Walked along the cliffs to Trebyn in scorching heat. We sat high up on the cliff top for several hours enjoying the breeze, but our meditations were continually disturbed by RAF Nimrods flying out from St. Bodmayne and then turning shorewards to fly back inland, a few hundred feet above the sea.
Back at the hostel we got talking to a man from Leicester; he’s cycling on his own on a round trip from Abbencaster, but apart from this we've had no real contact with anyone. At the hostel there's also an old Glaswegian who's on his own, plus the cockneys. . . . In the evening we wandered into Quinstow and listened to the preachings of a group of ‘Christians.’ We could hardly keep our faces straight.
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