England Coast Path - Clevedon to Weston

Marine Lake will be transformed if a Heritage Lottery Bid is successful

With our elevensies rapidly devoured and the sky getting greyer and greyer, we reluctantly hoisted our rucksacks onto our backs and set off again.

Clevedon is home to the largest tidal pool I've ever seen. Marine Lake is located at the far end of Salthouse Bay and from certain angles it looks like a huge infinity pool with the open sea as its backdrop. The pool opened in 1929 and was very popular until the 1960s when package holidays abroad took off.

For decades, Marine Lake was neglected; then, about ten years ago, its fortunes began to change as Clevedon Town Council and other groups began to recognise its enormous potential for sailing, canoeing, open water swimming and model boat sailing. Grant-aided repairs were made in 2012, and the outcome of a £980,000 Heritage Lottery Fund bid is currently awaited.

I must admit that to my inexperienced eyes the pool looked wonderful, but apparently there is a leak in the outer wall of the lake, which means that the water level drops at low tide, making substantial parts of the lake unusable until the next high tide.

The Marine Pool with Clevedon Pier in the distance

If the bid is successful (fingers crossed) the walkways will be improved, the paddling pool refurbished and beach huts and showers added. I think it's brilliant when historic landmarks like this one are restored and brought back into use and, if Clevedon gets its grant, I'd like to return to see the transformation for myself (and perhaps take a dip).

It's a shame we didn't have time to linger in Clevedon because I would have loved to have popped in to the Corrister and White boutique cafe to say hello to Diane (we worked together for years) and treat myself to one of her delicious cup cakes.

And so we left Clevedon, steering ourselves for a long inland detour (such is the slow development of a national coast path) and, judging from the colour of the sky, an imminent soaking. We'd barely reached The Lookout when the heavens emptied; within minutes we were soaked. In half an hour, we'd gone from wandering through a charming Victorian seaside resort in glorious sunshine to staring down at a muddy inlet in torrential rain. And my poor little toe was hurting badly.

The weather changed as we walked around Clevedon Pill

We plodded on, very wet and (in my case) miserable. A cycle path across the River Yeo at Tutshill Ear is proposed and will hopefully be in place within the next few years but until it is, walkers have no choice but to head inland (no hardship on a warm, sunny day but rather less appealing in the rain).

If anyone ever tries to convince you the life of an outdoor writer is glamorous, I can assure you it's not! Not in the British climate anyway. On days like today, with my trousers clinging to my legs, my hair soaking and my toe in agony, I almost long for the relative comfort of my old office. Almost. But no matter how bad the weather, stopping was not an option - our car was back home in Wales and we weren't exactly in the middle of commuter land. We'd have to walk miles to stop walking miles so it made sense to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Returning to the coast after a long inland detour

On we trekked, our spirits sinking lower and lower. Of course, we don't suggest that anyone else walks from Portishead to Weston in one day; in his book, Harri is splitting the route into two day sections: Portishead to Clevedon and Clevedon to Weston. It's just that we needed to cover the whole walk in five days due to other commitments. It seemed a good idea at the time... when we were talking about it... in the sunshine...

We finally returned to the coast near Woodspring Priory. By now, the wind had died down and it was once again sunny.Had we not been so tired, we might have noticed the gorgeous scenery.

Coast path walking proper on the headland above Sand Bay

The grassy slopes of Middle Hope and the headland beyond are coast path walking at its best - undulating grassy paths with gorgeous views across the sea and the dry stone walls that I love.

We descended to the northern end of Sand Bay, where a ladies-only running group enjoying an evening run made me despair that I'd ever be able to move that fast again (I think I was hobbling by this point).

Sand Bay is another interesting place. It was the site of one of the earliest Pontins holiday camps, opening in 1947; during its peak, it had 300 chalets spread over 17 acres. Several changes of ownership followed and the site has once again opened under the Pontins brand in 2014, though now it is adult-only.

