Free Country: A Penniless Adventure the Length of Britain

by George Mahood

  ‘You’re sick, do you know that?’

  ‘You’re the one who said you were going to roger her in the morning.’

  ‘Alright! Enough! Let’s never speak of it again.’

  ‘Ham, egg, chips and peas,’ said Siobhan the barmaid, as she placed two huge plates of food in front of us. ‘The chef heard what you were doing and thought it sounded very funny so wanted to spoil you.’

  It was our best day’s eating of the entire trip; a fry-up for breakfast, lasagne, chips and salad for lunch, and ham, egg and chips for dinner. We would not have eaten so well had we had our wallets with us.

  Only an hour beforehand, Ben and I had been hungry, homeless, tired and argumentative with each other. And there we were enjoying a huge pub meal and a beer, before heading back to our own little flat for the night.

  Life could not have got better.

  ‘Just got a text from my mate at the other pub,’ said one of the young lads in an England shirt. ‘England won 1-0. Peter Crouch scored.’

  Life got even better.

  We cleared our plates and finished our beer. It was nearly 11pm by the time we scrabbled our way back up the dark lane to Bramble Hill Camping Ground.

  Ben climbed straight into his sleeping bag and lay on the bed.

  ‘Night, mate,’ he said.

  My suit trousers were damp from a day’s cycling, so I decided not to sleep in them despite it being quite a cold night. I put on the gigantic ski socks instead that Annie had given us in Nanstallon and lay down on the mattress with two towels over me.

  ‘Night, Mr Selfish,’ I said.

  Day 6 - Michael Eavis in a pair of hot pants

  Walton to Bath - 27 miles

  ‘Morning, George,’ said Ben.

  ‘Morning,’ I said grumpily.

  ‘Did you sleep well? I didn’t wake up once.’

  ‘No. I slept really badly. It was fucking freezing. I had to put on my suit trousers in the middle of the night, along with all my t-shirts and my cardigan and I was still cold.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. It’s a shame you don’t have your own sleeping bag. Still, it looks like it’s a nice day today.’

  ‘A nice day for rogering Mrs Rogers?’ I asked.

  ‘Please shut up. You said you would never mention that again.’

  There was a queue of about five girls waiting outside the shower block, despite there being an empty cubicle.

  ‘Is the shower not working in that one?’ I asked.

  ‘Yez, it eez, but a big animal eez in there,’ said one of the girls in broken English.

  ‘What sort of big animal? Is it supposed to be in there?’

  ‘No! Eeeza animal with wings. It very scary. It go whoosh, whoosh,’ she said, making dive-bombing gestures with her hand.

  I was intrigued. A large, scary, winged animal had taken over a shower cubicle in the middle of Somerset. I had to investigate. I opened the door to the cubicle and peered cautiously inside. Whatever the beast was, it was hiding. Either that or it was a master of disguise.

  I turned on the light and a moth started to dance around the light bulb.

  ‘Is that the animal you are talking about?’

  ‘Yez, close door. Ezza evil.’

  ‘It’s just a moth. Do you mind if I go ahead and use the shower?’

  ‘You mad. But ok,’ she said.

  I had a shower, and then Ben did, and afterwards the girls were still queuing. I then caught the moth, using my BARE HANDS and the girls applauded me like a hero.

  Mrs Rogers was in fine spirits when we went to report to her for toilet cleaning duties. She didn’t seem to hold any resentment over Ben’s comment the night before, and despite our offers, she would not allow us to do any cleaning to repay the favour.

  We had high hopes for the day. We left Bramble Hill by 9am, which was a very early start by our standards. It was a bright, clear day and we both felt the most enthusiastic we had done since leaving Land’s End.

  ‘I reckon if we try and find something quickly to eat in Glastonbury, we could be in Bath in time for lunch and then who knows how far we might get by tonight,’ said Ben uncharacteristically.

  ‘Sounds good to me. I think we’ve turned the corner and started heading up the country.’

  ‘That’s a bit too deep and profound for this time of the morning.’

