A year or two ago I took a trip down the Saigon River from Ho Chi Min City. We spent a day out on the Mekong Delta meeting the farmers, visiting little waterside towns and having lunch in the most extraordinary rest-stop on the flat-lands. The trip was run by Les Rives - a specialist excursion company - and it was all very well run. What impressed me most is that they insist on using local people and purchasing local produce which is prepared by local farmers and their wives - which means they bring plenty of employment to what is otherwise a fairly poor area. I’d love to go on another of their excursions - but in the meantime am left in lockdown here in West Somerset wondering how on earth people who live in the shanty towns alongside the river have been faring during the pandemic. When I look it up on the Internet I see that Vietnam has quite low coronavirus numbers compared to many countries - I hope this is an accurate picture but cannot really understand how they do the social distancing thing in some of those cramped places.

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 14 - I pretend not to hear I was awoken by lorries roaring up the A90 at 5am, and had half a mind to pack up and head off to Johnshaven which looks an interesting little place with a great name. However, PW and I had vaguely talked about reaching the coast at Nether Warburton, and I’d enjoyed walking with PW the day before so decided to wait for her and fell asleep again to wake at eight. The route today was straightforward enough; cross the main road, which was probably the most dangerous part of the whole trip, over the River North Esk to Gallery, then follow minor roads through rolling farmland past Marymill, where there was a view back to the hills of yesterday, and Stone of Morphie to the coastal main road, where a short lane leads down to the south end of St Cyrus beach at Nether Warburton. There's a very interesting junk shop on the lane down to the beach, just past Sick Man's Shade, but we didn’t have time for that. "Junk Shop at Sick Man's Shade" - there's got to be a blues song in there somewhere. We seemed to be in a nature reserve and taking a raised walkway across the dunes we found ourselves at the top of a sandy beach with the glittering sea beyond. Of course, we had to take shoes and socks off for a paddle. PW mentioned going in for a swim, but I pretended not to hear her……. The day was actually colder than the photos suggest, and the sea was even colder, so our paddles didn't last long. Feeling a bit what-next-ish we wandered back up the lane past the junk shop, meeting Ali, Sue and David on the way. It was odd meeting people who were still doing the Challenge – on the one hand I had actually finished, which felt good, but on the other hand I couldn’t help thinking that it would be better to be still doing the Challenge. And so it was that I decided that I’d better come back next year.

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 13 - Sunshine and company Although there are many ways to get from Tarfside to the coast the usual way is to walk down Glen Esk to Edzell and camp at North water Bridge, and then make the short hop to the coast at St Cyrus or Montrose the next day, and that was my plan. I was up at seven, and had a bit of muesli to keep me going, but I’d made my mind up to have breakfast at The Retreat. PW said she’d like to too, and she’d catch me up. On the road down to The Retreat I found myself walking with a woman I’d exchanged a few words with all the way back at Corrour Station. Val had been walking along the path to Corrour just as I was packing up, but as the path was on the other side of a river to my pitch we’d only been able to swap a few words, but had agreed to meet in Corrour Station café. As it turned out the café had been closed and I hadn’t seen her again. But now it looked like we were to have breakfast in a café together after all. Today the café was packed, but we got a table near the entrance which somebody had just left. PW joined us after a while. Despite my earlier muesli I had a proper breakfast here. It was very good too. PW and Val seemed to know a lot of the people there, and when we set off at 9.45 I found myself walking with PW, Ali Agdon, Sue Oxley and David Albon who I’d chatted briefly to on the minibus to Glenuig. At first we followed the road down the glen, but after a couple of miles we turned down a track, across the River North Esk, and then followed tracks down the SW side of the river. These last two days had always looked like they might be a bit tame, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that if the scenery wasn’t dramatic, it was very pleasant, with rolling moorland dropping down into the wooded glen. The day was also turning out to be quite sunny. Considering the number of people who’d been camped at Tarfside we saw very few other people on the way down, although some people seemed to have made an even later start than ourselves. Suddenly the hills stopped and the glen disgorged