I awoke from my sleep at the edge of Stinchcombe Hill Golf Course to the sound of mowers preparing the teeing grounds. My destination for the day was Wotton-under-Edge which, since I was ahead of schedule, was just 6 miles away. Mike Barker, a friend and keen supporter from my local community, was driving out to meet me at Wotton on the Wednesday so that he could walk with me on Thursday.

During the evening, whilst we were enjoying supper, Ian and Lucy dropped by (see previous diary entry). There is a kind of bush-telegraph system that seems to arise spontaneously along the length of long distance paths such as the Cotswold Way. It occurs because of the number of people following the same route and exchanging information as they meet or pass each other. Ian and Lucy were able to bring me up to date with news concerning several other walkers I had met or heard about.

I rose early Thursday morning because I had been asked to do an additional live interview with Julian Clegg on his BBC Radio Solent Breakfast Show. It went well, and can be heard for the next seven days on bbc iplayer (see my entry for 12 July '09 by clicking the 'Before the walk' tab).

Shortly after 9.00am Mike and I commenced our southerly trek through, to use Mike's own terms, quintessential English countryside. Though cloudy, it was warm and dry. Mike took the trouble to enhance my education by identifying some of the plants and birds we saw along our way.

Just before 2.00pm we arrived at the Dog Inn at the wonderfully named Old Sodbury. From here, a taxi was called to take Mike back to his car in Wotton, whereas I continued on for a couple of miles until I reached the Compass Inn, a hotel and restaurant in Tormarton. What a terrific place! The owners, Paul and Penny Monyard, are incredibly supportive of people undertaking charity ventures such as mine. I was permitted to pitch my tent in the grounds and even provided with a door entry card so that I could use the facilities at night. Magic.

In the evening I was delighted to receive a visit from pals Dean and Kieron. They used to be senior managers at an electronics company in South Wales and I first met them when they engaged me to help with product design. Now, like me, they are in business for themselves. We hadn't seen each other for a while so, in addition to receiving their encouragement, there was plenty of news to exchange.

On Friday morning the Compass Inn provided me with a hearty breakfast, asking for no payment other than suggesting I make a donation to my own charities. Thank you, Paul and Penny, to you and all your helpful staff.

This was the final 15 mile stretch of the Cotswold Way which would take me into Bath. I had a late lunch at the Prospect Stile viewpoint that looks over the City before walking the final 4 miles down to the official end point in the churchyard of Bath Abbey. I was greeted by girlfriend Chris, who had arrived by train earlier in the day, and fellow walkers Ian and Lucy, who had been walking about an hour ahead of me.

After the celebratory photographs, Chris and I prepared for a relaxed and restorative weekend before I tackled the final 250 mile section of my trek, which would take me right through the middle of the West County.

Sunday 13 September, two months to the day since I caught the train to Scotland, and I woke to the pealing of the bells of Winchcombe's St. Peter's Church. After packing my gear away, I walked into town to eat breakfast at the White Hart Inn. My blog writing duties took me well past midday, so I ended up ordering lunch as well.

Like many Cotswold eateries, the White Hart is expensive, but the food was absolutely superb so I went for the full three-courses. By mid-afternoon I was so stuffed that I needed a walk just help the food go down.

I didn't follow the day's section of the Cotswold Way very precisely as there were often several ways to get to the same place, so I picked either the quickest or the most interesting. I also noted that there had been official alterations to the route since my map had been printed, some of which turned out to agree with my own ad-hoc modifications.

As usual I needed a camp-site, so I made a bee-line for the Seven Springs 'Hungry Horse' pub and asked if I could camp discreetly on their nicely mown grass. The girl behind the bar was not very helpful, quoting all sorts reasons why it just wasn't possible, including the odd one that the manager's car would disturb me when he drove by! The charity motive didn't cut any ice either, so I admitted defeat and walked a short way down the road and came to a place called 'Hop Skip and Jump!' where they help children with special needs. There was a small gathering of people outside, including Lawrence, who worked for the organisation. He said that they owned some of the surrounding land and it was fine to camp there. A good end to the day, as Lawrence said.