In the 1980s, the beach was raised to prevent flooding; as a result, it now has two levels, one at the original height near the sea and a grass-covered higher level beach adjacent to the road.

Weston Woods lifted our spirits temporarily

Earlier in the day, Harri had told me we'd be entering Weston via a lovely woodland trail running parallel to the toll road below and I was really looking forward to this final stretch of our walk through Weston Woods (the trees were planted on Weston Hill in the 1820s by the lord of the manor to create a private game reserve, however 80% were felled during World War I).

By the time we reached said trail, the sun was setting over the Bristol Channel and my limp had become a mile per hour hobble. It was great to escape man-made surfaces for a while though and my mood cheered as I enjoyed the dappled patterns created as the flame-coloured sunset broke through the trees. A century after they were razed for military purposes, the woods are once again thriving and providing worn-out walkers with an uplifting end to a very long day.

At last, we descended a stony track and emerged in Weston.

The scary causeway that separates the open sea from Weston's Marine Lake

The very last hurdle of the day (apart from finding a chip shop that was actually open!) was crossing the very-scary causeway across Weston's Marine Lake (yes, another Marine Lake which coincidentally was also created in 1929). The causeway separates the sea from the artificial lake behind and has been an important part of Weston's sea defences for over 80 years (a refurbishment programme has taken place in recent years).

I don't know if it was tiredness or the fast-dimming light, but I found the experience so terrifying that I managed to summon up my last ounce of energy to rush across at top speed. Goodness knows, I must have looked a pretty scary sight myself, hunched over with a huge backpack and a pronounced limp!

It was 9.30pm when we finally arrived at the Premier Inn which was to be our home for the night... and it wasn't a moment too soon. Twelve hours of walking is pretty tough, even in a landscape renowned for its flatness.

And we had to do it all over again tomorrow!

England Coast Path: Severn Estuary to Bridgwater Bay by Harri Roberts will be published by camau in ebook format in August 2014.

England Coast Path - Portishead to Clevedon

The old docklands at Portishead have been tranformed into a non-tidal marina

A long, tough day of inclement British weather and mixed spirits (though sadly, not of the gin and tonic type!).

We woke at 6.30am to brilliant sunshine and the prospect of a pretty long day's walking. Harri is usually meticulous in working out route distances ahead of us walking them, however work commitments up to the last minute meant that for once he didn't have time to properly plot our routes so our overnight stops were planned using Google directions (and road maps). Not something we will ever do again!!

I'd also made another massive mistake... wearing new and untested thick (and cheap) walking socks with my trail shoes yesterday was a really bad idea as it left my little toe (a hammertoe) very sore and blistered. Perhaps understandably, Harri and I had envisaged that flat walking would be so much easier than the hilly walking we're accustomed to in Wales that longer distances wouldn't be an issue. How wrong can you be? Those endless hard surfaces, with not a dandelion-filled meadow in sight, play havoc with your feet. My poor little toe resisted being squashed back into the same shoe that had done it so much harm the previous day but with just the one pair of shoes with me, I had little choice. It was that or barefoot walking...

We popped into the Lidl next door to grab some of their delicious croissants (the chocolate/almond ones are my favourite) and returned to our Travelodge room to eat. With no inkling that we were about to set off for a 30 mile stroll in sunshine, heavy rain and (almost) darkness, we lingered over a leisurely breakfast.

The marina lock at Portishead... the tidal range in the Bristol Channel is the second largest in the world

It was about 9am when we finally emerged to what promised to be a glorious day. We paused for a while to watch two boats passing through the lock at Portishead Marina and held our breath as a small dog, confused by the open lock gates (and temporary disappearance of the bridge), came close to plunging off the quayside to the waters and mud below.

The first point of interest today was the Royal Inn, though I only realised it was interesting when we read an interpretation board at the top of the hill above it. I pondered dashing back down for a photograph but even the shortest hill becomes Mount Everest with a large pack on your back so in the end I didn't bother.

