At the end of Downderry’s shingle and sand, there’s a tumble of rocks and then a long beach stretching eastwards into the distance at the foot of the cliffs. Sitting on the rocks is a man with five raffish dogs that immediately start prowling around me and my partner, Sophie. A wet nose touches my bare calf.
Every long-distance trek has these decisive moments. The South West Coast Path has plenty. Should we stay on the beach, or take to the cliff? What’s the tide doing? And, more immediately, are these dogs going to bite my bum? It has happened to me once before.