On making my way back to the footpath in the morning, I discovered Suzie's Roadside Cafe parked opposite the Hungry Horse pub and serving breakfast to some local taxi drivers. When Suzie heard about my walk and the unhelpful attitude of the pub, she let me have my breakfast for free. Thanks Suzie.

My walk for the day led me around the edge of a high plateau, and provided me with some great views from places like Hartley Hill, Leckhampton Hill and Crickley Hill. It was shortly after then that I met Ian and Lucy, who were walking the Cotswold Way on roughly the same schedule as me. We spent some time enjoying the good weather as we walked together to Birdlip and then on to Painswick Hill and down into Painswick itself. They stayed at the Falcon Inn whilst I camped in a field just around the corner.

On Tuesday I steamed off west to Haresfield Beacon, and then south to Ryeford. I increased the day's distance a little by following an alternative Cotswold Way route that took me along the disused Stroudwater Canal and the up to Selsey, where I enjoyed an excellent lunch in the Bell Inn. It was then onto Dursley, where I picked up some provisions before continuing up Stinchcombe Hill. The hill is actually a plateau covered entirely by a golf course. I erected my tent on a bit of scrub land at the edge of the course, ignoring the glances of passers-by with golf trolleys, and had an uninterrupted night's sleep.

After leaving Great Alne, I walked down the road into Alcester, the home of Rotary International, as the sign on entering the town clearly proclaimed.

The weather was wonderfully warm again, so I found myself a pleasant High Street cafe where I could enjoy an 'al fresco' breakfast. From my table I found myself observing numerous black-suited gentlemen being helped out of expensive black limos by their 'minders', and into nearby St. Nicholas Church. The minders were similarly suited, wore dark sunglasses in the strong sunshine, and spent a lot of time with their right hands tucked into their lapels. It all looked rather sinister - like a scene from The Godfather.

It turned out that the 'black-suits' had indeed come to 'pay their respects' to a deceased member of their nefarious organisation, but the giveaway was that the whole affair was being supervised by 'wardens' wearing yellow Rotary smocks. Apparently, I was observing a memorial service for a previous Rotary District Governor.

Having eaten breakfast, I spent several more hours at the cafe, writing and sending my blog. The proprietors didn't even look disapprovingly in my direction when I changed tables to plug the BlackBerry into their power socket. Eventually, the re-emergence of my appetite resulted in me ordering more food, helping to assuage my feelings of guilt.

It was nearly 4.00pm before I eventually left to continue south along the Heart of England Way (HoEW) through Bidford-upon-Avon, until I reached Long Marston. I could feel the wealth of the area - many of the homes I walked past were huge and showy. There had been a definite race-horsey theme ever since Great Alne, and I also noted the strange phenomenon of parallel footpaths; a private one for approved locals and a public one for the likes of me. Perhaps the idea is to ensure that class separation can be maintained when the oil runs out and both the aristocracy and the proletariat masses have to walk everywhere.

I had supper at The Masons Arms in Long Marston. The landlord allowed me to pitch my tent in the front garden, but as the evening wore on, some of the locals became quite drunk. The noise and shouting continued very late into the evening. I just wanted to get some sleep, and eventually moved the tent into the rear garden where I was less likely to be disturbed. I slept OK, but it had not been a great evening because I had felt uncomfortable in the environment, as if I was in a foreign country and couldn't speak the language.

The remaining distance to Chipping Campden and the start of the Cotswold Way was only about 8 miles, so I decided to take my time over it. I don't think I could have hurried anyway, because it was seriously hot. I took a short detour from the HoEW to visit Long Marston Airfield, which seemed to be the venue for a hippy festival. There was also a collection of derelict aeroplanes in one corner of the airfield that interested me as it included an Avro Shackleton (developed from the wartime Lancaster bomber), a Gloucester Meteor, a De Havilland Vampire and a Hawker Hunter.