us out onto a flattish plain of farmland. I found myself the recipient of seven text messages, surely a record for me. I was just following the others rather than looking at the map, so it was a bit of a surprise to suddenly find myself in the village of Edzell. There was a crowd of Challengers outside the pub, and no doubt many more inside, but we carried on a bit further to the Tuck Inn café where we added our rucksacks to the long line propped up against the cafe wall. Inside seemed to be full of Challengers and we were lucky enough to find a table that would seat five. Somebody suggested scrambled eggs, and I instantly knew that that was just what I wanted. As sometimes happens in Scotland, the food was slightly different to what I would expect, although in this case it was perfectly good. First a plate each piled high with scrambled eggs appeared, and then a few minutes later, after we had already made a good start a plate piled high with toast arrived. Although we’d had a good breakfast that suddenly seemed a long time ago, and conversation subsided whilst we dived in. The way out of Edzell proved to be typically Scottish – a suspension footbridge over the River North Esk. PW and I then pulled ahead of the other three and found ourselves on a long straight road which led past a disused airfield to North Water Bridge campsite. The hills had stopped quite suddenly at Edzell, and when looking at the map whilst planning I’d wondered if this coastal plain would be a bit boring, but in fact, although we were now walking along a straight level road, most of the coastal plain looked pleasant enough – rolling farmland dotted with woodland. It was only £4 a night to camp at North Water Bridge, but it did have the disadvantage of being very near a main road, which made it a bit noisy. There were quite a few tents already pitched, but by nightfall the place was packed. All Challengers except for a few caravaners peeping out from behind curtained windows to watch this strange influx. I was strangely tired and was falling asleep over dinner, so went to bed early.

Tomorrow I will be leaving the valley for my first real trip outside West Somerset in 110 days. I began this diary a few days after we began shutting ourselves away for the lockdown - I haven’t been to a supermarket or a pub in at least 100 days - so tomorrow’s trip to south Devon will come as a culture shock. Anyway, it got me thinking about the last time I was somewhere really busy. It was a long time ago as I tend to avoid really overly busy places. However, there’s something about the frenetic energy of South East Asia which makes hugely crowded streets and market places somehow enjoyable. And the last time I was somewhere like that was in Nha Trang… We were staying (thanks to my good friends at Grifco Travel PR) at a new resort near the port of Nha Trang, which is a buzzing city located on the popular southern section of the central coastal zone. Just a couple of years old, The Anam - with its 117 villas, 96 rooms and suites, three swimming pools and spa - is set in a lovely 12-hectare estate next to a long white beach that meets steep sided mountains just half a mile to the north.  It’s an attractive place designed to embrace a theme of colonial chic - which means architecture that fuses old-world colonial architecture with a traditional Vietnamese design that includes Hue-style roofs, lanterns and decorative pools - and it operates under what it calls a philosophy of ‘No Shoes. No News. No Stress’. The place is owned by a wealthy Vietnamese scientist, which is marvellous because it does not follow the weary and uniform “international” format that so many Far Eastern resorts adopt. Instead it goes out of its way to address sustainable tourism and support the local economy. All of the resort’s hardwood interiors, for example, were sourced from sustainable forests while Vietnamese artwork adorns the property’s walls and local artisan-designed tiles line the floors.  The local touch I liked most was the “Mamma’s Night”. The general manager back then (I believe he’s since moved on) became a good friend during our stay. Herbert Laubichier-Pichler told me he’d introduced the concept by asking staff if any of their mums who lived locally could cook well. He then invited these mums to come in and prepare their favourite regional dishes. Now they do so on a regular basis and welcome the pay which they can take home to their families. Which brings me to the fact that although Vietnam is a fast developing country, there are a great many folk who live on a subsistence level. One day Herbert arranged for one of his local managers to take us into the rural hinterland that lies between the resort and the mountains to the west - and you soon see that life on the small farms and villages is not at all like it is in the go-fast neighbouring city of Nha Trang. Rural life in Vietnam is beautiful and scenic, but the people are poor - which is why I applauded the fact that Herbert has plans to develop new working relationships between his resort and local people.   