"Please can we stop here, Ed?" I panted, my breath short from stifling sobs and straining under the weight on my back. Two hours and five miles into our first day and I was already wondering why on Earth I had suggested this crazy walk. My back hurt, my knees hurt, my shoulders hurt and I was feeling miserable. We'd begun at Land's End at 1834 hours and darkness was fast approaching. A concrete lay-by off a narrow coastal road, conventionally an undesirable unforgiving surface on the joints, was looking very tempting as a camp stop. To me anyway. After much deliberation, we came to an agreement and so our first night wild camping was spent on the side of that welcoming Cornish road where I slept like a babe.

In hind sight I think I knew that I was about to take one step too many. Hind sight is wonderful, is it not? That ghost feeling of caution that nags you to take heed, but never succeeds. The steep, awkward descent through the brambles and ferns had been taxing on my knees and walking back up the other side of the hill proved too much. I felt the ligaments and muscle crunch beneath me as I stepped forward and I yelped out in agony. Finding I couldn't walk I threw my rucksack down to the ground in anger and kicked it, crying and swearing. This was it. Day 10 and I was out. We were out. Ed held me tight and consoled me as I wept bitter tears of disappointment. We resolved to walk / limp slowly into Challacombe and get a B&B for the night so that we could discuss our plan of action in comfort. Morale. Much needed at this point.

Hail? At this time of year? Surely not? Surely so. And lots of it. Bouncing off our waterproofs onto the now slippery pavements and roads leading into Warrington. The skies above were a schizophrenic saintly blue and murderous black and Ed and I trudged on, oblivious to the murderous black taking over. With a tight time schedule to keep to our destination for the day was 7 miles off and we were making good time. Spirits were high. Having dried off and stocked up on morale food at McDonald's we faced the elements once more. One mile into the six remaining miles of the day and suddenly someone tipped a moon-sized pail of water over us. The heavens opened: roads became rivers; pavements just poking out above the furious torrents. Our clothes, despite waterproofs, were drenched and we couldn't have been wetter if we jumped into a swimming pool. Lightning danced to the rhythm of thunder above us and those six miles suddenly seemed a much bigger distance. God heard my prayers though as a Holiday Inn Express sign glowed majestically ahead. No question. Ed and I waded across the confusion of exhausted windscreen wipers, tired lights and grey swirling currents that was the road to Warrington suburbia and squelched our way into the reception, where to our utter delight, a double bedroom was awaiting us.

Fact: It is officially impossible to verbalise, with justification, the panoramic beauty of mist-adorned mountains and bleak heather-coated plain that is Rannoch Moor.

"Wow". If Ed said this once, he said it a hundred times. I had to agree, wow it was. What sheer beauty, a truly indulgent feast for the senses. This was easily our best day by far. We felt on top of the world, and in such a remote place, we felt free and at one with nature.

Storm, our trusty tent, was neatly erected on a small patch of integral ground we'd found: Ideal for campers who enjoyed having the stars alone for company at night. It was ideal for us, however, we were accompanied by more than stars that night and this company was not welcome. Midges. 

Once into the tent we were safe. We killed the midges that had followed us into the tent and slept soundly. A still, silent night passed by. Morning brought with it more midges than the night before and for me, horrendous stomach cramps. I knew two things: 1) I had to get out of the tent, and 2) I didn't have much time. I pulled on boots, t-shirt, mosquito net and leapt out into the morning air armed with insect repellent. The midges were obviously hearty breakfasters and I could feel them tucking into my exposed skin: a warm, burning sensation. I rushed back into the tent, desperately wiping away the black dots that covered my legs. 

My legs were peppered in red itchy bumps for over a week afterwards. They are still heavily scarred now and I shan't be wearing a skirt for a while. Two good reasons, therefore why day 41 will always be one to remember.

A clear blue sky filled with hope and promise smiled down on us as Ed and I made our way through Wick town centre. Not just because we'd seen rain for the past few days, but because this was our last day of walking. Our last day of walking. I do apologise, I have to say it more than once to make myself believe we actually achieved this. I still can't believe it.

After two months where the days simply blended into one another, where John o' Groats never seemed to get any nearer, through injuries, through exhaustion both mental and physical, through ghastly weather, through everything, we were finally walking towards our last destination.

I felt my brain gulp in the scenery, gathering up as many pictures as possible for me to remember in years to come. I knew Ed must be doing the same. Each blink a camera click. I remember concentrating on the scent of the air, the fresh sea air, and focusing on the sensation of the breeze playing with my hair. All aches and pains had vanished today, my body was smiling.

We walked past endless fields, lonely houses, and saw the edge of the cliffs undulating to our right, guiding us to the end of the land.

Four hours elapsed and on rounding a corner over the crest of a hill we saw before us the North Sea, the Orkney Islands, and there, about two miles along the road, a small cluster of dwellings welcoming us. John o' Groats. We stopped, drank in the view and put our best foot forward.

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