My second detour from the HoEW was to enable me to climb Meon Hill (no relation to my local Meon Valley), from which I gained a magnificent view of the surrounding countryside.

I was in Chipping Campden by 2.00pm. Although the honey-coloured limestone buildings were undoubtedly attractive, the place had little soul and seemed to exist only for tourism. I gave it the once over, then sought a room for the night as I was due a break from my tent-bound existence.

The local information office booked me a room at the Farncombe Estate, which they initially said was 'just out of Chipping Campden' but turned out to be 2 hours walk away. Fortunately, three quarters of the walk was along the Cotswold Way path, so I had now started this phase of my trek.

It turned out that my accommodation was at the Cotswold Conference Centre on the Farncombe Estate, which meant that I would be amongst people on weekend residential courses on Acrylic Painting, Modern Burmese History and Singing the Songs of the Beach Boys. By the time I arrived the manager, William, had learned about my charity venture and did everything he could to make my stay comfortable, which included a free evening meal which I ate along with the course participants. He even made an announcement about my venture to the participants which resulted in charitable donations of over £100! Thanks everybody.

In the evening William told me of his own plans to ride a horse between thirty English Cathedrals, announcing his arrival at each with a bugle blast. We spent some time looking at my website and talking about planning and logistics. Kindred spirits.

Next morning I took full advantage of the relaxing atmosphere and didn't leave until midday. William drove me to the point where I'd departed from the Cotswold Way to stay at the Centre. From there, based on William's advice, I decided to stick to the high ground and by-pass Broadway, a village that I was told had similarities to Chipping Campden. The advice was good. My route took me past Broadway Tower and then Snowshill, a beautiful village where I stopped for a cider. Shortly after, I watched local sheep shearers Russell and Brian at work in the fields and then had a late picnic lunch at Stanton, sharing a bench-seat with chatty Vera and Val.

The weather was just glorious, and being a Saturday there were lots of people about, so my walk became a bit of a social occasion. I was happy to keep walking for as long as the sun kept shining. By evening I had reached Wynchcombe where, as I walked down the main street, I was fortunate enough to be approached by Peter Campion who had seen my rucksack banner. Not only was he interested in my walk, but he guided me to a nearby field where I could pitch my tent.

The day's story didn't quite end there because I later took a stroll around town. On my way back to the tent I looked in at the Conservative Club and inadvertently gate-crashed local Kathy's 50th birthday bash. From my brief acquaintance with Winchcombe, I gained the impression that the town had a good community and was a genuinely pleasant place to live.

Shortly after I woke up in the garden of The Park Gate Inn, Louise, who had arrived to perform her cleaning duties, opened the back door and brought me a coffee.

By 8.30pm I was back on the Heart of England Way (HoEW), although I didn't follow it very precisely because it seemed to head off in some daft directions for no obvious reason other than to add distance. I arrived in Lichfield before 11.00am and was immediately impressed by the Cathedral's three spires: that's just greedy, isn't it? I really liked Lichfield. It had a good feel to it.

After scoffing a Boots 'Meal Deal', I walked through a housing estate to the south of Lichfield and found myself talking to Mike, who interrupted his gardening duties to invite me in for coffee. The weather was the best I'd seen for a while, so I dug out the neglected sunglasses and rubbed on the sun screen while we chatted on his patio.

I reached Drayton Bassett just after 4.00pm with the expectation that I could get a refreshing drink. I noticed a banner saying 'Garden Now Open' but couldn't see any obvious signs of an associated drinking establishment. Some chatty locals assured me that there definitely was one, but didn't seem to know when it opened.

Rather than lose more time, I continued south, ambling my way along the towpath of the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal until I reached the Dog and Doublet pub. It's location by a canal lock was idyllic. I erected my tent on the other side of the lock and then ordered my food, which I ate outside in the evening sun.

