true and wonderfull

Rain. Mud. No dragons.

2007-07-02T22:39:00.000+01:00

A dragon update well overdue. Anton has been straying into writing and has a host of bizarrely Tolkeinesque material which will appear here soon. Meanwhile I spoke to the guys at Southern Counties radio and have to urgently edit down the soundfiles we have of the dragon walk. I will soon make some of these sound files available as a teaser on this site. So stay tuned dragon fans!

Anton wanted to trace a part of our route which from which we took a detour last time. We set off for a station in the mud somewhere and walked for a few hours without stopping in steady unremitting rain. Fortunately we passed a shop where I could buy some waterproof overtrousers. Not our best ever walk, our route being blocked by a fenced off bridge, and paths that had been closed. However, there were few people about and there is a grim enjoyment to trudging in the fresh air in an unremitting deluge.

Terrifying moment towards the end of the walk. An enormous and savage Alsatian dog came rushing at us barking and displaying its incisors. Fortunately it made straight for Anton who, being frozen with terror, looked fairly bleak. I pressed on bravely, muttering words of encouragement until the dog bounded off briefly to fetch the two other Alsatians that were baying in the distance. Anton sped across the field as if all the hounds of hell were after him, and once we'd got through a gate, white with shock, he started ungratefully blaming me.

Eventually we called a halt after finding a pub in a village near Horley, as Anton said, with some feeling, that he needed a drink. It was marvellous to briefly escape the rain and drink a couple of beers before getting a taxi to the station.

Below Anton and a sign, a wet country lane, lichen, some farm houses, a meadow, a strange old bridge, and how it sculpted the rainflooded river.

Approaching St Leonards forest

2007-06-21T07:50:00.000+01:00

The Philosophy of Dragon Questing

2007-06-15T07:21:00.000+01:00

"It is better to seek an imaginary Dragon, than live in a world without dragons."

The settling dust

2007-06-14T12:48:00.000+01:00

Takes a while to get things sorted... More photos and various accounts to be uploaded shortly. Anton is going to post material too. Clearly his opinions and perspectives are his own, and where they differ from my account must be treated with a degree of caution. We're uploading stuff chronologically as they happened.... So the story unfolds below....

Beer and The Dragon

2007-06-10T23:59:00.000+01:00

Below us drinking beer completely knackered and boiling hot having toiled through St Leonard's Forest on the third day, waiting to be picked up by Anna in the car. And proof that there is at least one dragon in the forest, albeit a comedy one.

Shadows on the Arun

2007-06-10T22:14:00.000+01:00

The walk ended a matter of hours ago in triumph and exhaustion. Our findings following our journey along the course of the Arun from Littlehampton to its origins in the dragon haunted St Leonards Forest will be added here soon.

Below our Tilley-hatted shadows on a nettle bank of the river Arun, a shot accidentally taken in chic black and white.

A Swan at the end of the road

2007-06-08T23:32:00.000+01:00

Medical science will puzzle for years how a few sandwiches and some sparkling mineral water can have such a transformative effect. But after leaving Amberely, Anton and I felt entirely reinvigorated. And I felt better than I had done all day.

The afternoon grew hot and there were many more miles to walk. Left the picture perfect village looking at the lichen covered walls and gardens burgeoning with flowers. Uphill, pausing to restock with water, then across cornfields and copses and over streams jewelled with electric blue dragonflies back into the grassy river valley. We rejoined the river Arun after squelching across a marshy field to walk beside it to Pulborough. We were very tired by the time we reached this town, but then had another stretch to go to get to Fittleworth.

Walking along the side of a busy road for a while, I almost stepped on another slow worm. Nearing our destination, we sloped down some beautiful country lanes and were greeted by a large airborne stag beetle whirring in the late afternoon. Towards the end, my stride length had shrunk to that of a Geisha, until at last we rounded the corner onto a road, and through a tunnel of trees was the very welcome sight of The Swan at Fittleworth.

