goodrichard.com

Last time I walked the pier at Southend, it was cold and windy. Today when we walked the pier it was cold and windy. So, so windy. There may have been over three years and two seasons separating the two strolls down the 1.3-mile wooden walkway, but the weather was uncannily similar. We just made it back to dry land, literally, too, as the heavens opened just as we headed inside one of the seafront cafés for our fish, chips and mushy peas. With Katharine, Luke and Emilie up from London, we spent the afternoon winning at bingo, playing air hockey and strolling down the promenade before heading down to Leigh-on-Sea. An undiscovered jewel of a place, few would believe that Southend is in sight from the watery, boat-littered mud flats; two completely contrasting coastal resorts.

The last day of our holiday proper (if you don’t include the weekends), and the promise of good weather meant only one thing – a trip to the seaside. And there are plenty sprinkled on the Essex coastline, but we chose the stretch of sometimes rocky, sometimes sandy shore from Clacton to Walton via Frinton as our seaside destination, not least because we could potentially walk from one town to the other. That actually turned out to not be the case in the time we alloted to the task, and a mix of circumstances meant that we only got as far as Frinton, somewhere mid-way between the two.

Strolling on the shoreline path, the wind was fierce at times, but the sun was hot, shimmering on the sea to our right an catching the blades of the wind turbines in the distance. So hot was the sun, the side of my neck on which it was shining turned a distinct shade of red, proving that we have had something of a summer after all. The walk from Clacton to Frinton took around two hours (much longer than we’d anticipated), and once we’d got past all the beach huts with their sea vistas that litter the eastern Essex coast, we’d earned our greasy-ish spoon café lunch of egg, chips and tea.

Why only as far as Frinton, though? That longer than expected walk, which meant that we wouldn’t make it back in time to the car park in Clacton, running the risk of a clamp. So tight was time, we couldn’t even just stroll back from Frinton, without carrying onto Walton and then doing the whole route in reverse. So, we misguidedly bought train tickets back to from Frinton, and then realised that we’d misinterpreted the train timetable, and the next service was too late. Plan B involved the local bus, which to be fair, took us back into Clacton town centre – where we had to run to the car park – but we paid a steep £7.00 between us for the privilege. More (walking) speed next time.

Walking seems to have fallen by the wayside for us a bit recently, and we’ve been off the beaten tracks for a proper stroll for quite some time. Admittedly, there has been the odd one or two, but they’ve all been fairly short in nature and more of a stroll rather than a good tramping across the fields kind of a walk. So, this afternoon, after another sunny and sociable BBQ lunch in Galleywood, we put that right, drove the handful of miles to Ingtatestone, and walked the 2.5 miles through the countryside, past Ingatestone Hall to nearby Buttsbury.

It’s a route that Nik used to take regularly with an old school friend, and that in itself tells you how long ago it is since he last did it. And although the sun wasn’t really hanging in the sky and it was overcast, it still made for a pleasant and long enough walk, even though we thought we might have gotten caught out with a rain shower at one point. With fields of brown and dead-looking peas drying (we’ve since found out the Essex farmers are growing wasabi peas for export to Japan), the air was full of the sound of pods popping.

Crossing the little concrete bridge where the two school friends used to sit and dangle their legs over the edge, we could see the little church serving Buttsbury on the outskirts of the village. With an interior not much larger than a classroom, St Mary’s Church is not only old, but sweet with it. A mixture of brick, flint, tile and timber, the small, slatted bell tower looks out across the now combined fields, the same fields through which we tramped our way back to the car. With two dog walkers and two dogs (one a little more excitable than I’d have liked), we even had some canine company for part of the stroll back.

We’ve not taken advantage of the summer enough. So last night, we headed out to sit in the pub garden just before eight and walked to Broomfield, just north of Chelmsford proper. Strolling through the fields of corn, with a gentle evening breeze and the reluctant setting sun glinting through the trees, it was all rather idyllic and reminded us that we should make hay while the sun shines (pardon the pun), and take any outside opportunities while we can. It could be a long winter.