  ‘No, I mean it literally. Since we left Land’s End we’ve just been heading east but I think we’ve probably turned north now. Do you get me?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  We reached Glastonbury town centre in 15 minutes. Ben and I had both been to Glastonbury festival twice before but neither of us had visited the town properly. It was full of quaint little hippy shops, with hand-painted signs outside. Groups of people sat in the little square selling various bits of stuff or having a peaceful protest about something or other. The whole town had a really relaxed vibe to it.

  We headed for the Glastonbury Backpackers, which sits on the main square. As much as we were enjoying soaking up the hippy ambience, we were bloody hungry.

  It was 9.30am and loud music was playing in the bar area. There were a couple of people sitting around at tables, and an attractive Dutch-sounding girl was checking herself out. I mean, checking out of the hostel, rather than staring at herself in the mirror. The girl behind reception directed us towards the manager after hearing our request.

  ‘What can I do for you two?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re travelling the entire length of Great Britain and we’re not allowed to spend any money. We wanted to see if you had any work that needs doing in exchange for some breakfast.’

  ‘Sounds like a fair deal,’ he said without hesitating. ‘Are you doing an End to End trip?’

  ‘Yeah, this is Day 6, and we’ve allowed ourselves three weeks.’

  ‘You’re heading north, I presume?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’

  ‘You’ve still got a long way to go then. We get lots of End to Enders passing through here. Some of them do it in less than a week, but they’re insane. But then you two must both be insane, too.’

  ‘You’re not the first person to suggest that,’ I said.

  ‘All the floors in here need mopping, as does the floor around the pool table and in the toilets. If you do that, I’ll get the girls to sort you out with some breakfast.’

  The bar area was fairly long, but it only took us half an hour to clean the floor. I say ‘us’, but there was only one mop and Ben gave himself the role of ‘supervisor’, which involved muttering ‘you missed a bit,’ every few seconds.

  We sat on bar stools along the breakfast bar that looked out onto the square. Claire – the girl from reception - brought over two large cappuccinos, two fry-ups and a couple of newspapers.

  We’d only been travelling for six days, but we both felt completely out of touch with what was going on in the world. I’m a news junkie. I can’t go for an hour without checking the BBC website. I usually have the radio on, or the TV, and regularly read the paper, too. Since setting off from Cornwall, we had hardly seen a TV, had no radio updates, and I don’t think The Internets has reached the South West yet.

  I had thought I would suffer severe withdrawal, but I was coping just fine. In fact, I hadn’t missed any of it. For the first time ever, I had no interest in what was happening in the world. The front page of both The Mirror and The Guardian announced something that David Cameron had said or done, but I didn’t read it to find out what. Even the match report of England’s win the night before received little more than a cursory glance. I had become detached from the real world and felt no urgency to rejoin it.

  Whilst we ate breakfast, we read through the ‘What to take’ section in our route book – the excellent Bike Britain by Paul Salter - which lists all of the equipment that is required when attempting a Land’s End to John O’Groats bike ride.

  The list, which extends to several pages, differed just slightly to our own meagre belongings. Here is the list of everythi
ng you are supposed to take, alongside our actual possessions in italics.

  Bike

  Bike with racks – inadequate bikes, no racks

  Panniers and handlebar bag – rucksack and pockets

  Water bottles and cages – water bottle, yes. Cages, no

  Cycle computer – as if

  Small flashing LCD rear light – Tony the Tiger reflector

  Clothing

  Raincoat – no

  Rain pants (with elastic cuffs or clip for right leg) – bare legs

  Mid-weight fleece top - cardigans

  Polypropolylene underwear (longs and tops) – Union Jack boxer shorts (cotton, not polypropolylene, whatever that is)

  Hat – baseball caps

  Gloves - no

  2 T-shirts or cycle tops – 4 t-shirts each

  1 Pair of lightweight shorts – rolled up woollen suit trousers for me, cut off tracksuit bottoms for Ben

  1 or 2 pairs of cotton socks – 3 pairs of ski socks each

  1 or 2 pairs of lightweight longs – woollen suit trousers for me, no trousers for Ben