This 14th Century coaching Inn was our berth for the night. We arrived to a cool welcome from the barman however (being hot and sweaty and flecked with mud). Nevertheless we gulped a pint of beer in the bar before going upstairs to our rooms for a welcome rest and shower. The floor of my room turned out to have a very 14th century slope but was nonetheless fine.

The evening spent cheerfully quaffing beers and eating. I had a Sussex smokie, which was a dish of smoked haddock, spinach and melted cheese, Anton going for moules, we both had steaks and I rounded it off with a bread and butter pudding. Went to bed feeling very refreshed and incredibly full.

Some photos from the afternoon....

2007-06-08T23:20:00.000+01:00

Below the road goes on forever... Anton in a cornfield, and by the Arun. A gritty self portrait after 15 miles. And fern and fields in the beautiful county of Sussex.

The dragon quest starts again...

2007-06-08T14:00:00.000+01:00

Anton called around and we set off to Arundel to recommence the route that Anton had planned for us to follow the river Arun to its foresty and be-dragoned beginnings.

My enthusiasm for the whole venture was severely tempered by a violently upset stomach, and dehydration caused in part by the Polish beers and Chinese meal I had accidentally consumed the night before. Anton, meanwhile, was complaining about his verruca which, from his descriptions, was the size of a dinner plate.

Easy journey to Arundel on the train. Both of us cheery. We re-started the walk from Arundel Bridge, under the suitably glowering rain-soaked castle, with Anton chewing on Polish sausage.

It was still spitting slightly as we set off east along the river. Soon we were walking through the bird reserve. Unsurprisingly, despite the fact it is so close to the town of Arundel, it is full of birdsong, and we walked along the raised walkways through to lots and lots of wet grass, which instantly soaked through our trousers.

Then off past the Black Rabbit pub on the river (which looks idyllic) inland a little into the country squelching along past a hill called Fox Oven towards the tiny but beautiful village of South Stoke. The last time we had been there Anton left the gate of St Leonard's Church open and we were soon both engaged in chasing the flock of sheep out. This time the sheep had got there before us, and one of them was stamping her foot and glaring at us balefully as we neared the gate. Maybe it is to do with having lambs, but the sheep we encountered on this walk seemed to be harder than the usual run of the mill sheep. Rambo perhaps. Or Lambo.

We crossed the river Arun and walked through woods and over small but swaying suspension bridge through and climbed slightly from the river valley, walking through lush green fields full of sheep.

After only a couple of hours we reached the Amberley museum of work. Anton, I think, had a secret agenda about buying a walking stick there. Both of us were not too impressed by it. There were a load of old sheds, with dusty bits of old machines and evidence of old crafts in them. Meanwhile mobs of French school kids were hanging about, shrugging and wondering why they had come all this way to look at sheds.

I was feeling aboninable at that point, which may have coloured my opinion of the place. We stopped at the museum cafe and sat outside as the sun was breaking through. Anton went to the toilet where he washed the Polish sausage which had dropped from his rucksack to the path in a muddy overgrown path. He had also applied his expensive aloe trekker's suncream having laughed derisively at my bog standard stuff. Apparently the aloe stuff didn't sting your eyes when you sweat, and has many other excellent features.

I waited for him outside sipping the stewed tea, and sincerely wondering if I would make it for one day, let alone three. I felt horrible, and my guts were in a diabolical state and I already felt weak and tired. But on a good note I was soon slightly cheered by Anton having an fast and unpleasant allergic reaction to his lotion which forced him to go back into the bathroom to wash it off.

It was a short walk from there to the village of Amberly, which turned out to be a stunningly beautiful and archetypal English village, which we entered through trees and suddenly we were there. We chose a pub there called the Black Horse and had some mineral water, and sandwiches and potato wedges in the beer garden. It had turned into a beautiful day, in the middle of a perfect village in a garden full of birdsong. Pausing only to applied some of my new aloe suncream, Anton and I set off again.

Below sheep retake the moral high ground at St Leonard's Church in South Stoke; cows cowering on the way to Amberley; the inside of an old forge in one of the sheds at the unpromisingly-named Amberley museum of work.