I got to sleep early because the following day, 8 September, I needed to be clear-headed for my 6.45am live telephone interview with Julian Clegg on his BBC Radio Solent Breakfast Show. For those that missed it, it can be heard on bbc iplayer for the next 7 days (see my entry for 12 July '09 by clicking the 'Before the walk' tab for further details).

Afterwards, Jim, landlord of the Dog and Doublet, opened his doors early to let me into the pub and gave me coffee and a huge egg and bacon sandwich to set me up for the day.

I carried on down the Canal, picking up the HoEW again, then switching to the Centenary Way, then back to the HoEW. Even I'm getting confused now!

I left both designated footpaths completely to visit Meriden, where the original Triumph motorcycles were made, including the T110 that I owned when I was 17. Ah, nostalgia. I wanted to pay homage at the site of the old factory, but it turned out to be 2 miles to the east of the town. I wasn't that nostalgic, so I headed south to rejoin the HoEW near Berkswell.

That was when it happened. Tragedy. I noticed that one of my trekking poles was bent, so I tried to ease it straight again. "I didn't mean to do it; honest Guv, it just fell apart in me 'ands." Normally, such a dramatic shock would spontaneously produce some profane utterance. But no, not me, not now, for my walking experiences have helped me to develop an inner calmness, and the ability to think before I speak. So I thought about it and then uttered a profanity.

Obviously, I can live without the broken pole. I have completed two thirds of my walk and the remaining third is relatively flat. However, I will miss it because I have gotten used to it, and having two poles does take some of the pressure of the heavy rucksack off of my knees.

I continued my way, heartbroken, to a pub called Ye Olde Saracen's Head in a village called Balsall Street. Manager Brett cheered me up when he let me pitch my tent in the garden and eat two main meals for the price of one. Burp.

The weather has been great again. My feet are dry and I'm running out of sun screen.

I slept late on Wednesday morning waiting for the Saracen's Head to open (sounds messy, that). A nice surprise awaited me when Brett gave me a coffee and a comprehensive packed lunch for the day. I followed the HoEW for a short while, but then deviated onto the towpath of the much more interesting Grand Union Canal. This led to the fascinating lock system at Kingswood Junction where the Grand Union meets the Stratford-upon-Avon Canal.

I enjoyed chatting to several canal-boaters as I continued down the Stratford Canal, but had to slow my pace so they could keep up with me. The kind owners of 'Rick o'Shea' gave me a cold lager, which was most welcome in the heat of the day.

After a short distance I picked up the HoEW again which would take me to Henley-in-Arden. Just before I got there I crossed a hill, which was called Motte and Bailey on the map; clearly named after a comedy duo!

I stopped briefly in the main street of Henley-in-Arden for an ice cream and a cider, and noted the unusual lozenge-shaped clock attached asymmetrically to the tower of the St. John the Baptist church (see picture). Can't understand why the fifteenth century church builders didn't anticipate this requirement and leave a proper space for it.

Since it was only 5.00pm, I decided to walk on a bit further. Big mistake, as I ended up in the small village of Great Alne. Whatever great ambitions this place might have had were clearly unrealised. The only pub in the village, which went by the peculiar name of 'The Mother Huff Cap', was in a severe state of decay. A caretaker manager was in place while the owners sought a buyer, so there was no food available. I was at least able to console myself with a drink and a chat with some locals before I retired to my tent, pitched in the unkempt garden.

It was Friday 4 September and, although I woke up at 6.00am, it was late morning before I was ready to leave Sheffield because I wanted to finish the text of my diary and transmit it to Simon whilst I knew I had an excellent connection. Jim was very patient. When I was done, he delivered me back to the same location in Castleton where he had picked me up on Tuesday. This was just in time for me to start walking at midday.

