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THE SOUTHAMPTON HUNDREDS

51

Ari and I are walking away from Bude. And walking and walking. North Cornwall is enormous. We’ve been camping at Morwenstow, which has a pub, a church and the memory of its opium-smoking poet vicar. We see a faded handwritten sign flapping on a gate and have a miraculous cream tea miles from anything. In the twilight we nearly miss the only bus to anywhere because we are too busy bawling ‘Pretty Vacant‘ into the gloom. The only thing open wherever we end up is a Chinese restaurant that inexplicably has chicken kiev on the menu: so I eat that.