Day 10 - Marlow to Windsor - Sunday 6 August

Distance: 14.5 miles
Time: 5 hours 25 mins
Walking Partner: Gillian Higgins (who will be walking the South Coast Way next week, climbing up and down cliffs and averaging 20 miles per day.... I am a mere amateur in her presence)
Accommodation: Barbara's B&B, Windsor (I'll avoid the obvious Eastender related jokes here..)

Today felt very long. Partly because it was so humid that we were dripping with sweat (try not to visualise that too accurately, it does not look pretty) 7 seconds after leaving the B&B but mainly because of the bane of the Thames Path walker's life... INACCURATE SIGNAGE (I know that all internet etiquette says don't use capitals because it seems like you're shouting, but I AM SHOUTING.) This poor mileage marking resulted in us believing we were vastly nearer to the end of the walk than we were and in having lunch too early - what can seem a near fatal error; it's a whole psychological mindfield you know.

My watch (specially purchased by gadget man Bill for the walk) was telling me that the temperature was 28.8 degrees c at 9.30am although I have to admit that I haven't worked out yet whether that's actually just the temperature of my wrist. Marlow to Maidenhead was a nice walk, past Bourne End and through Cookham. Maidenhead to Windsor though did leave something to be desired I must say. This was the start of the use of stony footpaths which, especially after hiking for ten days, is like have small elfins hammering with tiny pointed hammers into the soles of your feet everytime you touch the ground. And there was a strange smell of sun-heated urine (and maybe other even less desirable odours) wafting from the long grass verges - either the people of Windsor enjoy their al fresco comfort breaks or it was dog walker's haven.

On top of that, being Sunday, the whole of Berkshire seemed to have decided to cycle the towpath in the opposite direction to the way we were walking and they were evidently of the strong belief that it is in fact a Cycle path requiring little use of bells and no slowing down for any walkers who are in the way.

By the end of this long trawl we were not in a beauteous state. I was beginning to notice that when we passed by other, clean-looking people, I could detect fragrant perfumes and light and lovely laundry aromas as we shuffled past. It soon occurred to me that if I could smell them, they could, in all probability smell me and in all likelihood, I did not smell of recently washed laundry. Not a comforting thought.

Gill, bless her heart, was re-walking in her mountaineering boots complete with major league thick walking socks. She didn't moan once but I could tell from a slightly glazed look in her eye for the last 3 hours that he feet were being lacerated. All in all, there was a certain sense of manic relief when we turned into a field and the majestic sight of Windsor Castle towering over the river came into view.

Gill went off on her merry, hobbling way after a swift half in the Waterman's Arms and I went in search of my, again, long distant B&B. It was a very nice Victorian house and I had the only single room in the house which clearly in earlier eras would have been the scullery maid's room, tiny and at the top of the house. If I went in sideways I could just about carry my ruck sack in with me. Still Barbara's kindness meant I could put my clothes in her spin dryer having trampled them in the shower with my shower gel (I was determined to smell nice tomorrow!) and hang them on her line.

I went into Windsor for food and ended up having a culinary catastrophe that surpassed even my disgusting meal in Sutton Courtenay. I can't say I warmed to Windsor anyway. Loads of chain shops and restaurants that make it look the same as everywhere else even with a bloody great castle stuck in the middle of it and boy racers revving up and down the high street in the souped up Fiestas. I decided to buy a take-away and sit on a bench outside the castle to soak up the 'atmosphere'. The fact that 'Coffea' has a literacy problem should have warned me and combining two different European countries with a Spanish omelette panini was, in retrospect, bound to be plain wrong. It was the most foul concoction I have had in a very long time. Half a mouthful was all that I could manage before it went straight in the bin. In the end I bought a Muller rice pudding complete with plastic spoon from a Texaco garage and ate it in my room. I watched a programme reconstructing Scott's failed expedition to the South Pole and concluded that quite frankly he didn't have it so hard.