We spent a day in Nha Trang enjoying another of Herbert’s innovations - a tour that took us around the amazingly busy backstreets to meet a handful of Vietnam’s most famous artists. The tour is available to all the resort’s guests, and it was good to meet the artists in their studios. And it was exciting to be driven around the frenetic and rather lovely city on the back of Vespa scooters driven by students who work for a local firm that specialises in such two-wheeled tours.  Little did I know that later that day I was to take charge of a scooter myself, rather than be a passenger. Herbert and his wife had arranged an evening’s entertainment which meant visiting various watering holes via Vespa - the vehicle of choice when dealing with the anarchic Vietnamese traffic.   We visited romantic riverside bars, and dined at a local seafood restaurant where everything was brought to our table alive before being cooked. I shall never forget that meal - unbelievably inexpensive, and superb.  You can see my pal Hubert in the photos below - choosing fish at a fabulous and amazingly cheap restaurant and also with dancing with his wife . We even ended the night 50 floors above the bay in a rooftop nightclub perched atop a skyscraper. It was one of the best nights out I’ve had in years, but I was glad to eventually relax in the back of a taxi which drove us back to the long sandy Camh Ran peninsula, where The Anam is located. I waxed so lyrical about the seafood we’d enjoyed, the staff at The Anam set up a lesson in Vietnamese cookery for me with one of the head chefs. Several Vietnamese spring rolls later, and after a bowl of sweet and sour fish soup, a plate of chicken with lemongrass and a green papaya and beef salad, I felt very full indeed.  Which was fine because I had one of the beautiful villas near the beach across The Anam’s smooth lawns, where I could escape to recline in a lounger by my own private pool. And that, indeed, is exactly the sort of place The Anam is. A shrine to luxury and relaxation.

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 12 Tuesday _ People I was woken up at about 4am by the appallingly loud noise of grouse and seagulls squabbling. I wouldn’t have had to put up with that at the hotel. The plan for today was to walk over the hill to into Glen Lee, and then walk down Glen Lee into Glen Esk and camp the night at Tarfside, a popular stop-over point for Challengers, and a short day. I was away before eight in thick cloud, and wasn’t to see much of the world for a few hours. I followed the path up the east side of the loch onto Green Hill which was a bigger pull up than I been expecting. From here I followed the track SE as marked on the map, but missed the junction and found myself walking downwards toward Shank of Catstae. I had to go back a little way and turn the GPS on to find the path to Glen Lee. What was confidently marked on the map as a path turned out to be a mere suggestion on the ground. At first it was cairned which was helpful. Obviously it had once been an important through route between Glen Clova and Glen Lee, but I guess it is rarely used now except by a few Challengers every May. I managed to find my way along it quite well, but at the dip between East Cairn and Wester Skuiley it was a bit boggy, and stones for cairns had obviously been in short supply. I took a guess at the right path and found I’d veered off to much to the north, but rather than turn back I skirted some crags and dropped down to the Burn of Inchgrundle joining the path half a mile down the valley. The path took me through Inchgrundle and out onto the flat land at the head of Loch Lee. Off to my left, coming down Glen Lee were little groups of Challengers. I was joining one of the popular Challenge through routes, this one being from Braemar to Tarfside. From here to the coast two days away I would be in the constant company of other Challengers. Where my track met the main through route I was immediately joined by a couple of other Challengers. One, Patrick, a quiet thoughtful chap from London I was to see a few more times, eventually sitting with him at the Challenge dinner on Friday evening. The other Challenger took our meeting as a chance to sit down and take his socks off. I found myself walking with several people in turn on the track, then road, down to Tarfside, but most memorable was a Challenger called Vince who’d heard of the Challenge only three weeks before it started. He certainly had a zest for life, and I found him a very entertaining person to walk with. He’d walked all over the world, and after the Challenge was planning to walk from Braemar to Aviemore, and then The West Highland Way. Eventually Vince and I arrived at Tarfside and he burst into St Drostan’s with an instant all-encompassing friendliness which I could only admire. His enormous personality filled the already busy building. After a cup of tea and one of St Drostan’s famous bacon butties I left to pitch the tent in the