Day Four - Long Ashton to Leominster

Nurse ! Nurse !

A quarter of the way to John O'Groats and half my body appears to be protesting, bits breaking down or refusing to do what they are supposed to, so let's start Day 4 (Long Ashton to Leominster) with a ward round.

First, my eyes. At 6.00am this morning, it looked as if crude plastic surgery using a blunt mussel shell had been performed under my eyes. When I looked in the mirror, two brutal diagonal slash marks, demarcated not so much bags, as stuffed grey sacks under my eyes. It was as if I'd aged 25 years overnight. Or turned into Michael McIntyre.

I fear this may have been caused by having slurry sprayed in my eyes for hours yesterday as I cycled behind Steve. Either that, or the Sandman needs to wash his hands a little more fastidiously.

My ankle is hurting too; it's not too bad on the bike, but enough to leave me hobbling off it. Thankfully, I have a bag near my handle bars, stuffed with a veritable dispensary of drugs (it's the pharmaceutical equivalent of Pick n' Mix). It also works, so any twinge and I reach for the pain relief lucky dip.

Heroes of the day include Penny for a fantastic cooked breakfast, Ben Williams and Gregor Kelly for boosting my sponsorship total (you can find me at Mick Slatter at JustGiving before you ask) and a wonderful old school bike shop in Hereford that not only had the pedals I needed, but fitted them in a jiffy too. I've added a pic of the shop




- which has apparently been in the same family since 1952. It was wonderful (full of odd bits of kit in nooks and crannies) friendly, and deserves to survive despite the on-line giants. If you ever pass through Hereford, do drop in. Even if you don't need new pedals.

Leaving Long Ashton we crossed the Clifton Suspension Bridge, then the old bridge across the Severn.



Not sure how old it was, but it wobbled in a rather alarming way each time a lorry passed.

Then we passed through Chepstow, where the town planning has been going downhill ever since the castle was built ...... some time in the Dark Ages. Still, despite a strong challenge, it cannot surpass Bridgewater in Somerset as the ugliest town we have passed through so far. (apologies to any Bridgewatonians reading this - but I suspect if you can read, you are probably no longer in Bridgewater).

From Chepstow we headed to Ross-on-Wye and had lunch overlooking the river (Chicken Tikka bap, a custard tart and a bottle of Lucozade since you are asking).

Funny, cycling long distances is a bit like being pregnant (easy ladies - give me a moment). I don't mean the most painful thing that has ever happened to you, more that you start wanting foods you've never liked before. Like Custard Tarts. Clearly this is near nursery food for people with no teeth (or taste). Today, I was unable to leave the bakery without one. And it was lovely too.

After Ross-on-Wye it was Hereford and then a final push to Leominster pronounced - Lemster, apparently) where we are staying in the YHA. (You will remember I mentioned that the guests of YHA's are blessed with singularly peculiar habits ? ) Let me share tonights with you. A mere three metres from me is an eldery gentlemen eating alone (we are the only people in the lounge). Nothing odd about that you say, but he is not eating in the conventional sense, he is bringing the food to the rough vicinity of his mouth then sucking it up - its sort of Dyson-style eating. It is not pleasant.

Meanwhile, from the kitchen, his mate (I believe) is singing a mixed medley of songs from the 50s and 60s. I can't make out many, but I have managed to identify 'Mama, he's making eyes at me'.

It's time to leave for the pub.



Back from the pub; it was lovely. Perfect real ale, quirky un-changed interior and friendly bar-staff and a recommendation to get brekkie at Tony's greasy spoon; a plate full of fry-up and builders tea for under a fiver. The breakfast of champions. Should be enough to see us into Cheshire tomorrow.