteadily, towards me. She is very suntanned, her hair in braids knotted with coloured glass beads and is carrying a massive backpack.

“Do you know where I can get any water?” she croaks in an Australian accent – I don’t – and as we only have a very small bottle ourselves I don’t feel I can help. As we get talking it appears that she is walking the Welsh Coast Path and has only just started – she’s come from Chester this morning, some 10 miles away. She is also carrying a tent and asks if we know anywhere she can camp – she has already been warned not to try the woods behind the castle, as this is the territory of a community of homeless people, who’ve been given tents by the local council. I send her off in the direction of the shops down the road for water and despite the fact that myself and Damian have both been pretty reckless in our youth, I still find myself worrying about her at regular intervals during the day. Ah well………………

This decorative sign points out the cycle path we are to follow – Connah’s Quay is very close to Hawarden Bridge, where I assume we will be crossing from Wales to England – but more on that later.

For the next mile or so the path runs parallel to the main road and is pretty featureless although information boards emphasise the importance of the Dee Estuary as an area for waders such as Curlews and Oyster Catchers – two birds I CAN recognise.

Damian poses for a photo………………………………………………………..

At a place called Pentre Ffwrndan the path leaves the marshes and we are forced to walk besides the busy A548. It is hot, I am hungry and my back is starting to hurt again. I rarely get backache and I am a little surprised that I haven’t managed to walk it off. I am beginning to wonder whether I should take the advice of many people I know and drop my lifelong aversion to Ibuprofen.

At Oakenholt the path veers away from the main road for a while to run alongside a power station. Three motorcyclists have stopped for a rest on the bend of the road – we engage in a bit of banter.

Some years ago my daughter and friends were keen motorcyclists, a passion which took her on many adventures around Denmark and Europe. I will never forget the day she and five of her friends roared up outside our local restaurant, visiting London for a few days – and then she had children. Perhaps she’ll take it up again when they have left home.

Quite quickly the path sucks us back into the fumes and din of the A548 and a very busy double roundabout to negotiate. It then throws us out the other side to land onto the B5129 which I had hoped would be quieter but not really. We are now walking through a built up area – the towers of the road bridge over the River Dee rear up from behind the houses.

The sprawl of Connah’s Quay is now off to our right and by now I am desperate for some peace and quiet. Checking the map I see that there is a footpath which leaves the coast path crosses a railway bridge and leads down to a tarmac lane running alongside the estuary.

I take a photo looking backwards at the power station and suspension bridge. The latter is apparently the largest asymmetrical cable stay bridge in the UK – it’s asymmetrical because the stays on one side of the main structure are longer and at a more shallow angle than on the other side. So there……..

Marine paraphernalia – there should really be something here to tell us what it is…..

Another lovely signpost, courtesy of the National Cycle Network.

………………and eventually we reach Hawarden Bridge where I was expecting to cross over into England – but here’s the story.

We find out from a passing local that the other side of the estuary is not in fact England and that the border is to be found two miles further north (as the crow flies). Further investigation then reveals that the official end of the Welsh Coast Path is a spot just outside Chester – roughly five miles away. Oh dear – what to do? I could say that on my walks I have always crossed water if there is a bridge or a ferry and if not, I have taken the long way round. We crossed from England to Wales on the Severn Bridge and did not walk up to Chepstow so should we do the same here? What a conundrum…….I think I will have to go home and think about it.

We cross the bridge anyway, have a look around and then come back to walk to Shotton to catch a bus back to Flint. Bit of a whimper not a bang moment.

Distance: 6 miles