We are half way at 17 miles. Brian Basham,who started just after midnight, is now only a couple of miles ahead of the main group so we are stopping for lunch. I wish my friend euro loon Jonathan Price was here joining me at the back as I am struggling a bit and his Guardianista thoughts are always a reason to march on and end the suffering. The next stop is four miles away. It is hard to think beyond that. Again, everyone else eats but I just nibble at my half eaten breakfast sandwich and take on more fluids. I feel rotten. If you have yet to donate to this great cause please do so HERE.

The next target is lunch which is 3 miles away. We are, I calculate, now on track to catch up with Brian Basham at c 3pm. My fellow rogue bloggers, even hungover Lucian Miers and reader N who has an incredibly heavy backpack, are on fine form. I am not. Something is not right and I am not eating just taking on more liquids. I have confessed to Nick Richards at Woodlarks that I might not make it to the finishing line this year. But I try to think about the next three miles which takes us, just, past halfway. Master Miers,a barking mad commie is staying at the back of the group to help me along and entertaining me with his bonkers world view.  He makes our in house Euro loon Jonathan Price who normally is at the back with me seem quite sane.  Think of my suffering as Master Miers explains why houses belonging to rich people should be nationalised and donate to Woodlarks HERE    

Past the beds of watercress we marched and we are now only 15 minutes behind schedule and at the first rest break, the Cricketers Arms. Lucian is apologising for last night’s excess to his Mrs. And Fleet Street legend Brian Basham has been in contact. Two hours ago he was 45 minutes ahead of where we are now. The pursuit is on. If you have yet to donate to this great cause think of the suffering that lies ahead, another 25 miles to go! Please donate HERE

Reader Sam and Andrew Bell are late dropouts.  Fleet Street legend Brian Bashan was meant to start at midnight but has gone AWOL. So it is just me, reader N, Steve Moore, and a very hungover Lucian Miers and his communist son. Start delayed by 35 minutes by Lucian’s  hangover. Now we are off!  If you have yet to donate to this amazing cause please do so HERE

I always keep empty plastic bottles so that I can be fecking green and recycle them for use again. The Mrs thinks she is being green throwing them away so that Wrexham Council can use vaste amounts of fuel recycling them. Today, she might understand the method in my madness.

For an all too brief period, the elderflower tree at the edge of the top field next to the graveyard bursts into glorious white blooms. And then they are gone. Making hay while the sun shines, last Sunday, Joshua and I waded through the long grasses. I created enough of a track for him to follow through with the grass on either side towering over the little fellow. 80 heads were picked and dumped in our basket and we headed home.

It is all to do with “Kisses on a Postcard“ by Dominic’s late father Terence. I should not have been such a pedant. But I am. I discuss family links and experiences of 1938-44, evacuations, operation Pied Piper and other matters of fact and why we give poor old Neville Chamberlain such a bad rap. I hope Frisby junior can forgive me and commend to you the work of Frisby senior as anything this family touches must be magic. 

Just like the Greek Hovel -  which, in reality, is a luxury eco-palace (book here) - the Welsh Hovel is not really a hovel, either. It is a listed building that, after three and a half years, is almost entirely renovated. I refer you to the “new” annexe.

If you need an explanation of the cartoon below, you haven’t been following how virtue signallers have to keep refreshing their halos with the latest message.

Having voted Tory in 2019  for which I apologise, yet again  there are so many reasons to despise the party. But its approach to Covid rule-breaking, as demonstrated by Sajid Javid, is yet another one. I think of my father’s funeral, as only 30 could attend.

Madame Le Pen would ban Muslim headgear. In some places, Burkinis are banned. And so, I bring you the view from directly in front of where Joshua, Olaf and I sat.

The Mrs is surviving without me and Joshua, and, this morning, encountered the creature below – just a few feet outside the main door. According to her, it was 3-4 inches long. She slid a spade underneath, and flung it away. I might have used the spade to smash it on the head. So, what is it?

How many of the folks Diane Abbott is meant to represent were murdered by the IRA? She does not care as the tweet below shows.

Meet Terry Wilson. He can’t count as you can see below. That is why he is a socialist.

On June 11, myself and seven other rogue bloggers will walk the 34 miles from Winchester Cathedral to Woodlarks. I can now say that I will complete the walk after yesterday’s training effort of 23 miles. But that is three weeks away so now is a great time to sponsor me HERE. To encourage you to donate, let me tell you about the pain of yesterday and show you the reason: the cows, or bulls as they were advertised.