Tarfside playing field. There were a few tents pitched here already, and I met Bob and Rose Cartwright who run a lightweight backpacking company, but our conversation was cut short by a shower of rain, and I hurried back to my tent. After sorting things out in the tent I emerged into sunshine and chatted to my next door neighbours who’d arrived in the rain. After pottering around for an hour or so I decided to walk down the road to see what The Retreat was. I’d heard of this establishment and seen signs at the playing field. It turned out to be a community run museum and café. In the café there was one other person, another Challenger who, despite it bing mid-afternoon, was working his way through a three course meal. Humphrey Weightman was a breath of fresh air after eleven days of thinking my own thoughts. It only took the slightest of prodding to get Humphrey to expound on all sorts of unlikely subjects, and I was only too happy to listen, no matter how unlikely the subject. We were only disturbed by the arrival of my Scottish Tea, which consisted of tea, scones, pancakes and home-made rhubarb jam, and then a bit later, getting chucked out at closing time. Humphrey was heading back into the hills, but I would meet him again when we'd reached the coast. Wandering back up to the campsite I found it had filled up considerably, and by evening there were well over fifty tents. It was all very friendly. The Retreat were delivering meals to the campsite, and at about seven some fish and chips which I’d ordered turned up. A bit later on I saw Bob Cartwright talking to the occupants of a tent near me, which had arrived whilst I was at The Retreat. I kept hearing the name “Shirley” (aka PW) so went over and asked the tent if it was Shirley inside. After asking who I was the tent burst open and I was given a friendly hug, a mat to sit on (what a great idea), and a flapjack. Shirley was the only person on the Challenge who I’d met previously, and it was great to see someone I knew. I'd met PW in the Lake District, and her contagious enthusiasm had overcome my lack of confidence about my ability to do the Challenge. I don’t think I’d have been on The Challenge if it wasn’t for her, and this thought hadn’t escaped me when lost on Sgurr na Ba Glaise in the cloud and hail. After a chat we agreed to walk together the next day.

Another day, another cider-related video. This time yet another little film from my trip to Normandy in 1992 when my great pal Tim Bannerman helped me glean all manner of information about the way the French deal with their orchards, their apples and their cider and other fruit-based produce. In this short video Tim and I visited a remarkable farmer who was certainly forward thinking when it came to the politics of the countryside in relation to cider. What he says in the video is still relevant to this day - even more so here in the South West where we could certainly do with learning a few of the examples set by the French. By the way this curious photo of me staring up at Tim stuck in a tree has nothing to do with the video or with orchards or anything else. It’s certainly not an apple tree. It was taken a couple of years ago when we visited the Bannerman's in their Herefordshire home - and I thought somehow that is very loosely fitted in with the theme…

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 11 - Cloud I was amazed to awake to the sound of rain at 3:30am. I’d naturally assumed that the sun was back for good. I was up at seven, looking at maps to see the best route down Glen Isla, connect with my Foul Weather Alternative (FWA) route, and over into Glen Prossen. The rain had obviously set in for the day, and the cloud was very low, and huddled in my tent eating breakfast I wasn’t confident enough to go over Mayar and Driesh. Coming over Glas Maol yesterday had put me high up Glen Isla, and a long way from my FWA. Today’s plan had been to struggle up the side of the glen until I came to the path leading up to Finalty Hill, and from Finalty Hill walk along the sunny tops to Mayar and Driesh, listening to skylarks along the way, and then drop down into Glen Clova. Instead, because of the weather I would walk down Glen Isla, cross over lower hills into Glen Prossen, then camp in the hills between Glen Prossen and Glen Clova. Having packed up, and just as I was mulling over the fact that I was now going to have to cross the river again to get to the track, a text arrived from Helen. I was very surprised that it reached that tucked away corner, but it had taken since yesterday to get there. It cheered me up no end, and as I walked down the glen resigned to connecting up with my FWA I started wondering why I couldn’t go over Mayar and Driesh. After all it was only a bit of wind, rain and cloud, why not give it a go? Looking at the map I could see that the only difficult bit would be finding my way from the point marked 890m across a featureless stretch of moorland to Mayar, but all it would need is a single compass bearing. From Mayar