The Royal Inn's curious claim to fame is being the only seaside hotel built by a public authority during the nineteenth century (it opened in 1831). The hotel also featured in Isambard Kingdom Brunel's ambitious plans to make Portishead the centre for transatlantic travel. A purpose-built pier would enable passengers to disembark from the transatlantic steamship, the SS Great Western (his ship), staying at the Royal overnight before heading onwards (presumably to London).

It never happened. Rather than flourishing as a tourist destination, Portishead expanded as an industrial port. A deep-water dock was built and when a pier eventually appeared (almost a decade after Brunel's death) it was used by steamers travelling to Cardiff, Newport and Ilfracombe. With the docks now gone and modern apartments and restaurants lining a yacht-filled marina, it seems that Brunel's vision for Portishead to be on the tourist map might yet be realised.

Battery Point, near Portishead

We rounded the headland to reach the esplanade and lake grounds, an area we've passed before on the Gordano Round and liked very much (there's an artificial lake, a lido and children's play area). We meandered past Battery Point, the closest land anywhere in the UK which large ships pass. There are great views across the Severn Estuary from here and if, like Harri and me, you know the Welsh coastline quite well, you can have fun spotting familiar landmarks like Aberthaw Power Station and Nash Point.

The coast path between Portishead and Clevedon is well-walked and easy to follow. It also remains delightfully close to the actual coast, which is always a bonus.

It took 60 men 18 months to build Clevedon Pier

What wasn't so good was the huge grey cloud which was heading across the estuary in our direction... talking about directions or one at least, Clevedon's most recent claim to fame is providing the location for One Direction's latest music video (it was filmed on Clevedon Pier, described by late Poet Laureate Sir John Betjeman, as 'the most beautiful pier in England'). While not a fan myself, I can see that the arrival of the world's most successful boy band might have caused something of a local stir.

By now, we were getting ever so slightly nervous about the weather. The wind was getting noticeably stronger and there was that cloud... yet in the other direction, there was sunshine and blue sky. We quickened our pace, for some reason looking over our shoulders every minute or so, as if we could somehow outwalk the storm cloud that was chasing us (just like Jake Gyllenhaal managed to do with frost in the very silly 2004 film, The Day After Tomorrow).

Clevedon celebrated Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee with a grand oil-lit bandstand

If you haven't visited Clevedon, it's a great place with lots of interesting things to see (and an awful lot of benches). As we walked (for me, read limped) along the seafront, we passed a wonderful bandstand (built in 1887 to celebrate the Golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria) and a restored drinking fountain (also Victorian).

As I photographed them, Harri wandered off to find somewhere to stop for elevensies. Clevedon's planners clearly recognise the need to provide sheltered places to sit along the promenade - I couldn't believe my eyes when Harri found a row of benches facing away from the sea and protected from behind by a high wall.

We were delighted to find this row of sheltered benches on Clevedon's seafront

We had miles left to walk and the weather was about to change for the worse, but for now we settled in a (relatively) warm place to enjoy some Lidl chocolate (it's the best).

England Coast Path: Severn Estuary to Bridgwater Bay by Harri Roberts will be published by camau in ebook format in August 2014.

England Coast Path - Chepstow to Portishead

Setting off from Chepstow... where's the sun?

Our first day can be summed up in one word... bridges!! We might have been going nowhere near Bridgwater today but these man-made constructions certainly dominated our walk.

We set off on a blustery, grey day, relieved that the torrential rain of the previous day had stopped but fully anticipating another downpour before too long.

Our first bridge of the day was the Old Town Bridge at Chepstow. Harri's parents kindly dropped us off and, had the weather been more spring-like, they were planning to walk with us for the first few miles out of Chepstow. The threat of rain put paid to that idea and so we waved goodbye to them at St Mary's Church (the wonderfully ornate west doorway dates from the late 11th century when Chepstow Castle was built).