  1 or 2 pairs of cycling shorts – rolled up woollen suit trousers for me, cut off tracksuit bottoms for Ben

  Cycle gloves – what were the other gloves for then? Evening wear? No

  1 Pair of shoes – old trainers

  Sunglasses – no

  Reflector sash – this isn’t a beauty pageant. No

  Bicycle helmet – no

  Tools

  Pump - no

  Puncture repair kit - no

  Tyre levers – spoons in picnic set

  Spare inner tube - no

  Tyre patch or spare tyre – spare tyre? Are you serious? Where would we keep it? Only the ones around our waists

  Spare spokes – I have never broken a spoke in my life, nor do I know anyone who has. The only reason a spoke would break is because of the weight of all of this shit

  Spokes for the rear cluster side – no. What or where is the rear cluster side?

  Spoke wrench – no spokes to wrench

  Cluster removing tool – eh?

  Chain breaker and spare chain links – why would we want to break the chain?

  Spare brake and gear cables – no

  Spare nuts and bolts (including rack bolts) – KP nuts, does that count?

  Appropriate Allen keys – who’s Allen and why would we have his keys? No

  Wrenches, pliers, screw driver – No, no and no

  Zip ties – what for?

  Grease & lube – what is this, some sort of kinky shit?

  Duct tape – I knew it! No

  Small rag – that’s what trousers are for

  Miscellaneous

  Bike lock – yes, sort of. But not one that we could actually unlock

  Pocket knife with can opener – yes, in the picnic set

  Small First-Aid and sewing kit - plasters

  Plastic bags to wrap gear in wet weather – what gear? No

  Camera and film – It’s the 21st century. Get with the program. Everything’s digital, man. Yes.

  Toiletries and medications (including sun screen and insect repellent) – toothpaste, toothbrush and soap. What more do you need?

  Maps – route book, yes

  Compass – no. Asking people for directions is far easier

  Personal documents – no. Like what?

  Water Purification tablets or filter – this is Great Britain, not Ethiopia

  Camping

  Tent - no

  Sleeping bag – yes, 1 between 2

  Sleeping mat - no

  Small towel – 2 enormous beach towels

  Small torch - no

  Plate and spoon – 6 plates, 6 spoons, 6 bowls, 6 knives and 6 forks

  Optional Extras

  Waterproof overgloves and shoe covers – Overgloves? As well as the evening gloves and cycle gloves? My god, no

  Matches and candle – in case of a birthday party? No

  Stove - no

  Fuel – no stove

  Pot – no stove and no fuel

  Rear view mirror – it’s a bike, not a car

  Bottom bracket removal tool and parts – I don’t know what a bottom bracket is, so why would I want to remove it?

  Light plastic sheet with tent to cover bike while camping – awww, bless. No

  Handheld GPS – No, that’s cheating

  ‘Any idea what time it is?’ I asked Ben after we’d been sitting and staring out into the square for what felt like hours.

  ‘Errr... ,’ he said turning to look at a clock behind reception, which I had not made the effort to look for. ‘It’s 11.30am. That can’t be right.’

  ‘Oh, cool, that means it’s nearly lunch time. We’ve done two miles so far today. Somehow I don’t reckon we’ll make it beyond Bath today. And even Bath might be a bit ambitious.’

  ‘Oh well. This day is a bit of a write-off. Do you fancy going and checking out Glastonbury Tor? I’ve seen it in passing loads of times but never been.’

  ‘Yeah, sounds cool. I think we’re due for a break.’

  Glastonbury Tor was a bastard to climb.

  It’s a compact, but prominent hill overlooking the town, with a beautiful stone tower adorning the top. It was particularly tough because we had to carry our stupid bikes all the way up. If we had left them at the bottom, there would have been a chance that someone would have taken them. Our misery would have been confounded by the fact we would have been able to watch it all happen from the top, but been unable to do anything about it. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  The top of the Tor was deserted except for a strange looking man carrying a large wooden staff. He had long white hair and a beard and he looked like a character from The Lord of the Rings.