2007-06-08T12:35:00.000+01:00

The Morgul Veruca
Each foot fall (right foot) is a pain. A pain like Frodo's when the Morgul knife broke at the tip, and the shard started making its way to his heart. I knew I would soon be in the power of this veruca. Sadly Pete was displaying non of his Sam Gamgee like qualities, and wasn't even carrying his own water. The tall dark peaks of Amberley station were towering ominously to the north. I forget the dwarfish name for them but its sure to be a jaw cracker. Towards lunch my remaining Kabanos sausages made a bid for freedom down a dark track. Luckily the situation was saved by the outstanding gents toilets at Amberly working museum. The afternoon wore on, treacherously bright. After a few wrong turns we sheltered in a beer garden and ate a frugal lunch (once the salad garnish had been moved to one side). I was awoken from my daydream by the ersatz Sam and had the terrible realisation that we were still only a third of the way on the day's march. At this point I thought it was prudent not to mention this as he was looking contently fed and watered and was bubbling with enthusiasm. In the immortal words of Gandalf at the council of Elrond "would anybody freely join the company if they knew what really lay ahead?"

Lost in the Forest
The emergence of the compass can only mean one thing: we are lost. Our merry company at this point, dubbed Flight 19, was aimlessly wandering in a small wood peering again and again at the visitor's centre car park, and trying to keep away from the road, to which all paths seemed to lead. The appearance of the compass at this point confirmed that North was indeed North and no matter which way we held the map up we had still lost the trail. There would be nothing for it, we would have to break out on to the road and face all the dangers that that held. We made fabulous moving targets that only walking gear can create. All those bright gaudy colours are like headlights to rabbits. Fortunately Sam II, the slight return, was covering my back. 5 minutes of traffic dodging that felt like 3 hours of mental torture on this highway to hell (Pulborough) and then thankfully we plunged into a small lane that lead to the nameless village.

Above the Pulborough fields
We first espied Pulborough, our no longer final destination by the side of the church on the hill. Our careful planning in the Lord Nelson public house had led us to choose Pulborough as the logical/reasonable/practical end to the first days walk. It was, we thought, the ideal lodging point between today and tomorrows epic legs. Alas due to poor and late and somewhat blokish organisation there was no accommodation to be had. Luckily a little finger's distance on the map lay the sleepy hamlet of Lower Fittleworth, and what promised to be a welcoming inn supplying victals and beer and, most importantly, accommodation in separate rooms with en suit showers. But now the realisation was that this now lay to the west on a distant line of darkening hills. Still the first glimpse of Pulborough lightened our hearts as this meant we were closer to our first pint and we could stock up on some valuable water as we had been running on empty for the last hour or so. The path descending steeply through a thicket of trees and then without warning were suddenly out in the open again in the rich meadow lands of the river, which was meanderingly majestically in the hot afternoon sun. The path was straight and true, yet underfoot it was becoming wetter. Then all of a sudden we came to a halt with a splash. The treacherous path had ended in a deep flooded bog and there seemed to be no way across. For the next 20 minutes we jumped from grass clump to grass clump trying to find away through. Pete the stout hearted suggested that we get the compass out again. "Unless you intend to sail in it I don't see what f*&!$king use that will be" I said as my foot dislodged another cloud of flies. Hope had all but departed when suddenly we espied a new path. We journeyed anew on the tricky shifting pathway, the OS map having been relegated to a dog eared orange fly swatter. After such a solitary journey we finally encountered our first fellow walker. A rather perplexed looking lady who said she had lost her dog. This was the final straw. Travelling footsore, rucksack chaffed, thirsty and harbouring the terrible truth of the true distance and now the added element of edginess as there was now a rabid mangy cur on the loose. Her honeyed poisoned words, describing it as a tail wagging spaniel answering to the name of Fido or something. But steadily the path rose form the meadow and the ground became firmer and drier and increasingly frequent dog spoors we knew that we were approaching the journey's faux end. Somewhat red faced and mud spattered we almost fell in the Aladdin's cave know as CO-OP one stop shop. We stocked up heavily (at least as they were piled into my rucksack heavily) on bottles of water.