The first few miles through Chepstow were familiar as we followed the Wales Coast Path (the signage is much better than when we walked this section in June 2011).

Surprisingly, we seemed to be the only ones walking across the Severn Bridge

I'd been really worried about carrying a heavy rucksack for the first time but, whether I'm stronger than I realised or just packed wisely, the additional weight wasn't bothering me unduly.

I was childishly excited about crossing the Severn Bridge (the old bridge... pedestrians aren't allowed on the Second Severn Crossing). Building work started in May 1961, a month before I was born, and it opened in September 1966. There is a plaque on the English side which lists the names of the six men who were killed during the five-year construction period.

Half a century later, and with a second crossing just miles down the estuary, it's hard to imagine a time when people had to drive all the way Gloucester to cross the water or catch the ferry from Beachley (or perhaps travel underground via the Severn Tunnel).

Flat and easy walking along the promenade at Severn Beach

It's only when you're actually walking over the bridge that you realise how peculiar its design is (and the reason it frequently closes in high winds). At the centre, the part most exposed to the elements, the road is raised several feet above the pedestrian walkways on either side. I'm sure there must have been a solid engineering reason for this seemingly illogical decision but it escapes me.

We reached the far side - and England - windblown and cold, but in high spirits. There's really nothing like setting out for a long-distance walk, even if it's only for a few days. It's the promise of the unknown... the lure of new places and experiences.

Severn Beach is usually a lovely little place but at low tide and with threateningly grey skies, it didn't look quite as pretty as I remembered (I have mixed feelings about the rich alluvium silt that's so much a characteristic of coastal places along the Severn Estuary). Still, the walking was easy and much flatter than we're accustomed to in Wales.

At over 3 miles long, the Second Severn Crossing dwarfs its older neighbour

A few miles ahead loomed the Second Severn Crossing, which has an overall span of 3.186 miles and dwarfs the original. It's good to have a landmark in sight and for many hours this was ours; first, as we slowly approached the vast six-lane structure and later in the day when we'd turn around and use it as a way of gauging how far we'd walked.

The interesting footbridge over the M5

Our next few bridges weren't quite as spectacular...  we crossed the M49 motorway and then the M5 in quick succession during a long detour inland necessary to cross the River Avon. Then it was the 'big one' - we had to cross the motorway bridge (M5 again) over the river. We've done this before at the start of the River Avon Trail and it's such a high bridge that it feels a bit like being in a helicopter looking down on the housing below. Unlike the Severn Bridge, pedestrians and cyclists are completely separated from the busy (and very noisy) motorway lanes by a high barrier and the only vehicles you can see whizzing past are lorries and coaches.

The world looks very different from a higher vantage point

We reached Portishead marina at about 6pm, the perfect time for a day's hiking to draw to a close. The whole area was once a busy dockland; however, like many coastal towns, where there was once industry and grime there are now pristine apartments and moorings for yachts.

21 miles later we arrive at Portishead

Our feet were aching but we'd survived a 21 mile hike carrying heavy rucksacks. Just another four days to go...

England Coast Path - Severn Estuary to Bridgwater Bay

Approaching the imaginatively-named Second Severn Bridge on the English side

Whenever we walk along the south east Wales coastline between Llantwit Major and Worm's Head, we find ourselves pondering on the way the English coastline (opposite) creates an illusion that the open sea is upriver and vice versa.

The reason is simple: the Somerset Levels (scene of such devastating flooding last winter) are so flat they barely register on the horizon, so from across the Bristol Channel it appears the ocean is endless. Of course, Wales's mountains prevent the same confusion occurring from an English standpoint (although they frequently 'disappear' in low-lying cloud).

There's something appealing about exploring a place that's felt familiar for so long, yet remains unexplored and for us, the stretch of coastline between the Severn Bridge and Minehead - more than 110 miles - certainly fell into that category.