there would certainly be a path as Munros are much frequented. I decided I’d give it a go and walked down to Tulachan Lodge, up the track over Spying Hillock where a herd of forty or so deer passed fifty metres in front of me. Of course I’d sensibly put the camera in the rucksack out of the rain, so no chance of getting a photo of them. In fact the rain made it a day of few photos. I continued on up into the cloud, over Finalty Hill and onto the 890m point, counting paces to give a rough idea of my position along the track. Just before pt 890m I found that a track headed off in more or less the right direction for Mayar, and I decided to follow it as long as it kept heading in the right direction. The track was useful for a mile or so, but as can be expected, I’d drifted rather far of my course before I realised that the track was definitely heading the wrong way. I got the GPS out, retraced my steps a few hundred metres until I was in a good position, found my way across the boggy bealach before Mayar, then made the easy ascent to the summit (928m). I didn’t hang about here as there was nothing to see, it was windy and raining, and the weather was obviously deteriorating. I followed a well defined path down into the gentle dip between Mayar and Driesh. Here a path, the Kilbo Path, comes up the Shank of Drumwhallo from Glen Prossen to drop down the Shank of Drumfollow into Glen Doll. What names! As it had started to hail in an aggressive way I followed the path down rather than take in Driesh, and soon found myself descending a steep ridge (Shank of Drumfollow) into Glen Doll, flanked by dramatic cliffs on either hand. Across the valley water was cascading down the rivers. Looking back up the ridge I could see someone or something crossing the skyline towards Driesh – a hardier Challenger than me I supposed. I knew that camping wasn’t allowed in the upper valley, but wasn’t sure how far down the ban extended, and I had hoped to camp beside Loch Brandy, high on the NE side of the glen. That didn’t seem likely if conditions were like this, and the Clova Hotel, a few miles down the glen, started to seem a highly desirable place to spend a night. It would be nice to get out of this awful weather, dry out and meet a few other people. Reaching the bottom of the glen I took cover in a thick pine forest for a few minutes to get out of a particularly bad shower, and to grab a bite to eat. It wasn’t a very successful lunch spot so I jumped back out onto the track, surprising a couple of other Challengers who were walking down the track. These two turned out to be the people I had looked up at walking across to Driesh. They had spent the night camped a little further up Glen Isla than I had, and seemed to have been a little behind me all morning. I hadn’t seen them either last night or this morning. They kept asking if there was a shed, but didn’t seem happy with the one I pointed out behind them, and they eventually went into the visitor centre whilst I carried on down the glen. Below the forest Glen Doll becomes Glen Clova, and like all these glens, Glen Clova was very much a separate entity and had it’s own character. The pine forests and steep cliffs of Glen Doll gave way to a more open valley with agricultural land. At the Clova Hotel I went into the phone box and phoned Challenge control to let them know I hadn’t been washed away, and Roger Smith enquired where I intended to stay that night. I told him I had intended to camp beside Loch Brandy but had gone off the idea because of the weather, but he put Alan Hardy on the phone, and speaking to Alan I thought “why not?”. The hotel bunkhouse was visible from the phone box, an uncompromising rectangular box with few windows – how bad could camping be? A visit to the hotel was still required however. One thing I had learned on the Challenge was to get some real food and shelter whenever it presented itself. I found myself in a bar at the back of the hotel where a few other Challengers were obviously settling in for the afternoon and evening. Scones and tea appeared and a little later Andrew who I’d met all the way back at Glenfinnan walked in. After my tea, scones and chat I got up and said that I was on my way. This announcement brought comments of surprise and requests to stay, but I assured them I’d prefer to be in my tent and set off into the rain. Another thing the Challenge does is teach you a few things about yourself – I was obviously an idiot. Why not stay in the comfort and companionship of the hotel? Actually I was looking forward to camping at the lochside as it would be my last planned wild camp. The map showed some flattish ground near the outflow of the loch, and on the phone Alan had thought this too. I found a small spot near the SE corner of the loch and managed to put the tent up before the next shower came through. The loch is set in a corrie, and I sat eating my dinner looking out of the tent doorway at curtains of cloud moving first one way then the other across the corrie headwall. Bliss.