The last debate - or lack of it
Pulborough was somewhat lacking in the public regional transport department. Whilst that woolly footed rascal Pete was ensconced in the local chemist looking for Athelas of the butt, I had ambled up to the local bus stop. Unfortunately the timetable must have had a bit part in the Davinci code. For a good ten minutes I was trying to make head or tail of the complex cipher. After 10 minutes and on Pete's advice and after deciding that this local service had nothing to do with Mary Magdelin's bloodline we gave up and started to walk along the main road which was to be our only path to Lower Fittleworth. The road was now thronged with cars full of happy carefree drivers racing home for the weekend. As we trudged slowly in silence up the never ending incline, the jolly little bus whooshed past. We both stood there, neither saying a word and resignedly carried on tramping our route. We took a few minutes out at the Stopham bridge which had now been cut off by the new main road bypass and was standing there isolated like an ox bow lake. It would have been a beautiful spot with the ancient bridge leading to a inviting looking Inn. Alas we were not in the mood and this idyllic river now had all the features of Hades . The evening was getting on and the sun was now sinking below the evil hills to which we were heading. After a few more decades of minutes we turned off the main road and descended into an unmade track, which was to be our shortcut. The conversation had died along with our appreciation of spectacular scenary. Each step forward was now torturous. In another walk in another body this would have been like walking through the garden of the English countryside, but now in the deepening gloom, each hill, each corner revealing no Lower Flittleworth was sinking our hearts in to our boots. After an hour we finally emerged from the long lane and there suddenly was the sight of the Swan Inn and Lower Flittleworth. With renewed vigour we upped pace to a pigeon step and hurried the last 200 metres and arrived to an indifferent and cold welcome. With pint in hand and backside on chair I can take ostrasisation. Bring it on.

A tale of two rucksacks

2007-06-08T10:26:00.000+01:00

I guess the cursing, puffing and sweating were perhaps the first tangible signs that it was indeed quite heavy. To bring a new angle to the situation at the station we increased our burdens by stocking up on bottles of waters and nuts. Here we experienced one of the first notable differences between or rucksacks – mine having a useful water holder on each size, Pete’s having sides like racing slicks. My intrepid adventuring companion then proceeded to stow these large bottles in to a remaining cavity the size of a match box. With a decent measure of good fortune and a soupcon of serendipity Pete’s rucksack did not require a separate ticket.

Calling for Peteo

2007-06-08T08:23:00.000+01:00

Awoken early, by the children and then by the Cat. But today was one of eager anticipation. Ambled gently over to the window, not wanting to peak too soon and then to my disappointment found it was raining. Spent the next 10 minutes getting more and more frustrated trying to zip my shorts back in to trousers. For 5 days the BBC online weather forecast had been predicting 24c sunshine. Cunningly they must have had a Stalinist revisionist moment between my look at 10pm last night and 6 this morning.
Limped badly cursing down the hill to Pete’s, the verruca so large this morning I was contemplating using a third boot. Wondered (painfully) along whether Pete would be;
a) Up
b) Up and hungover
c) Up and hungover and irritably turning his house upside down looking for his phone or his train pass or something
Instead I found a serene and ready if somewhat bleary looking fellow adventurer stuffing some final items (with seemingly unwarranted force) in to his small, but modest, walking specific, yet retro rucksack. Truth be told I had never imagined that it could be swelled and stretched to such a size, both the fabric and the stitching worryingly displaying some translucent quality.

Waiting for Anto

2007-06-08T07:46:00.000+01:00

Just scarfing some beans on toast and looking out my window at the rain. Yes rain. The forecast is for a hot sunny day, and yet there is perhaps a more appropriate rain. My rucksack is almost packed, and I am awaiting the call from Anton which will say something annoying like... Hello mate, did I wake you up?

Ideal preparation for the walk. Cats fighting in the Twitten last night, body churning with the MSG from the Chinese food I bought last night after a few beers with work pals.

Right... Boots on! We start at Arundel

Below taken from the dungeon at Arundel Castle.