We crossed high above the River Avon on a motorway bridge

As always, Harri had a hiking book in mind. His idea was to link up the two longest waymarked trails in the UK - Wales Coast Path (870) and South West Coast Path - creating around 1700 miles of coastal walking. We'll publish the book ourselves later this summer in various digital formats.

The England Coast Path will eventually provide 2,795 miles of continual coastal walking, but well-managed access to all of England's coastline is still several few years off so we knew we were facing a challenge.

Our proposed route would start in the middle of Chepstow and finish in Minehead... and we had just five days to walk it all (the book will split the walk into ten days).

Harri's plan was to utilise existing waymarked long-distance trails as much as possible:

• the Severn Way - between the Severn Bridge and the River Avon
• the Gordano Round - Portishead to Clevedon (we've previously walked part of this lovely route)
• the River Parrett Trail - from Bridgwater down to the coast
• the West Somerset Coast Path - from the mouth of the River Parrett to Minehead.

One of the Somerset pills that sent us heading inland

We knew there'd be gaps and that we'd have several large rivers (Avon, Ax, Parrett) and pills to navigate (taking us farther inland than we would have liked), but on the map it appeared do-able in five days.

Brean Down to Minehead is earmarked as a priority for development of the English Coast Path (Natural England) so we anticipated that this section of our route would be straightforward, even if we encountered problems elsewhere.

So how did we get on?

Well... we've walked most of the route in our allocated five days. We had no choice but to stop at Watchet as we feared missing our pre-booked train from Taunton to Newport otherwise. That leaves us with the final eight miles to Minehead yet to walk.

The beautiful Somerset coastline with Minehead in the far distance

The route itself is varied but interesting, passing through Severn Beach, Bristol, Portishead, Clevedon, Weston, Burnham-on-Sea, Bridgwater, Watchet and Minehead, as well as several smaller villages.There are rivers (large), rhynes (reens to we Welsh) and pills to circumnavigate as well as motorways to cross (the M5 twice and the M49 once). There are promenades, marinas and beaches, piers, headlands and endless stretches of beach. There is even a nuclear power station (Hinkley Point B), although the diverted footpath keeps you well clear of the actual site).

Following the (lengthy) border fence around Hinkley Point

Some sections are breathtakingly beautiful, others boast interesting rather than picturesque landscapes. Like any coastal walk, some miles are a pleasure to walk, others less so.

Later in the summer, we'll return to walk those last eight miles and then we'll publish the ebook at camau.co.uk

For more about each day's hiking, keep reading this blog.

Making time to stand and stare

A blue plaque now graces the wall of the Church House Inn, Pill, Newport

Sometimes it takes the words of a dead man to make us slow down and reflect upon what’s important in life; what really matters when the layers of modern society and our consumerist lifestyles are stripped away.

Lately, whenever I find myself rushing from pillar to post, getting impatient in a traffic queue or just feeling stressed about life’s seemingly endless demands, I find myself mulling over the words of the poem  ‘Leisure’ by W H Davies.

W H died in 1940 and so copyright of his poetry has lapsed, which means I'm not breaking any laws by reproducing the poem here in its entirety:

‘What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care

We have no time to stand and stare.’

No marks for guessing what our favourite line is!

But seriously, I love the sentiment behind his words and the idea that life is richer when you slow down and start noticing how absolutely perfect the natural world is.

William Henry Davies 1871-1940

William Henry Davies, universally known as W H Davies, was born in Newport, South Wales, on July 3, 1871, an era where the world at large moved more slowly (though the rapid expansion of Newport docks undoubtedly meant Pill(gwenlly) was a bustling place at the end of the 19th century).

Born 90 years apart, WH and I nonetheless have a lot in common, quite apart from the same home town, family name (my mother’s maiden name was Davies) and the day of the month on which we were born.

We both had grandparents living in Portland Street, however while WH and his siblings were brought up by his mother’s parents, Francis and Lydia Davies, at the Church House Inn, I met my own paternal grandfather just the once.

