Archie and I used to rent a house in Cornwall during the summer holidays. The Butter Mouse money allowed for a decent sized cottage with views of rolling fields, a garden, and ivy up the sides. These were days of fish and chips by the beach, and the cash to splurge on plastic buckets without concern.

Perhaps I have tried to be too esoteric with my walks so far. Journeys down flooded rivers and smashed up industrial estates are not necessary with so many beautiful trails around here.

So I decided to stretch my legs out, and visit Gleódreám.

The bent prongs of the fencing birthed modern sculpture. Functional metal twisted into aggressive, blunt artworks. Something powerful against a smooth, white floor.

After the recent noises in the shadows, I decided to head somewhere that had at least the possibility of seeing other people. This knocked out the most scenic locations. The business of Heplan Went became the obvious next choice.

I always appreciated fan mail.

Had a panic that this book was slipping into a production line of near identical country walks. I do not want chapter after chapter of rinse and repeat greenery, sandwiched by nostalgic waffling about a scarf wearing mouse.

You might assume the top of Stan Miere was a natural clearing. Maybe the lack of trees was odd, but not that remarkable. A fun climb with strange mushrooms, but ultimately a few steps in your ongoing journey.

Does anywhere have everlasting importance?

Emergencies are not something you associate with the English countryside. You might expect dire situations where scorpions lie under rocks, or bears snuffle at your tent pegs. But get a coat that fends off the cold and drizzle, and you can cope with most situations in the UK.

Rivers are the best. A hidden world you can plunge your hand into. A constant flow of change so calming you can fall asleep to the noise of the water.

My shoes came into their own on the second park of the walk. They vanquished any mud from the path, and I got into an enjoyable rhythm in the more open ground.

Moonlight is beautiful. An eternal cliche, but easy to forget. The guiding nature of the silver glow has lit the path of so much of our folklore. Reverse sunshine that helps you through the night, and illuminates our stories.

I have seen huge processed logs in the back of lorries. The cracked remains of a rotting oak from a lightning strike two weeks before. But this tree lies fresh on the ground, a jellyfish of roots at the bottom, green leaves still on the branches at the top. 

Goodbye Butter Mouse!