The track beside the river from Wivenhoe to the Quays at Colchester is an old friend, from the two summers I spent working at Essex University; the track on the other side of the Colne is not. Coming off the roadbridge I walk through an area of deserted warehouses but walking out of a bend I find myself facing a clutch of soldiers in desert fatigues.

Trying to shake off the indigestible breakfast at the guest house I walk quickly away from the dubious pleasures of Clacton Pier, past the ubiquitous acres of caravans and bouncy castles, to the neglected house fronts of Jaywick.

The foot ferry to Harwich fights its way across the choppy water, the dark cranes of Felixstowe silhouetted against the grey sky. Narrow alleys lead to the deserted station of Harwich Town and a convoluted journey to Kirby.

Two sweet sixteen year old girls lead me to the library where I photocopy an OS map of the area – I don’t want to get lost in the meanderings of the estuary today.

Walk along damp shingle beaches to the vintage arcades of Southend. A walk on the mile long pier is irresistible, as is the mini-train back, clanking over the weather worn boards. Kingsnorth lowers in the distance and then on to the fresh cockles of Leigh On Sea.