Cheddar is a place that looks like it belongs in a fantasy book, like Lord of the Rings. It's surrounded by ancient dark-stone cliffs and has water running through it in many places; brooks, rivers, streams. There are caves and walks, and the place is filled year round with tourists looking to see The Wookey Witch.

I travel out of the estuary, out of British waters, travelling west, across Ireland, Iceland and Greenland. Across the Labrador Sea, up across Baffin Bay, further to the Arctic Ocean and down to the Bering Sea and the Gulf of Alaska. It was there I travelled downwards into the water.

As I washed and dressed this morning I wondered whether fires are allowed on the beach. Over the past few months I'd been collecting and drying driftwood, thinking it might be nice to have a little fire on the beach to sit at and reflect or meditate.

The waves broke with a 'flop' sound, rather than a 'crash'. I loved that sound; as if the wave couldn't really be bothered to be a wave, but it forced itself to do its job.

I knew that this morning I was going to be 'paying for it' so after an extra hot, extra long shower, I worked some peppermint leg oil into my ankles, knees, wrists, shoulders; all the joints I could reach. I rummaged around for my 'workout' wear because I wanted that kind of support today. By the time I got to…