Two days before the big one

2007-06-06T10:51:00.000+01:00

So we are finally gathering ourselves for the assault on St Leonard's Forest. Anton has booked overnight rooms in village pubs. Our walk will start again from Arundel and will take three days in what looks to be conditions of blazing sun.

So good job that I washed and treated my Berghaus last night. But it may afford some protection against the spitting of the dragon. Or village locals if they take exception to the rather natty pair of Vans slip on shoes I am packing.

We also managed to source things like a USB recharger for the MPG recorder from under Anton's desk. Annoyingly he has indulged his penchant for planning: buying clothes, and other paraphernalia. And he has already gone through a trial pack of his kit. Including the Kendal mint cake Anna bought him.

But there are worrying injuries to contend with: Anton has a verruca, and my back is bad with no time to see the chiropractor. The weekend will be full of moaning.

Snakes with Wings

2007-06-05T11:23:00.000+01:00

Been reading the classics in preparation for the walk.

Here is Herodotus from the Pengin Classics edition of Snakes with Wings and Gold-digging Ants translated by Aubrey De Selincourt, and revised by John Marinola. Sounds like a description of a dinosaurs' graveyard.

There is a place in Arabia more or less opposite the city of Buto, where I went to try to get information about flying snakes. On my arrival I saw their skeletons in incalculable numbers; they were piled in heaps, some of which were big, others smaller, others smaller still, and there were many piles of them. The place where these bones lie is a narrow mountain pass leading to a broad plain which joins on to the plain of Egypt, and it is said that that when the winged snakes fly to Egypt from Arabia in the spring, the ibises meet them at the entrance to the pass and do not let them get through, but kill them. According to the Arabians, this service is the reason for the great reverence with which the ibis is regarded in Egypt.... The winged snakes resemble watersnakes; their wings are not feathered, but are like a bat's.

Maps and beers

2007-05-28T12:31:00.000+01:00

Anton and I went to the Nelson pub where we spread Ordnance Survey maps of Sussex out upon the table. A pint or two of Harveys were sipped as we discussed our quest and the project and our various route options: we aim now to try to finish it off in three consecutive days.

Audiophile

2007-05-15T23:58:00.000+01:00

Today was all about listening to the sound files from the first stage of the Dragon Quest and editing all the more obvious drivel out to then send it into the radio station to see what they think. Actually I came away feeling fairly pleased at how natural we sounded, as opposed to our Cholmondley-Warnerish first attempt.

The irritating editing program took some getting used to, and I found myself grinding my teeth as I worked on my laptop going into work. I also worked on it during my lunch break, and then at home in the evening. It is even more time-consuming than doing the walk itself, but interesting nevertheless - and is giving me all kinds of spin off ideas.

It also makes me feel like going around collecting sounds for their own sake. Like the tapping and whistling sound of the wind through yacht masts, or the wind surging like a soft sea through trees which we briefly caught on the walk. I could listen to those sounds for ages.

Following the serpent to Burpham

2007-05-12T23:59:00.000+01:00

Met Anton and we went to Marks and Spencer’s in Tilley hats, Craghopper trousers, Berghaus anoraks, proper Swiss walking boots. Anton was also sporting gaiters strapped around his calf. In his rucksack were Ordnance Survey maps, a compass, the first aid box and a nicely constructed baguette with bacon, lettuce, tomato and I think a dab of mustard.

My rucksack contained an emergency banana, a camera, information about dragons Anton had found, and the Bone of Contention - the small MP3 recorder which had so treacherously let us down last time.

Off to Littlehampton on the train. Today the weather was very different from when we walked it before, dark clouds, very strong wind and sun over a greenish and choppy sea. There was a moment when walking to our start point Anton suddenly felt really ill and wussy, and I thought the curse of the Dragon had struck again. However he felt a bit better after a sit down and some food. He had a snuffling cold and has not been eating properly lately. This is because he has lost interest in food now that he's teetotal.

This time we knew how to work the equipment and everything worked pretty well. I was checking what we had en route and was fairly pleased. We just decided to relax and be ourselves and for better or worse this is what will come out.