Here is another video related to Tim Bannerman’s excellent Cider Chronicles. We shot this footage 28 years ago at the annual Lisieux Tree Fair where Tim was hoping to add to the family orchard - and we follow him as he manages to purchase some cider apple trees.

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 10 Sunday I woke up at 1:30 to find heavy condensation in the tent. In my hurry to put it up before the rain I’d forgotten to open both end vents which I’d partly closed at the windy Blair Atholl campsite. I was awake again at seven, and lay in bed planning my route for the next couple of days, listening to the sound of occasional showers drumming on the tent a few inches above my head. Today’s planned route was to walk east across over the low hills to Spittal of Glenshee, and then head NE to camp in Glen Brighty. But as was becoming the habit, this isn’t what I did, instead diverting from Glenshee over the Munros Creag Leacach and Glas Maol, and dropping down into upper Glen Isla to camp. This was part of my resolve to make things more exciting where I could. A couple of backpackers were walking up the slope from the corner of the wood as I went out for water. Some people from one of the houses I’d passed in the glen yesterday had come up to the loch to fish. I was away at nine, following in the footsteps of the backpackers I’d seen earlier. A fence ran in the right direction and a little higher up I found the day looked increasingly promising. It had been a bit dark and humid at my campsite under the trees. Cutting down behind Elrig I found myself on a track heading north up a glen and set off up it, but I hadn’t gone more than a few metres when a building appeared around the corner. This was too good an offer to miss, so I stopped for a bite to eat. Looking in the guest book on the table I found that Irene and Les, the couple I'd met a few days ago near Loch Rannoch, had looked in thirty minutes before me, and over a hundred years before them Queen Victoria had stopped for a snack. Gorp and flapjack? A pleasant stream-side pull up the glen to An Lairig (The Pass) followed, and then a new scene opened up – the Spittall of Glenshee and it’s surrounding hills. I hurried down and went into the hotel just as Irene and Les were coming out. We had a chat, and as we were continually running into each other we compared routes ahead, they were heading further south than me so I probably wouldn’t see them again. In fact I saw them at Montrose where they had arrived a few minutes before me. I had a good look at my maps whilst enjoying hot chocolate and carrot cake in the hotel. As the weather was improving I decided to divert over the Munros to the north of Spittal of Glenshee – Craig Leacach and Glas Maol – and then drop down to the rugged looking upper Glen Isla. I’d been following the Cateran Trail since the Upper Lunch Hut, but at the ominous sounding Tomb (actually a rather nice cottage) I turned north, following a track then a path up to the bealach between Carn Chomh-Stri and Carn Aig Mhala, where I stopped for lunch whist still reasonably sheltered from the cold east wind that was blowing. At least it was sunny now, with large clouds racing by a little higher up. Lunch was a rolls, ham, cheese and coleslaw, bought in the shop in Blair Atholl yesterday. I had wondered about getting an early lunch in the hotel at Spittal of Glenshee, but this was much better. Massive views to the south and west. A final pull up steeper slopes brought me to Craig Leacach at 4pm. From here it was gentle slopes to the higher Glas Maol. A man made object attracted my attention near the summit, and walking over I found what looked like a crashed microlight. The summit cairn is a semi-circular wind shelter, unfortunately facing the wrong way for today’s easterly. I took a photo of myself on the cairn at 5pm..... …..and then headed off down to the SE to pick up the track to Monega Hill. Looking down the cliffs into Caenlochan Glen was surprisingly dramatic. Once down into the glen I turned north up the glen to have a look at Bessies cairn and then found a place to camp at 6:30pm. I couldn’t see the bridge marked on the map so waded across the river to a good looking spot. Being on the east side of the river would put me in a good position to ascend Finalty Hill tomorrow. I had a risotto for dinner followed by cups of tea, but although I still had the 100g gas canister I’d bought in Blair, I knew I’d better not use too much gas. Maybe it was overpriced, but another 100g canister would have made life a bit more pleasant. I was feeling quite pleased with myself for taking advantage of the good weather and coming over the hills to end up in this dramatic glen and I was also now well placed to go over Mayar and Driesh the next day.