The day had started with a few promising rays of sun, but my cynicism compelled me to wear my waterproofs anyway. Good call, because it was raining within 10 minutes of me leaving Castleton. My southerly route was via the Limestone Way. I soon discovered that care was needed because my boots (Brasher Hillmasters) tended to slip on the wet limestone path as I climbed through Cave Dale. This problem was soon replaced by another when I found that the next section of the path was shared with cattle, lots of them, and was a total quagmire. Progress quickened significantly once I found myself on some minor tarmac roads and then a disused railway track now designated National Cycle Network route No. 68. The light fades earlier in the evening now, so I really need to consider finding a suitable place to pitch my tent by 7.30pm. It was gone 7.00pm and I fancied a drink. According to my map there was a PH (Public House) close by in the village of Biggin, just off my route. When I reached what turned out to be the Waterloo Arms, not only did they serve alcohol, but also substantial meals at sensible prices and, wait for it, they had a campsite in the back garden for which they didn't charge me. Truly, a backpacker's paradise!

When the hangover wore off in the morning (only joking), I returned to the cycle path. I speed-marched the 6 miles to Tissington, dodging the Saturday morning cyclists and stopping briefly for tea and cakes at the Tissington Hall cafe. I shared a table with a lady named Helen and her two dogs, and enjoyed a pleasant conversation with her. The dogs didn't say much, but looked at me lovingly as I ate.

On leaving Tissington I rejoined the Limestone Way and proceeded to Ellastone. The walk was pleasant, but uninspiring, and when I got to Ellastone I just carried on through as I couldn't find anything interesting enough to persuade me to stay.

Next stop was Rocester, where I purchased something for supper in the local store and enjoyed an hour or so chatting to, and accepting donations from, customers at the Red Lion pub before I continued my way towards Uttoxeter. Since the Limestone Way misses the centre of Uttoxeter, I walked on the generous verge alongside the B5030 instead, eventually camping in a Farmer's garden (with his permission) a mile north of the town. Oh, and for once I had a rain-less day!

I continued into Uttoxeter in the morning and had breakfast at a Subway in the town centre, the only place open on a Sunday, and used the local facilities (code for loo). I discovered a spotlessly clean place with pictures on the walls and ornaments on the shelves that had repeatedly been voted 'Loo of the Year'.

The Limestone Way ends at Uttoxeter, but the Staffordshire Way starts there, so I headed south along the latter. The walk was relatively flat and representative of the 'typical English countryside' one sometimes hears described. The morning was warm and involved walking through both horticultural and agricultural farmland. Farmer's waved as they drove by on their tractors. No rest day for them on the Sabbath when the crops need harvesting.

I arrived at the Coach and Horses pub in the village of Abbots Bromley at 1.00pm, and they served me an excellent roast beef dinner. Due to my high calorie burn I have lost several inches off my waist since I started this trek, so I take every opportunity possible to eat.

Next, I headed in the direction of Rugely, briefly stopping to watch the boats on the Blithfield Reservoir. Leaving the Staffordshire Way as I crossed the River Trent, I passed though the west side of Rugely and stopped to send some emails at The Horns Inn pub in the unusual sounding village of Slitting Mill. The staff there took a particular interest in my trek and said that they would collect for the charities on my behalf. Brilliant! We did a photo shoot at the front of the pub before I left, which was all too soon, but I needed to cover a few more miles before nightfall. Pity, because I would have loved to have remained longer with such a friendly bunch.

I cracked on through the forest to the south of Rugely until I joined up with the Heart of England Way, and this led me to Cannock Wood. Light was fading and there had been a light shower, so I popped into The Park Gate Inn and asked Steve Donnor, the manager, if I could camp in the garden. Permission was granted, so I was sorted for another night.

If this sounds a bit of a pub crawl, then I suppose it is. Then again, part of the purpose of a pub is to provide a refuge for itinerants like me! In any case, I never drink so much that I forget which way is south. Hic.