Following a night of disturbed sleep in the fetid dormitory of the execrable Adventure Backpackers Hostel in Dover (to be avoided at all costs), I left my heavy rucksack in a locker and walked past early morning swimmers to the station for the train back to Shepherdswell.
In the visitors’ book at the church in Shepherdswell, I saw that I was the second pilgrim to pass this way today (Veronique must be a short distance ahead – I didn’t catch up with her) and there was an Italian pilgrim yesterday.
My phone recommended a route along the road but I took footpaths, which allowed me to run through fields of wheat, like a former prime minister.
I reached the hostel again shortly after 1pm and decided to cut my losses and jump on a ferry, which is where I am writing this. In Calais, I have booked a hotel with points which is certain to be better than the bed that I left behind.