And while poetry has never really been my forté (if you want to judge for yourself, read Rope Bridges) I absolutely share WH’s love of words.

But where I truly recognise a kindred spirit is in WH’s thirst for adventure, his desire from an early age to wander far and wide. Not, I hasten to add, that I’ve done anything like the amount of travelling he did. Neither have I ever slept rough or chanced leaping onto a moving train.

Yet the wanderlust is always there, simmering below the surface, unfulfilled in part because I have children and financial commitments but also, if I'm honest, because I lack something WH had in abundance: courage.

The poet was a self-proclaimed hobo (tramp)

He was young when he headed to America that first time – just 22. Yet, that’s exactly the age you should be doing outrageous things, travelling the world, and sleeping under the stars. Because one thing’s certain, if you’re not brave enough to throw yourself at life when you are young, you never will be. You've missed the boat. Our older selves will always tend to over-think and over-plan – we need itineraries, emergency money in our bank accounts, assurances that nothing will go wrong, comfortable beds with en-suite bathrooms. The list goes on...

As the publisher’s ‘trumpeter’ for The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp, George Bernard Shaw described WH as ‘a free knight of the highway, [who] lived like a pet bird on titbits’. 

The working-class poet, who had his lower leg amputated after falling from a train, was rather more blunt, referring to himself as a ‘hobo’.

I think I’d like to be the female equivalent, a free dame of the highway, with the highway in question a long-distance, high-level trail winding through varied, but always beautiful, landscapes. I can see myself now, legs toned and tanned, living on oranges and grapes, and just the occasional warm bread roll, always walking, always moving on.

In the magnificent Young Emma, WH gives a short account of the early days of his relationship and subsequent marriage to Helen Payne, thirty years his junior and a former prostitute. After sending the manuscript to his publisher Jonathan Cape in 1924, he had second thoughts about revealing just how badly he’d treated his doting young wife (he mistakenly believed she’d given him a venereal disease). He requested his editor return the manuscript and destroy two type-written copies to stop it getting ‘into the hands of strangers in about 50 years time’.

Fortunately for modern day readers, the copies were simply put into a safe and forgotten about until after his death in 1940. They were eventually rediscovered but Jonathan Cape continued to respect the author’s wishes and Young Emma was only published in 1980, a year after Helen’s death.

I recently read the book and the poet’s passion for the natural world is evident throughout. Eager to leave London, he decides to move to the countryside where he dreams ‘of passing more trees than human beings, and hearing more bird than human voices’.

Newport's 'Stand and Stare' statue by Paul Bothwell-Kincaid 

Though devoted to him, Helen/Emma never really understood why her husband’s ‘lonely country walks’ where he could ‘stop and stare’ were so necessary for his emotional well-being and creativity as a poet.

‘For while she was indoors, looking at the rooms, I was in the garden, trying to name the trees, and a dream of leaves I had: I wanted to cover the whole house all over with green leaves: around every window, all over the roof, and even around the chimney stack. But this, of course, would take years and years: and life would be generous indeed, if I ever saw that done.’

‘There appeared to be no ending to my liking for nature; whether a tree was so leafy that it reduced the whole heavens to a few blue eyes, or whether the twigs were as thin and bare as the bird’s legs that used them – it was all the same to me.’

Young Emma, W H Davies

Perhaps it’s me, but I find it slightly ironic that this passionate nature-lover, this man for whom time stood still whenever he walked in the countryside or woodland, should, in 1930, be awarded a grandmother clock by his townsfolk.

Time for some bench marking

Benches without views are commonplace

We’ve been rather grounded the past week or two while Harri juggles the day job and completes the writing of his Wales Coast Path guide (Amroth to Swansea section).

