The first mystery of today was who or what had gnawed a lump off our camping cake. Whatever it was had shunned everything else on the shelves and chomped its way through the sacrificial end slice (kept to keep the face of the loaf from going stale) and this much of the rest. We’re trying not to dwell on the possibilities.

Yesterday was spent out towards Dover and Folkestone, initially enjoying a gorgeous day, but then eating our sandwiches on top of the White Cliffs while watching lightning spear down from ominous dark clouds over the channel. We also had a potter round some of the Folkestone Triennial exhibits, particularly the Folkestone Mermaid and the sea monster at the library. Tomorrow we’re going back to follow the Triennial seagull trail some more and possibly investigate this bloody great hill that lurks at the end of the Folkestone Half.

Today though, I have run in a desert. I’m reliably informed that the shingle landscape of Dungeness is technically a desert environment. It’s a strange and beautiful place.

I did 3 miles out from the new lighthouse, down the road past Derek Jarman’s garden…

out to the lifeboat station, back up the road, round the old lighthouse…

and then a bit of twiddling about to round up to 3.

Ginge is fishing, but as yet hasn’t caught us anything for tea.