Taking my dad back and forth to hospital in Plymouth , its nothing serious, just the ravages of time on joints and memory.
This stupidly cute village is about 6 miles away from the city, its called Newton Ferrers and exists in different forms on all sides of the forked estuary.
Its full of posh London types who have bought up the fishermans cottages and turned them into super, beach trendy thatched houses or green glass and chrome million pound apartments.
When the tide is in and its lit up with fairy lights outside the pubs, it is another world.
The tourist car park is tidal and puts a whole new slant on getting back to the car on time.
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A couple of posh locals were impressed with my mud riding skills.
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You can do a pub crawl at low tide using these walkways, but its a 1 mile round trip once the tide comes in.
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There are loads of lovely trails to the coast in the woods along side the estuary.
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This doubles as an extended beer garden and hilarity ensues when a drunk group decides to cross to the pubs on the other side and stragglers get their feet wet.
Living in a place like this reminds you of the constant movement of the sea, the tide is either going in or out twice a day and the huge visual difference it makes, watching all the boats start to float and the different parts of the village getting cut off from each other
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The main walkway was submerged and the tide was running at good speed incoming over it.
Of course I went for it, but it was a lot deeper than it looked, very slippy and rather deep either side.
Did I make it?
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