Waiting in the bus station at Skegness at half past eight in the morning I am wondering whether I should have brought my gloves. A couple of hours later I’m wishing I had some sturdy sandals to walk in.

I get off the bus in the middle of Friskney – just outside the church. Friskney feels like a real village, with not only a church, but a post office/general store, primary school and a pub. I ask in the post office for a public toilet but am told to try the church. The wooden door is extremely heavy and the iron handle stiff, but after a few attempts it suddenly gives way and I lurch into the nave to be met by a set of four startled faces. Four of the good people of the village are sitting in a circle having a meeting, so I quickly mumble an apology for the disturbance and ask for the toilet. One of the four, a strikingly beautiful woman of my age, grants me a friendly smile and points to a door in the opposite wall – I feel slightly embarrassed. On the way out I take a few surreptitious pictures.

The primary school is very difficult to photograph as it’s surrounded by a tall metal fence. I walk up and down trying to find a spot without iron bars and but in the end I give up and take one anyway. As I move on I suddenly hear a voice, with a slight edge of urgency, trying to get my attention. I stop and look round to see a young woman on the other side of the fence who asks me why I am taking photographs. She is polite but wary, so I quickly put her mind at rest by telling her about my walk and how I take pictures to document my progress. She immediately relaxes and then explains why it is worrying to see a stranger taking photos of the school even if there is not a child in sight. We say goodbye and she wishes me well……………what a world we live in.

Slightly rattled I move off down the minor road towards Friskney Eaudyke. I am on my own today, Damian arrives tomorrow and the reason I am walking so far inland is to avoid the maze of dodgy farm tracks and marshes around Gibraltar Point which has no southern approach.

A little later down the road I walk past an eerily quiet poultry farm, consisting of long rows of wooden huts – it reminds me of a concentration camp and I wonder about “biosecurity” ………….poor chickens..

Further on this is a much more pleasant sight……

The clouds are now starting to disperse and it’s getting warmer, the road is easy walking with very little traffic – it’s all good. At a crossroads I follow the sign for The Wainfleets which sounds like the name of a band but which is a convenient collective noun for Wainfleet Tofts, Wainfleet St.Mary and Wainfleet All Saints.

Yes it’s flat – all of our recent walks have been through Norfolk and now Lincolnshire and I’m really looking forward to walking hills – Yorkshire maybe?

The fields to my right are covered in enormous sheets of plastic, for propagation I assume. At a quick glance you’d almost think you were walking next to water.

The road leading in to the village of Wainfleet All Saints runs past the iconic windmill of Batemans Brewery. In 1874 George Bateman sold his farm in Friskney and bought a small brewery in Wainfleet. Four generations of Batemans have managed to keep the business going by supplying local pubs and hotels with beer for well on 150 years – I toy with the idea of booking a tour but I need to get on. This is the link to the full story…..

www.batemansbrewery.co.uk

By now I’m desperate to find a cup of tea and get out of the heat. A sign points me in the direction of a cafe down by the river but it turns out to be a ramshackle shed full of “vintage” items and an impromptu tea and cake stall tucked away amongst the chaos of rickety tables – for some reason I seem to be the object of hostile stares so I beat a hasty retreat. Walking back I notice the steeple on a nearby church – there’s something very unreal about it, like something from a film set.

I continue my quest over the railway line and into the high street. The market square is quite charming and I notice high up on the clock tower a plaque which pays tribute to Wainfleet as an Olympic Torch village.

It also has a real butchers……………………………..but I can see nowhere for a cup of tea and a bun.

Oh well – I’ll have to drink water with my emergency chocolate bar………

Further along I deviate down a gated side street to take a look at two rows of dignified London style terraced houses.

There is a plaque………………………………….

The map now sends me down an alley between houses and out onto a minor road which runs past a massive cemetery.

I walk past another windmill and its buildings and then stop to talk to a lovely shire horse in the field opposite.

I have a soft spot for this breed as they are very similar to the wonderful “Mongo” a big Belgian horse who in the late 70’s pulled a wagon in which myself and two friends travelled from Denmark to the border with Yugoslavia. It was an adventure which had its moments – chased off fields by farmers and at times living on flat bread and garlic when the busking was poor and we’d run out of money. However – I will never forget the tranquility of travelling the back roads at a pace which allowed for full engagement with one’s surroundings – bit like walking.

This is a old picture taken by a journalist from a Danish newspaper who came along to report on the story.

Moving on I walk past a house on which two men are working – one up a ladder. I feel I have to take a picture of this cheery trio (Bill and Ben for those of us of a certain age and culture and not forgetting Little Weeeeeeed)

As I move on………….

Man up the ladder: “You can take a picture of us too if you like”

Me: “Oh but a photo of you working is not so unusual…..or maybe it is?”

They chuckle……………………………..

Turning right after another Batemans Pub I follow a footpath up through a village called Croft – I like the speed limit sign.

I then take a right over to Pinchbeck Lane where I stop in a graveyard of a church to eat the rest of my provisions. I find an overgrown bench to sit on and close my eyes for a while.

Further up the lane I come across this sad sight………………………………..some people.

I can now feel the presence of the A52 which I have been trying to ignore since I started this morning, but can’t put off any longer. This is the main road into Skegness and although it’s very busy it does have a path for pedestrians.

I grit my teeth and turn right………………..it’s only two miles after all.

And hey – here’s a welcome!

Yes please ……………anything to get me out of here.

Finally I stumble across the zebra crossing right in front of Wetherspoons and deliberate as to whether it is too early for a drink. It is…….so I move on down to the seafront, past the clock tower and after a few quick photos of the delights on offer I make for home.

Distance: 11 miles