Another day, another Estuary Wilds walk. I’m booked in for my final ink session of the summer tomorrow - which all means that anything too strenuous is still out of the question. Walk to live, live to walk, etc.

There was an outgoing tide as I put in a purposeful stride and marched along towards the creek. The Colne mud was baking nicely and rapidly drying out. It looked like very thick brown custard.

Up above were some brilliant Big Blue Essex skies. There wasn’t a single cloud to be seen. I was however wandering lonely. There was no one else around, with just the right amount of breeze to keep me fresh.

This was all the perfect antidote to escape the political bullshit that was taking place elsewhere.

I reached the creek and then headed up around the back of Alresford. I startled the most stunning peacock who was flopping up and down on a roof. Or maybe it was the peacock that startled me?

I’d give this route 7 out of 10 in terms of scenic enjoyment. It’s an absolute stunner until you reach the creek. The lane towards Alresford is half decent, but then you have to dodge the cars on the main road back into Wivenhoe.

I know I can walk it like I talk it.

I rather enjoyed the Wivenhoe Town Cricket Club Annual Music Day on Sunday. I wasn’t sure at first if this was taking place. Facebook said yes but I didn’t see much else around the town.

I opened the windows at home shortly after 1 pm and yep, it’s deffo. It’s surprising how far noise can carry given the right wind conditions.

We rocked up at the Cricket Club ever so slightly fashionably late. I was also ever so slightly fashionably overdressed. I do like any excuse to get tarted up: Jase Wears G Force, right?

Which was all something of a shame as I would have gone for the face painting. I don’t think my urban streetwear Nottingham look circa 1991 would have gone down too well with a butterfly design across both cheeks.

The first task was to head to the bar.

Chin chin.

Some rather decent pale ale was sourced. This came very close to being ruined with a pesky fly hovering over my pint for the first five minutes or so. Be gone!

There were plenty of friendly faces around. We spent the first hour or so not talking cricket, but talking football. This should be an interesting season ahead at Broad Lane for the Dragons.

A little business conversation also followed. It seemed that the entire building team has been working on our house over the past six months or so and was also at the Music Day. It was good to catch up with them, although there was a definite difference in my level of conversation when I was three pints down, compared to a cup of builder’s tea each morning.

The wicket at the Cricket Club was protected, but not the outfield. It was pretty much trashed. And so was I by 3 pm.

We took a strategic position sitting at mid-off facing the main band stage. A sound check was taking place for the headline act. Given the length this took to carry out I was half expecting an Oasis at Wembley Stadium performance.

It was a covers band, natch, but they were bloody good. The guitarist in particular was incredibly talented and managed to hit all the right notes and riffs. SHOUT OUT to the metal version of Cameo’s Word Up, which I rather enjoyed.

So that’s the Annual Music Day for another year. These things tend to come around… every year or so.

Another day, another estuary wilds walk. My legs were itching for a run. I’m still in tattoo recovery mode and so ParkRun was out of the question. Instead I had another walk around the 10km circuit.

I stumbled upon this route by pure chance. It measures exactly 10 km from door to door. It is very pleasing for my OCD mind.

Also pleasing were the weather conditions. These were much fresher compared to only 24 hours ago. It’s surprising how quick the weather can change around here. It allowed me to have a brisk pace throughout the circuit.

There was very little company out along the seawall I as made my way towards the estuary. The main companionship was egrets. At least I think they were egrets. They might have been pigeons.

Another slight change from last week was the blossoming blackberry bushes. These went from a very fresh-faced green of seven days ago to a now slight embarrassed rouge colour. They should be ripe for picking within a couple of weeks.

The deck chair that had been placed on White House Beach has now been joined by a mini version. It looks quite cute. I hope this doesn’t become a dumping ground for anyone with some B&Q outcasts to leave behind.

I reached Alresford Creek. I saw a snake; at least I thought I saw a snake. On closer inspection it turned out to be a discarded fat shoelace, natch.

Always different, always the same, etc.

I returned to the walk along the trail early on Monday morning. I had a few errands on the other side of town. The mountain bikes are still inaccessible and so a walk along the trail it was.

This is the first time that I’ve been along here in possibly around a month. That’s the beauty of a blog. I could just do a quick search and Bob is your blog uncle, or something.

The little stretch leading away to Ferry Marsh is now completely inaccessible. The growth has taken over the entry gate leading on to the marsh.

I know that this was always the plan to try and let Mother Nature do its shit and reclaim the marshland. It does seem a little harsh though in blocking off human access. Betcha the birds and all that nature shit bloody love it.

The main traffic along the trail were the early morning runners. These were of varying abilities, ranging from those that looked to be in training for some serious endurance events, to those whom I managed to overtake whilst walking.

Mental note to self: The sloes along this route are already starting to ripen. Come back here in a couple of weeks to snaffle up a tupperware container or two ahead of a winter of sloe gin drinking.

Chin chin.

