Those of you curious about my address will see that I live in a village called Baston. A glance at Multimap, or suchlike will also provide information that Baston is very close to the Macmillan Way. Close enough for me to spend the first night in my own bed and, by day thirteen, an object of furniture that beckoned with a curling, pillow-case finger!

Having left the banks of the Glen the night before, I returned to the exact spot the following morning and met these chaps. Cows, but more ominously, bulls, were to play an important role in the days to come. I estimated that they added a further two miles to my original course.

Woo-Hoo! Left: The last swampy part, looking down on ancient marshland just before Kate’s Bridge. It was at about this point that the earthy, distinctive canine smell of foxes wafted in. Previously, there had been little heavy vegetation in the form of shrubs and trees to act as protective cover. Now, leaving the Glen for a short while, the walk was regularly punctuated with this heady aroma. So much so, in fact, that it was quite easy to detect where one territory ended and a new one began. I never actually saw a fox on my travels, although I did see mink, weasels and the ubiquitous badger.

Middle: Obthorpe Lodge, having crossed the first busy road, the A15. You see that the path curls to the right and actually passes through the farmyard - another first of many such encounters.

Right: Almost another world. The pretty village of Wilsthorpe, with a pretty house price-tag and a pretty Porsche sitting on almost every pretty drive.