The trip went ahead with many of our friends. And if like us you weren't there in person, you can follow along with the words of two very different people: John and Paul.

If you feel the need to physically go, you'd do no better than contact Amos Trust.

Drew and Rachel's wedding was the first we've been to since our own two years ago.

Hurrah for happy brides, grooms and bridesmaids.

Ordinarily pedestrians are barred. Cyclists are too; Jonathan tells of how twice in one day he was plucked from the bowels of the tunnel after being spotted on CCTV while on his ride from John O'Groats to Lands End. So I don't fancy my chances sneaking down there incognito. Our host for the walk into Liverpool dangled a tantalising fact though: every now and then one of the tunnels is opened to hikers.

Today I did one of my regular online searches for "mersey tunnel walk" and at first hit terrible news: I've missed an opportunity on 15 June this year. However, an article on the Liverpool Daily Post provides a glimmer of hope: the event may be repeated next year for the 75th anniversary of the tunnel.

So Liverpudlians, keep your ears to the ground and please let me know if you hear anything, especially a date! It'd be a highlight of the 7,000 miles.

Today's news is that soon all energy suppliers will be required to follow EbiCo's lead.

So where now for EbiCo? Personally I believe they'll continue to be more equitable than other suppliers so we'll be sticking with them. (After all, they remain the UK's only not-for-profit supplier.)

EbiCo aside, this news has started me thinking about an interesting effect. If you create a product based on solely around specific principles which later become universally accepted (or in this case mandated), you run the risk of losing your key differentiator when the lobbying pays off.

Every now and then I wonder what it'd be like to run my own business. This ever-moving playing field is by turns scary and incredibly exciting.

The pier's not changed much in the thirty years I've known it. Perhaps the most striking is the subtle addition of a gambling addiction advice sticker to each of the machines.

I normally favour the penny slides, but these old tupenny one-arm bandits were our main game. Limiting our spend to sixty pence, we were down to our last couple of coins when I hit a triple cherry and Em got BAR-BAR-BAR.

OK the payout was meagre, but we doubled our money - just enough for a celebratory cup of tea to wash down the roll of Refreshers we'd won earlier.

And here on the edge of the moor, a couple of miles north of Widecombe in the Moor, a furniture maker has placed a 20-foot high chair. What better place to stop and rest?

It won't be there forever though. Limited planning permission means it's due to be removed in early 2009. Until then, if you're in the area it's worth a quick trip. (OS grid reference: TQ 725800.)

Distance: 6.63 miles
Ascent: 169 metres
Duration: 2 hours 30 minutes

Into the wind
« Polzeath | Not walked »

A strong west wind was blowing today, something Emma and I were entirely ignorant of for the first part of this walk as we made our way to the mouth of the Camel estuary. The bright sunshine burnt through the morning mist, lighting up the row of old coastguard cottages that watched over the ominously named Doom Bar sand bank.

The moment we came out of the shelter provided by Stepper Point it was clear the wind would feature strongly for rest of our walk. The old daymark at the top of the headland provided momentary respite and an opportunity to tighten the hoods on our windproofs.

The cliff-top walk down to Trevone and then Harlyn was breathtaking. Sixty metres below waves flung themselves at the rock while level with us birds of prey hung motionlessly, scanning the slumping cliffs for lunch. Further on the stacks by Middle Merope Island and the collapsed cave of the Round Hole provided further evidence of the power of the wind and tide.

So much for the view out to sea to our right. For much of the route we were accompanied on the left by a defiant man-made structure. Proudly ushering the path was an old herringbone wall, standing strong in the face of the wind that we finally had to give in to by the bridge at Harlyn.

Distance: 7.13 miles
Ascent: 643 metres
Duration: 2 hours 50 minutes

Faith in Polperro
« Fowey | Not walked »

Back on the coast after a couple of months' break. Today's our second wedding anniversary and despite the slight drizzle it's fantastic to be marking it in this way.

