Eltham

The town was nice in parts, and, aware of a shorter journey today, I walked around, went into one or two Charity shops – bought Orchard on Fire, by Shena Mackay

Opposite the church, I passed a horse-drawn hearse preparing for a funeral. And a milestone, dating from days when a pedestrian might have needed to know ...

Very few churches are open. Saint Lawrence, Sidcup an exception, though I am aware that the parishioners are really waiting to lock up after cleaning, doing the flowers, praying, or whatever. But they let me take my time – a crib like the ones in Cologne – and as we leave I explain what I am doing.

Very friendly, they see me hesitate outside this Caffe Nero, and recommend it.

I'm having coffee at 11 – an hour ago I was at Eltham Corner – since it is too early for the Sidcup lunch I'd planned.

Day two departure

I am the only guest at breakfast at 8 this morning – excellent service; full English – toast [white] Anchor and Golden Shred. They mostly cater for working people – their trade is helped by the proximity of the A120, along which I watch National Express and red buses heading south. This, probably, is the old pilgrim route, but I shall keep to byways and footpaths as soon as I can.

The Green, such as it was, it obliterated by a roundabout and a large MacDonald's, once a road-house, judging by the architecture.

The child is off to school, and is brought in to say hallo/goodbye – and I must set off too, up the hill to Eltham proper, the bus maps will be a continued reassurance in a largely featureless suburban landscape.

Pilgrim's Progress

[I kept an eye on the clock for this first day]

14.15 one hour into the main walk – the road changes its name to Evelyn Street

15.15 leaving Greenwich Park

16.15 should have arrived by now, but still in Kidbrook

17.15 safely on the last stretch – Eltham Green Road

Southwark to Eltham Green

On the day everyone else went back to school, I took my staff, my rucksack and my pilgrim's badge, and took the train for Liverpool Street. The idea was to meet Hugh and Ann on the train, and travel to Southwark [and lunch] with them.

But late running trains caused confusion, and despite mobile phone calls, we didn't manage to meet up till Shenfield.

We walked across London Bridge to Southwark Cathedral, where the walk was due to start. After a quick look round inside, I finally set off form St Mary Overie at 12 minutes to 12.

Across Borough Market, onto the High Street, and the George – London's only surviving galleried inn – for lunch:

George ale, fish and chips [ale batter] and spotted dick. Chaucer's pilgri

ms, at the Tabard just along the street, would have understood.

I left there at 13.15, watched on my way by Hugh and Ann. Past the queues at the London Dungeon. London pavements, and drizzle most of the way through depressed, depressing areas. Greenwich predictably the exception, the park deserted in the chill and the damp. Two mounted policemen just outside the north gates, letting their mounts have a canter as soon as they got off the road and onto the common ...

Shooters Hill and into Kidbrook, mostly posh, getting dark now, and took a wrong turning onto Rochester Way, eventually losing over an hour.

A lad on a bike asked me if I'd seen his friend, and then returned to wish me a Happy New Year. When I finally consulted a bus map – a very useful check on progress – I decided to follow the 286 back over the same ground, past the same discarded Christmas trees. I was tempted to take the bus to make up for lost time ...

The start of the short cut I'd planned, Birdbrook Road, had its name obscured by a sizeable makeshift shrine – soft toys and cellophaned flowers, messages like playbills – faded now in the dark and the drizzle, the accident some time since. Touching faith in the sacredness of that second when life was snuffed out, or a mute desire to express what can't be said, or just the exhibitionism of public grief: not just anyone, anywhere, though. Young, usually, and the pointlessness of the death – a careless moment, a drunk driver, whatever. Not at A&E, or in the hospice ward, or in the aisle at Safeways, someone struck down by a fatal heart attack between the soft margarine and the artificial sweetener.

The route down to Eltham Green worked well in the end, and I arrived at the Weston House Hotel about 5.30 to a very friendly welcome from the [?] Thai proprietor, plus wife and small child. He couldn't believe I'd walked from London Bridge, and nor could I really.

I've rung home, answered a text from Hugh, been out along the main road to find a Coop where I bought something to eat and drink, planned tomorrow's route and now I'm listening to a repeat of the Michael Tilson Thomas prom I was at on September 1^st last year ...