On the morning of our second day we left the leafy environs and Blackheath and headed south east past Chislehurst and followed a Roman 'slog' road which was straight and rose inexorably if gently for mile after mile until passing over the M25 and a final swoop down into Otford.
By some act of good grace Greg my walking companion went into a local church and a guy there gave us a lift up the forbidding slope to the ridge above the village where in the grounds of Lord Lyle (from Tate & Lyle sacharine fame) had built his manse, known locally as Treacle Towers.
In the grounds was a walled camping ground where fellow campers hearing our tale fed us goulash and hot chocolate. And with the last mouthful, came the challenge of pitching tents. Half an hour later and having restrained from turning the air shocking blue, collapse.
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