In which it rained and rained and (guess, go on, that’s right) : rained. A long hard day, the sort you tell grandchildren, the sort that gets better with the telling and passing of years. Triumphantly, and with a friendly wave to the lovely friends that shadowed, guided and helped us, we entered Devon. Quite unknown for it’s mountain ranges, but there they were, taunting us. So we ploughed across Dartmoor and even though visibility was down to less than a car length it is surely one of the world’s most beautiful places, even in the rain, did I mention the rain? And now we sit in a warm dry pub with pints (excellent Cornish ‘Tribute’) and cheesy pasta (cheese of unknown origin but who cares) and all is ‘right with the world, that is, until tomorrow. There were no ponies, convicts or black-eyed dogs on Dartmoor, no traffic either, who would be so stupid to attempt a crossing in that weather?