Not incredibly eventful walked up to Arundel (making it four times now that I have walked the particularly agoraphobia inducing bit) but felt pretty good. It was windy and a bit bleak, but this seemed much better dragon hunting weather. We walked inland as before following the undulating line of the river, and then crossed the bridge at Arundel and then Anton had a secret route, which led us towards Jacob's Ladder, which is the site of an Iron Age fort.

We climbed up the stairs and by way of an omen I almost trod on a lovely bronze coloured slow worm on the path. Slow worms of course are not snakes but legless lizards. A bit further on we were briefly assailed by a dense cloud of flies, and then we were into the eructational but beautiful village of Burpham. Burpham? Pardon? Etc.

Anton's destination for us, which was a surprise to me, was a nearby pub called the George and Dragon (from whence the legless lizard had repaired methinks). We had two good pints in there (Anton allowing himself a drink) before finding our way home.

Below: our slow worm. Anton by the Arun near Ford, George and Dragon pub sign, and a poster inside it.

A Discourse Relating to a Strange and Monstrous Serpent

2007-05-08T23:59:00.000+01:00

Up the hill to see Anton about dragons. When I arrived Anton was ostentatiously drinking mineral water, and declaring that he was now a non-drinker, and was refusing to listen to Anna because she had drunk half a glass of wine and was therefore unreliable. Anton's teetotalism has lasted three entire days, a fact in which he is revelling.

Much less annoying was that he had been to Horsham Museum and bought a copy of a just published limited edition booklet on Horsham's Dragon, which includes the "True and Wonderfull - A Discourse Relating to a Strange and Monstrous Serpent (1614)".

Reading it we learnt about "black letters" which is a type of Gothic-looking font which at that time was reserved for important tracts, bibles and so on. The Discourse was originally printed in that font, possibly indicating the importance of the news it contained. The dragon was actually described as a serpent, and we discussed this at some length.

Then sleepily home, with the dragon book in my man bag.

Blank for Special Messages -- curse of the Dragon Quest

2007-04-17T12:22:00.000+01:00

Before I went to work I was able to sort out how to edit material on the radio MP3 recorder. Turns out Anton and I had not recorded a single word of our Dragon Quest walk. It was blank. Discovering this made me want to boil my own head, or perhaps plunge needles into my own eye sockets. Especially as the only thing on the freaking recorder was Neil's voice patiently explaining how to use it.

The good news, of course, is that we can do it again, and much better the second time as neither of us were loving what we had done the first time. And when Anton and I chatted about it this morning this was the only way of looking at it.

Felt tetchy all day. Visions of our radio career in ruins.

The dragon quest begins

2007-04-14T23:59:00.000+01:00

Finally after lots of talking and no walking, I strapped on my walking boots this morning and Anton and I headed off by train to Littlehampton, which is a pleasant little town that Anton dislikes. We paused only at Marks and Sparks by the station (a.k.a. my larder) to buy sandwiches, and bottled water, and on the train we had to work out again how to use the sound recorder, as I had left the instructions at home. (At least I had written them down.)

Arriving at Littlehampton we bagan a futile search for a ferry which didn't exist. Finally we ask someone and, had to double back through town. We crossed the river on the footbridge and trudged the half mile or so down to the pebbles of the West Beach, where the Dragon Quest walk officially begans.

We spoke some words into the MP3 recorder and then began the walk to find the origin of the River Arun, as well as try to find the dragon in St Leonard's forest.

Our direction was due north, inland, past Littlehampton and out into the countryside, which is actually a flat flood plain of the river.

It was an extremely hot day, with a heat haze by early afternoon it was approaching 25C (mid 70s F) which is bizarre for England in April. We actually put on sunblock before we set off too. The walk itself was fairly uneventful, following the river twisting over the plain with Arundel and its Church and Castle rising on the hill in front of us.

It felt like summer, we saw a red admiral butterfly and several bumble bees, although most of the trees are only budding. The real action of course was Anton and I talking and recording ourselves. This is a steep learning curve and learning to relax around the recorder is going to be vital. I think we got some fairly good material here and there though. We'll have to see and get some feedback on what we've done.

