It takes me 10 minutes to find my way out of Bosham as the tide is high and the houses and sailing clubs have monopolised the seafront. I walk through the churchyard 3 times before settling on a plan, but in the meantime I catch sight of a beautiful house. It looks very like the one I embroidered as an 8 year old which is now hanging in our kitchen.

The taxi driver that takes me back to the shoreline is a recently retired gentleman from Maidstone who “has never looked back” and loves Selsey and its people. He has also cycled the beach from Selsey to Bracklesham, only dismounting a few times, so I feel a little better about tackling 4 miles of shingle with the tide coming in.

Walking out of Bognor is fairly straightforward – until I hit Aldwick where private houses block anything but a shingle beach walk and the sky is darkening to give us the first rain for weeks. A passing fisherman, seeing me struggling into my rain gear mutters something about it only lasting 5 minutes – and he’s right.

Feeling like the proverbial mad dog I get off the train from London into a sweltering midday heat and take a local bus to the coast – to the point where I left off all those months ago. Walking past the palatial houses of Angmering-On-Sea I am perplexed by conflicting signposts – one saying public right of way and the other…………I decide to carry on.

Beautiful wooden houses overlooking the lagoon at Angering, each equipped with canoes and such.

Squinting in the sun I walk past the colourful beach huts at Hove, a few souls swimming in the creamy surf.

The walk then continues along the sea wall, the landscape becoming more and more industrial – thank goodness the sun is shining. Later I stop for directions and an old gentleman tells me the path “elbows to the right” into the ugly wharfs and wastelands of pre Shoreham.

Distance: 6 miles

Wide promenade of Seaford giving way to industrial wastelands around Newhaven. Pleasure boats where once the ships brought in massive blocks of ice from the inland Baltic lakes. Recurring images of cormorants, real and otherwise. Then Peacehaven where the vertiginous steps cut into the crumbling cliffs and lead down to the bright smack of the sea against its concrete defences.

Distance: 12 miles

Hopped over to Winchelsea since I had already walked Hastings to Winchelsea in another life. Spent quite a lot of time, along with several other people, trying to find Spike Milligan’s grave in the local church. Seeing, not for the first time no doubt, knots of people with puzzled faces wandering about, the vicar came out to save us with the disappointing news that Spike’s wife had taken the headstone away to be re-furbished. I do hope she doesn’t get rid of the famous inscription “I told them I was ill”. I then get lost for a while, but to compensate I whip through Rye to the roar of motorbikes, on to the fluted wet sands of Camber and the languid flight of far off kites.

Distance: 6 miles

Stretches of the south coast of England are almost interchangeable. I am very grateful for low tide as I trudge along the coast, hemmed in by  relentless ribbons of hotels and gaudy amusement arcades. Coming back in the train my ears are assaulted by a group of drunk bellowing football fans in a small crowded carriage. Other passengers cower in their seats – strained fearful smiles. My spirits lift when I crawl into The Big Sleep hotel in Eastbourne, run by vintage geezers in tattoo, who offer me very cold beer.

Distance: 15 miles

Smell of sweaty socks in the youth hostel – two lone deckchairs abandoned to the tide. Seven Sisters standing proud in the sun – the quiet sadness of Beachy Head. The surprise of decent French food in the backstreets of Eastbourne.

Distance:15 miles