Our traditional morning fire, then a tour of the apprentice cabins before we packed up camp. The boys went back to the roof of the pool bar, we had already become shadows of the past, no use lingering. Farewell to Ben and we were riding towards the coast, Millar had warned a storm was coming. Up and down hills we raced the gathering clouds, they broke as we reached a town and we sought shelter and an early lunch. Triangles of sandwiches, a very English looking meal.

The rain stopped and we took our chance. We rode down a narrow road past a vicarage and a cathedral from a different time, the gulls began to call, we were getting close. Then things were looking familiar, we were in Brighton. We rode on to a shower and a warm bed.