Within the confines of ‘exercise’ falls two types of people: those who can run with grace, and those who can’t.
There are pure, raw history buffs and then there are those whose interest in the past has been heightened and enticed by the onslaught of drama-infused and historically inaccurate TV programmes, circa Netflix.
The first thing you notice when you cross the bridge and the invisible, but nevertheless omnipresent divide from Britain into Wales, is the abundance of lush green, rolling hills and valleys, and the sheep.
The medicinal qualities of walking are well documented. A cursory glance over any classic reading material will tell you such, but as we soldier into 2020 is the concept of a ‘long walk’ suddenly passé?
‘Going to the seaside’ is a popular British rite of passage. Come the age of 12-14, it would be incredulous if you hadn’t visited or frequented the picturesque, balmy British coastline. Northerners might traverse to North Wales or the prettier Pembrokeshire. The Scottish stay local and go to their west coast. Southerners? It’s straight in the campervan, flooring it down…
I had heard glowing reviews about Cornwall. It’s the ‘riviera’ of England (a bold statement), ‘charming’, ‘whimsical’ and utterly removed the frenetic London life.