So, my 100th Exmoor Lockdown Diary. And to celebrate it I put up one of my favourite interviews - which is saying something, in my own humble way, because I must have conducted thousands over the years. Anyway, Marcus Govier was a true country gent - and he had one of the best Somerset accents I have heard since my own grandfather passed away 40 years ago. Do have a watch - and perhaps try to bounce it up onto a larger screen - which is what I do at home when it comes to YouTube videos… Anyway, the Exmoor Lockdown Diary… Although the work has been totally unpaid it’s been fun. And it has allowed me to slowly manoeuvre myself into what’s being called the ‘new normal’. Just now a Japanese person I know invited me to “attend the virtual launch party” of a posh new hotel which her company has built just under Mount Fuji in Japan.  Sawako said the Tokyu Hotel Group had wanted to invite me to fly out and stay at the new hotel - which of course I would have enjoyed very much as I love Japan.  However, because of the ongoing pandemic the company is now having a virtual launch and I’ve been invited to the Zoom party and shown around on the internet. They are even going to send me a box of Japanese goodies so I can join in with the spirit of the launch at home here in lovely, but not very oriental, West Somerset.  Hmmm. A free luxury trip to Japan versus a stay-at-home Zoom party and a glass of sake... I wonder which I’d have preferred had there been a choice? However, just say the PR company had invited me anyway now that the restrictions are being lifted. I’d be quite happy to self-isolate at home for two weeks after returning from Japan - but would I have gone? You’re joking! I have spent 101 days keeping well out of the way of coronavirus - we haven’t been to a supermarket once and have more or less relied on a weekly trip to our excellent village shop and a handful of deliveries. All that careful avoidance only to end it all by getting on a train to Heathrow, then climbing into a sealed metal fuselage for 13 hours with 300 other people breathing the same air? If I was 23 instead of 63 it might have been temptation, but now I shall put on my best kimono and pour a glads of Tokyo’s finest here at home in front of a screen. So, it’s a weird kind of new normal. One we’re all going to have to get used to for a while yet. Which is why I will continue the Exmoor Lockdown Diary for now - although perhaps I will try to find a new name for it as restrictions ease and even an old stay-at-home like me gets to venture outside the valley. And talking of the valley - I took these shots of the best stand of foxgloves i have ever seen yesterday. Half the valley has been overtaken by the things since the forestry people did some clear fell.

In his wonderful Cider Chronicles elsewhere on this site, my old friend Tim Bannerman has been mentioning the annual tree fair at Lisieux. Indeed, in his last post he gave us something of the event’s long history - and most fascinating it all is.   What is amazing is how much more together and organised the French are - and continue to be - when it comes to their orchards than we seem to be. Which is a pity, as South West England has such a rich heritage when it comes to apple-growing. That is a sentiment I took to Normandy nearly 30 years ago after I’d been commissioned by Somerset County Council to make an hour long video on orchards, apple growing and the cider industry.  The video was duly made and launched at a big event at Taunton’s Brewhouse Theatre. I imagine someone at the council will still have the master-tape of the video - but I have a great many rushes which I filmed above and beyond the basic remit of the contract - and before they literally rot on the old magnetic tape, I have decided to digitise some of the material. Which I is why I proudly present the first in a short series looking at the Apple Tree Fair in Lisieux from all those years ago. Dear old Tim was living close to the town with his wife Gill and family at the time - and we spent a couple of days filming in and around the fair with Tim acting as an unpaid presenter and translator.  It was all fascinating stuff and if you like cider, or apples, or apple trees or orchards - or the whole fermented caboodle - please have a watch and hopefully enjoy the material. No doubt Tim will be able to add some of his own notes which can sit beside the next digitised video offering from 29 years ago.... But here’s what I filmed on the first day we were in France.

