The road goes on forever

Up early to set off for a wonderful day's walking with Anton. Got to West Hoathly , to begin again from our last stopping point, the Cat Inn. Today we headed broadly eastwards, walking most of the way across the OS map to a village called Groombridge, straddling the Kent border. We skirted the Weir Wood Reservoir and then had a hobbit's second lunch in the village of Forest Row, under a plaque which told of President Kennedy's visit on 1963. Our last two hours were a straightforward 8 miles along a disused railway line, which is now a cyclists' and walkers' highway through East Sussex.

Beautiful spring day, although many of the tracks were bootsuckingly muddy, especially around the reservoir. We walked through woodland often carpeted with bluebells, and the edges of fields adorned with primroses. Lots of rabbits about, and we saw a herd of deer, which Anton thought were a pack of Alsatians at first, a fox streaking red through a lush field full of sheep and lambs. I was made to walk quickly as Anton became concerned that we'd be attacked by "big mother sheep" as we walked among them and their lambs. Miraculously, we emerged unscathed.

We walked from about 10:20 to 5:30 with two ten minute breaks, and were pretty stiff and footsore by the end. But there had been plenty to divert us, loads to catch up and hear about - including all about Anton's three weeks in Australia. Lorraine thoughtfully texted me during our walk with news of Chelsea's win over Manchester United, which because Anton is a Manchester United supporter, we discussed in some detail as we walked.

Both very happy but stiff and footsore by the time we reached Groombridge, dreaming of a cold beer. Anton had this brilliant idea of catching the Spa Valley Railway to Tunbridge Wells and having our post walk pint aboard this. However there was a wedding party on board the old train so there were no boozes for us.

Our carriage, however, was entirely full of trainspotters, and it was like stepping back into the 1930s, complete with four young lads from the village bunking their fares in Just William mode. The train chugged slowly through the countryside, with spotters everywhere: standing in the middle of lonely country fields, and clustered on platforms to film and photograph the progress of our train.

The train line has several volunteers staffing it. One of whom was about sixteen who was clearly loving his role, handing change back to Anton with a "here you are young sir". Arriving at Tunbridge Wells, shortly after a large explosion from under the train just outside (not sure what this was, but the on-board spotters were all discussing it knowledgeably) we clambered stiffly out, and hardly able to walk, crept into town.

Just then a bus appeared to Brighton. We hobbled for this and, as I was collecting the tickets, I asked how long the journey would take. Turned out it was about an hour and three quarters. So we got something of a scenic view of the county. Eventually we arrived in Brighton and crept up Trafalgar street and finally had our post walk beer in the Battle of Trafalgar, where we were joined by Lorraine.

Home, and enjoyed watching Chelsea on Match of the Day, while refuelling on takeaway Chinese noodles and ribs.

Below a dog headed rock, lambs, primroses, and a much-photographed train.