It’s particularly tough being indoors now that spring has finally arrived. Yesterday, the lure of an hour outside in the sunshine compelled me to clean all my downstairs windows. As for the rotary line… well, let’s just say I’m enjoying getting re-acquainted with my enviably skinny friend.

All this sitting around inside and staring at a computer screen has got me thinking about seats, or more specifically, about benches.

Anyone brave enough to sit here?

Benches have a special importance for walkers, particularly in verdant Wales where our bottoms tend to get rather soggy if we plonk ourselves down on the ground. We bought a small picnic blanket a few years ago (half price in Past Times) but forget to stuff it in our rucksacks more often than not.

Which is why, on damp, overcast days, we approach a distant bench as excitedly as Nicholas Crane cycled towards remote chai houses on the Tibetan plateau (he writes about his epic journey with his cousin, Dick, in the hugely entertaining ‘Journey to the Centre of the Earth’).

I remember walking the South West Coast Path a few years back.  Faced with a particularly steep section which took us from sea level to towering cliffs in one seemingly endless climb, we brightened considerably when we spotted a distant bench. Halfway up, our spirits plummeted again as a couple appeared from nowhere and claimed it for themselves.

A prime location on the Wales Coast Path (Pendine)

Such is the impact that a well-positioned bench has on a walker’s emotional well-being. 

With the humble bench elevated to an almost symbolic level, it would be natural to assume that special care and attention was given to its positioning. A lengthy comparison between one site or another, perhaps? Informal consultation with the local community? Better still, a quick chat with the local Ramblers group? You’d think so, wouldn’t you? The evidence suggests otherwise.

Probably not the safest picnic spot!

As our hiking experience has shown, benches appear in the most surprising of places with service provision (the service here being seating) ranging from overkill to sparse or non-existent.

You'll be spoilt for a seat at Llandudno's Great Orme

Like buses, they have a tendency to arrive in clusters. For miles there’s not so much as a stone on which to perch one’s derriére, then suddenly there’s seating everywhere.

The choice of location is equally mystifying. One would expect a bench to be placed close to something visually interesting – a gorgeous view, historic landmark, parkland or riverside – and yet we often stumble upon benches in the most unprepossessing of landscapes.

Another peculiarity of benches is their apparent ability to encourage natural growth. Walk along any footpath or trail and you’ll find that the vegetation inexplicably becomes thicker in the vicinity of a bench, often blocking any view entirely.  Stroll a few metres from the bench in either direction and the view magically re-appears. There’s no logical explanation for this widespread phenomenon (except perhaps hikers hurling unwanted liquids into the bushes).

At Llanrhidian, on the Gower peninsula, we were left wondering if there’d once been a nasty accident involving a public seat. The sole village bench is sited at the top of a grassy slope next to the church.

It’s a nice spot, but local officials were clearly concerned that ramblers who stopped to idle away a few minutes in this pretty village were an accident waiting to happen. Rather than risk a tragedy - someone rolling downhill like a giant cheese - they have thoughtfully installed a sturdy three-sided barrier in front of the bench.

Benches, eh?  You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.

WARNING: the most dangerous bench in Wales

So, if anyone reading this ever assumes responsibility for the positioning of a bench, I beg you to consider the following before taking any action.

Relax in the scented surroundings of... a car park

      First and foremost, please consider the location. No-one likes eating their sandwiches in a car park next to a row of recycling bins.

      

      Be sensible about quantity. While ten benches in close succession might make the installation process easier, it’s not terribly helpful for people who are walking a ten-mile stretch of coastline if all available seating is in the first half mile.

  

      Call me a romantic but a view is essential. When people sit down they usually like to look at something pretty, preferably at a distance. MOD land and busy car parks do NOT fall into this category.

.     Finally, do remember that it’s not only benches that need maintaining but the area around them. No point in keeping a bench in pristine condition if the surrounding land is so overgrown no-one can reach it. 

More on benches soon. In the mean time, where’s that picnic blanket?

Ferryside, where there's not just one bench awaiting you but four