After a slow start yesterday, and wth no where booked to aim for I set off wth purpose through Monmouth. Stopping only for a brief two hours in a costa coffee to upload images.
I walked through sme of the oldest woodld in England, my magination leaping through the pages of Lord of the Rings, the spectactular open views ver the Wye valey replaced by the claustraphobia and intimacy of mile after mile of woodlands innerds.
Atfer drk i switched on my hedlight and carried on through farms, orchards and backyards(!) until at about 9 o'clck i dropped down behind one of the oldest, hollowedout, oak trees in Christendom in the middle of a fied(the 'l'is hell n this keyboard!) in Llangattock Lingoed. Three quaters of an hur later i stopped struggling Norman Wisdm (the'O's too) style with the new tent and sept n top of it looking up past the dark boughs above me at the proliferation of stars abve , my only fear, wking up in rain, or so I thought!
That dreamy state before lightsout had , in my mind, cows licking my head, foxes chewing at my ears, rats gnawing at my toes, and the strong northerly wnd ripping off my skin before a text message arrived from a friend that amost arrested my cardiac.

Next morning I walked non-(more than 5 min)- stop to Hay on Wye where I arrive 12 hours later at Russel's Seven Stars Bed and breakfast abut which more anon.