Once out of Polruan there are no signs of civilisation on the coastpath until Polperro. The path winds back and forth, up and down through the gorse and bracken with occasional views across to Lansallos church which appeared to be playing hide-and-seek behind the rolling hills.

Polperro came quickly but we didn't linger to explore, opting instead to see if the bus which we were already five minutes late for was itself running late. This was a mistake. Because of its narrow, winding streets most traffic is excluded from the village including the local bus which stops a kilometre away in Crumplehorn. Next time we'll know.

For the third year in a row we're spending late September/early October in honeymoon country.

And now in our secret hotel with the window open I can hear the sounds which will lull me to sleep tonight (I've been looking forward to this all week): the irregular chiming of the church bells; high tide lapping at the foundations of the building below; nothing else... just peacefulness. Perfect bliss.

It's not up for discussion: The Lost Gardens of Heligan are impressive, both as a garden and as a restoration project. We spent most of the afternoon there today, having called off a coastwalk.

One thing really irked me: the number of rules. The information sheet handed to us at the ticket office was stuffed full of instructions, and almost everywhere were signs telling us what we couldn't do. Ultimately the glory of the garden didn't deserve the reverence the organisers tried to sledgehammer into the peasants.

Visit the place for the gardens, but if you're anything like me you'll be relieved to leave lest you transgress unforgivably.

My friend Hannah used to say that everyone important in her life was in the same tent at Castle Ashby in 1992; it's just that she didn't know them then. That tent was the Greenbelt Big Top; the event was Fat and Frantic's final farewell gig.

So if you were in that tent too, you might like to know the entire FaF back catalogue is available on iTunes.

I'll unashamedly admit: I bought everything. And it still brings a smile to my face; I've been singing along all week.

Brighton's loss was bad. And I didn't manage to make it to Weston Super Mare before their pier caught fire. Now Fleetwood. At least I've seen that one.

The piers are my favourite punctuation on the coastwalk. They're landmarks I look forward to: a chance to walk out across the sea rather than alongside it.

But they're more than that too. Teignmouth Pier in particular was a significant element of my family's annual summer holiday when I was young. Each time I see a pier I'm transported back there, picking up any coppers I can find and feeding them to the machines above the waves. (But never on a Sunday: Gran would be horrified at the idea of gambling on a Sunday.)

By my count there are about fifty left along our coast. So, dear arsonists, if you have to burn them one by one please let Teignmouth be the last.

I've tried this before - I think I failed in May that year - so did a little better this year, but still one resolution is broken.

It's not a major one: I intended to complete at least one coastwalk each calendar month in the year. July is the first month this year I've not been able to achieve this goal.

Yes, that means there's at least six entries I've not written up on the blog. They will come. Patience. Maybe next year's resolution will be to keep on top of the blog. (I recall I've failed on that for numerous years too.)

This is all very strange. When I moved to Suffolk I was determined to spend no more than five years there. It took me ten years to leave.

I didn't see much travelling to the office, but I knew what was just over the horizon: the Deben, Shingle Stree and of course Angel Lane.

I'm sure these feelings were driven by familiarity and nostalgia rather than a sense that I belong in Suffolk. They may also have partly been caused by missing a feeling of belonging in Berkshire. Our home - our house - is lovely, but the sense of place extends not much further than the front door. The "here" where we live is a small here.

Rather than move back to East Anglia perhaps the solution is to turn that small "here" into a big "here".

Live is a different matter. Three years ago when I was privileged to see Thom Yorke play a brief acoustic set, my opinion turned around. Even those 'difficult' songs took on a new dimension when performed with passion just a few feet away. So tonight I was hoping for great things.

On one axis they didn't disappoint. Seeing the full band was fantastic. The music absolutely zinged.

But on another, something wasn't quite right. The light show was contained by the stage, as if it was designed for an arena rather than the open-air of Victoria Park. An indoor gig would have been healthier too - one year into the smoking ban I'd forgotten how horrible it is to spend three hours in a cloud of tobacco smoke (as well as fumes from other herbs).

I shouldn't diminish the event. It was a wonderful evening. Highly worthwhile.