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@Bearlegged
Another oh-fuck hill or two, and some primo grav guided me into Clun, where I arrived to nightfall and welcoming lights shining from the windows of the White Horse Inn. Clun Brewery's Citadel ale is a cracker, but unfortunately its presence at the inn was not matched by the chef. I grabbed some pasties from the Spar instead, and set about searching for a spot to pitch my tarp. The youth hostel looked packed, with lights blazing from all its windows, and half a dozen cars. I tried the local recreation ground, but it was overlooked by several houses, and I didn't fancy meeting the local dog walkers in the morning.
Instead, I headed for a local church, and found myself a nice sheltered porch. No need for my tarp or bivvy bag here, which meant by the end of this trip I'd have carried them over 300km, and not used them once. Still, best to be prepared, eh? I wolfed down my food, and to ensure I could be up and away before any neighbours were about and wondering who the hobo is in the churchyard, set an early alarm. It didn't half give me a shock when it started buzzing on the bench next to me in the morning! I allowed myself a lie-in, but was still on the road before first light.