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Or should I say afternoon,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘Is this your first time up here?’ He was either just being friendly, or had tried a really bad chat-up line.

  ‘Good afternoon. Yes, it’s our first time. What a great view,’ I said, turning round and taking in the view for the first time. It was spectacular.

  ‘It sure is. It’s not a bad place to work.’

  ‘Do you work up here then?’

  ‘Well, yes. I’m a sort of unofficial tour guide.’

  ‘Aha, was that tour guide or Tor guide?’ I joked.

  ‘Yes, tour guide, as I just said.’

  He didn’t get it.

  ‘Cool. It must be a great place to spend your day? What’s your name?’

  ‘Rod.’

  Ben sniggered.

  ‘Why is that funny? That’s my name. Rod,’ said Rod.

  ‘But you’re holding a rod.’

  ‘Yes, I am. So?’

  We didn’t push it any further.

  ‘I can give you a tour and tell you some of the history of the place, if you want,’ he said.

  ‘That’s very kind, but we don’t have any money whatsoever to offer you I’m afraid,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, that’s ok. Just join in on my next one then. You don’t need to pay. I’m sure there’ll be some more people here soon.’

  Sure enough, a group of about ten other people did arrive soon after and Rod treated them to one of his tours. We lurked in the background hoping for some useful information, but it soon became clear that we would have learnt more about the Tor by guesswork, than from Rod.

  ‘You see over there in the distance…’ he said, ‘just behind that big telegraph pole,’ he paused while we all looked for a big telegraph pole. ‘Sorry, not telegraph pole, I meant hill. You see that hill over there? Well that hill and the one next to it are known as the Bra Hills. Because they look like a big pair of tits.’

  The rest of Rod’s Tor tour was completely incomprehensible and we learned nothing of the place’s history except that it had some connection to Jesus or maybe King Arthur. It didn’t matter, though. It’s a beautiful spot and it doesn’t cost a penny to visit, whether you are a scrounger like us, or an honest citizen.
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br />   Seeing as we were in Glastonbury, we thought we should call in to see Michael Eavis, the legend behind the Glastonbury festivals. It would have been rude not to. Everybody we asked, even Rod, knew where Michael Eavis lived, and it wasn’t long before we found his farm near the village of Pilton.

  We followed the long driveway through the farmland and up to the house and made our way to the Site Office.

  ‘Hello. Can I help you?’ asked the lady on the other side of the small office window.

  ‘Hello. This is going to sound a bit strange,’ I said, ‘but we’re cycling to John O’Groats and as we were passing we thought we’d call in and see if we could say hello to Michael Eavis.’

  ‘Oh. He’s not here at the moment. He’s out on the farm somewhere,’ said the lady. ‘And you just want to say Hello? Does he know you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And he’s not expecting you?’

  ‘Errrr, nope.’

  ‘Can I ask why you want to see him?’

  ‘Just to say hello really,’ I said, realising that I was sounding quite odd. ‘Is it worth us hanging around for a bit to see if he appears?’

  ‘Not really. I mean, I’m not going to stop you, but he might not be back for ages.’

  ‘I think we should hang around for a bit to see if we see him. We have come all this way,’ said Ben as we sat on the grass outside and drank our water that the lady in the office had kindly topped up.

  ‘We haven’t cycled all this way to see Michael Eavis. We’re on our way to Scotland, remember? But I reckon as we’re here now we should hang on for a bit.’

  ‘He’ll be cool when he finds out what we’re doing. He must get loads of crazy Glastonbury freaks who just come to see him cos he’s, y’know, Michael Eavis. He won’t mind chatting to a couple of normal blokes like us,’ said Ben.

  ‘Hang on. That’s exactly what we are. We’re just crazy Glastonbury freaks who want to see him cos he’s, y’know, Michael Eavis. We are just a couple of sad freaky stalkers, aren’t we?’