I get flashes of a kind of agoraphobia which strikes mainly on the tops of bald hills and in the middle of wide and empty flat landscapes. I was quietly dreading this part of the walk which is walking on a raised riverbank surrounded by miles of flat fields. I was okay though for the most part, although had one nasty five minutes.

Was very pleased to get to the end of one such section, when Anton and I paused by the mouth of a disused canal and we decided to record something about this. I had the microphone and a five minute search revealed that I had dropped the dratted thing. We then had to backtrack for about 15 minutes.

Fortunately Anton found it. The worst part about this, of course was not the losing of the recorder, is that Anton will not let it lie. It also meant that I had to walk one of the most agoraphobia inducing parts of the entire quest not once, but three times.The rest of the walk passed on fairly uneventfully. We stopped in at St Andrew's Church, near Ford and this was a gorgeous little church, empty of people. We'd seen it surrounded by a few trees in a sea of bright yellow rape (canola).

Then into Arundel rising above the plain where we slaked our thirst with a beer and An Omen was revealed to us. One of the first places we found as we walking into town was a restaurant called the Millennium Dragon.

Below Anton on the beach and the start of our quest, the gorgeous churchyard of St Andrew's at Ford, me standing outside the portentous Millennium Dragon.

Starting from a fossil beach

2007-04-12T23:59:00.000+01:00

In the evening up to Anton's place and scarfed some Chinese grub and talked about the Dragon Project and peered a bit at the map. The first leg, which we are doing on Saturday, starts on a fossil beach, goes past prisons, an abandoned canal, two sewage works, the remains of an Augustinian Priory and ends up at the lovely Arundel topped with its beautiful castle. Should make wonderful couple of minutes of radio, and a lovely walk too.

Radio day

2007-04-02T12:40:00.000+01:00

Then Anton and I went to the local BBC radio for a chat and to be shown how to use a small MP3 recorder. We met Neil Pringle and Lanie Whiting of BBC breakfast team, and very nice they were too. Neil gave us some good, practical advice on what to record and what to think about when recording. Anton and I will do some recording on the first leg of the Dragon walk two Saturdays from now - and we'll see how it goes. It's all good fun.

Curse of the dragon quest

2007-02-19T23:59:00.000Z

Infuriatingly, I took a day's holiday today to start the Dragon Quest with Anton.

And a general feeling of wussiness on Sunday evolved into migraine. Woke up in astonishingly bad pain in the middle of the night. For a few seconds I was convinced I was dying. However once I was fully awake things were okay. Went onto the NHS Direct website, which works as a kind of triage system for hypochondriacs, and it told me that my headache was safe to manage at home and not call people out of their beds at 4:00am.

Ate pills and then tried to sleep again. Imagine my delight when the heavy digging machinery started some 10 feet away from my head a few hours later. Typical that the one time I've had a migraine since I've been in Brighton, it coincides with infernal, house-shuddering banging immediately outside my window.

Slimie matter

2007-02-01T12:45:00.000Z

Read more about Sussex dragons on the train coming home. Sussex was once a good place for dragons. The one in St Leonard's forest sounds disgusting: "There is always in his tracke or path left a glutinous and slimie matter (as by a small similitude we may perceive a snaile's) which is very corrupt and offensive to the scent..."

Concerning dragons

2006-12-31T20:00:00.000Z

Anton round in the evening with two large Ordnance Survey maps and print-outs from the Internet. We sat about drinking sparkling mineral water and discussing his ideas for a Dragon quest into East Sussex. Felt a bit like a scene from The Hobbit. This county does have some amazing history. The proposed route includes a fossil beach, abandoned airfields, an open prison, Roman ruins, castles, the sites of centuries-old forges and into St Leonard's forest, which was supposed to be a dragon's lair.

Anton had found a wonderful description of it from 1614. Apparently it spits: "He will cast his venome about four rodde from him, as by woefull experience it was proved on the bodies of a man and a woman comming that way, who afterwards were found dead, being poysoned and very much swelled..."

Will be sure to wear my Berghaus jacket with the hood down.