TGO Challenge - A Walk from Glenuig to Montrose Day 8 – A short day I woke up to heavily overcast skies which was a bit of a surprise; one assumes the good weather will last. Today I planned to walk along the road above the north shore of Loch Tummel then strike up and over the ridge and down into Blair Atholl. I was away at 8:15 and crossed the old bridge for a third time. My log notes that I seemed to have been walking down this glen for a long time – Wed afternoon, Thur, and Fri morning. But below Tummel Bridge the scenery, although pleasant, lacked the ruggedness that appealed to me higher up the glen. Just outside Tummel Bridge I passed a hydro power station which gets it’s water through a six mile (10km) long tunnel from Loch Errochty. Apparently the building is faced with stone from the tunnel. Four miles down the road at an hotel a footpath signpost read “Blair Atholl”, and I turned off the road and followed an old right-of-way up the hill side. Just past a rather nice cottage with views of the loch I entered a plantation and immediately had trouble finding my way as trees had blown down over the path. Once I’d regained the path it was reasonably easy to follow, although I did find that if not lost, I had managed to take a long route through the wood, and I came out of the wood in a slightly different place to that expected. After I emerged from the wood I stopped to have something to eat beside a small stream above Loch Bhac. This was a pleasant enough spot, and it reminded me of Exmoor, which made me wonder if it was worth travelling all this way to see scenery such as I see at home. It then started to rain in a determined way so I packed up and set off down into Blair Atoll thinking that given the opportunity I would divert to more rugged areas in the coming days. After a couple of miles of descending a good moorland path I arrived at the farm of Balnansteuartach. A crow was in a sort of cage just up from the farm. Some sort of trap? The farm itself was interesting – it was all too easy to believe that there might be something nasty in the woodshed, or even the farmhouse. All the gates to the fields were open so that the livestock could wander where it would. A ram had a horn caught in a fence near the farmhouse, and I guessed somebody would soon come out and rescue it, but as I moved on I began to wonder, as I passed several dead lambs in the mile and a half (2km) to Blair Atholl. I had to wait a while before I could cross the busy A9, and then a path took me down a slope to a footbridge over the River Garry and into Blair Atholl. I found my way to Blair Castle Campsite where I had another very large parcel waiting, and put the tent up in my allotted space. £15 seemed a bit expensive after camping for free wherever I liked. A packet of dehydrated soup from France – Poireaux et Pomme de Terre – courtesy of my brother Ralph made lunch, and then I tried out the campsite’s very posh showers. Back at the tent I sorted out the parcel, allowing enough food and snacks for the coming six days and putting the rest back in the parcel along with used maps and dirty clothes. I then took the parcel down to the post office, sent it south at great expense, and then found the tearoom in an old mill which had been recommended on the train journey north. A very cosy and civilised place after the hills. In the tent I listened to the noise of rain on the tent as I studied the next few days’ route on the maps. I was a bit hazy about the geography east of the A9. Cups of tea and a new book (I’d sent the last one home half read – mistake) made for a restful afternoon. I made a schedule to get the best use of my new, clean, dry socks, given that they were more likely to get wet on the first few days and I wanted cleanish ones in Montrose. Dinner was a sauce which I rehydrated for an hour, and noodles. Rehydrating the sauce for an hour improved it, but I decided that in future, when in civilisation I'd use local food instead of backpacking food. I phoned home and Challenge Control from the campsite phone box using my phonecard. These phonecards are are interesting. Quite rightly they're recommended by experienced Challengers, as they can be used at any of the increasingly scarce phone boxes, but using them means tapping in about 106 digits before you make a connection, and there's something about long strings of numbers which is very confusing. Or so it seemed after days of the simplicity of just eating, sleeping and walking. Photo - TGOC2009_Day08_05