It was a little cooler this morning, although the big Essex skies were already starting to form.

I approached the University stretch. There was some loud music banging out around 8:30 a.m. I think this is to do with graduation week.

My chores were ticked off down at the Hythe. I then turned around and walked the less scenic route back past the university.

I was surprised to see Strava tell me it was almost to the exact measurement a 10 km circuit.

Another Sunday morning, another good old 10 km walk. I’m still in tattoo recovery mode. It may have been pushing 30° out there, but I was still wearing trackies with all my ink covered up.

There was a warm wind as I strolled out at a not-so-brisk pace along the estuary. The other rowing club were coming in to the sailing club hard. They looked rather majestic with an incredibly well-timed and synchronised oar action.

The mud along the muddy banks is extremely parched. Where you would normally not want to head out and stray along these parts through fear of sinking, you now have a cracked surface.

Out on the estuary distance I could see the sailing club yachts out racing. They had picked a good day for it with the right mix of warmth and wind.

In the AirPods, as ever, was Robert Elms on BBC Radio London. He dropped My Friend the Sun. I confess to having sung it maybe a little too loudly as I thought I was all alone walking through the shaded woods. I was caught out, natch.

A little further up towards the creek and the blackberries are starting to appear way too early in the season. Mother Nature is pretty much fucked around here.

There were some enthusiastic young bathers out along White House Beach. I was half tempted to join them, but my ink recovery mode means this is an absolute no-go.

I headed up towards Alresford when I reached the creek. I walked along the main road, past a man in black looking very much the North Essex persona of Johnny Cash waiting for a bus. He wasn’t exactly walking the line.

The final stretch is usually pretty hellish. It involves hugging the side of a main road and having to pull over into the hedgerow when a car approaches.

I had the brainwave of crossing the road to see what’s on the other side. Oh lookie, lookie over here. It’s only a footpath which has escaped my notice for the past sixteen years.

I blame the heatstroke.

A Likely Lads' score avoidance was achieved successfully on Monday morning. We were in bed by 10 pm the night before. Live the dream, Jase. Live the dream.

It was actually quite a revelation not being tied down to any digital or online nonsense. I didn’t touch my phone in over 12 hours. Even an early morning work shift was successfully navigated, in strictly sticking to the walled garden of the online work nonsense.

We watched the England versus Mexico match being played out on the BBC 2 7 a.m. repeat. I might have exclaimed “Yes!” once throughout the entire game. Sure, it was an enjoyable watch, but as ever I’m club over country every time.

The football was ticked off and a little early morning work was also done. Now time for a walk.

Having managed to avoid the football score, I did slightly less well in avoiding the heat. It was already 25 degrees plus out around the mean streets of CO7 at around 10 a.m.

Also putting in the steps was the Weird Wiv Walker. We exchanged a polite and almost non-existent hand wave. One day we will actually embrace, have a big sweaty man hug and celebrate the joys of Estuary Wilds walking together. But not this morning, Big Man.

The rest of the town was incredibly sleepy. People were either out at work or were still sleeping off the morning after the night before.

One old boy on a bicycle did come up from behind, so to speak. He was going at such a slow pace. I actually managed to outpace him walking along.

I headed down to the quayside. The Battle at the Bunting was in full swing. The Rowhedge and Wivenhoe Regattas may be in the distant past for another year. That doesn’t stop the bunting from being proudly displayed.

The dry dock was exceptionally dry. You don’t say.

A little further along the quayside, and the first full-on touring cyclist of the season slowly made his way past me. He was laden down with every conceivable part of his frame lumbered with cycling bags.

Chapeau etc.

A decent walk whilst I wait for the recent inking to heal. I was two minutes slower when compared to walking the same route a few weeks ago.

To the Regatta!… on Saturday afternoon. I tell a lie. I had already been down to the Quayside once to help set up the WivGigs stall. That’s my good deed done for the day. I can walk away now?

The wind had picked up slightly shortly after midday as I made my way back down to the front. These were perfect conditions for racing.

It was spot on if you were racing something which had a big sheet attached to it to catch the wind. Not so if you were bobbing up and down in a small wooden boat, fighting against the wind with two pairs of oars.

We decided to take a strategic walk from east to west along the quay. Or was it west to east? The heat does get to me and I get a little confused with even these basic local geographical positioning.

The first stalls started to appear around the old sailing club hard. SHOUT OUT to our friendly rowing rivals, Corsairs. It can be a right pain in the arse to organise these Regatta stalls. Corsairs had done a fantastic job.

Drawing plenty of attention was the human fruit machine. Young kids were lining up to hand over their hard-earned pocket money. A lever was pulled by the ankle biters and then three charming Corsairs club members made a swirling motion before revealing which fruit each one had landed on.

Similar to previous years, there was a pirate trail forming part of the Regatta. This is an ace idea. It’s mainly aimed at the young folk. The idea is that they head all along the Regatta stretch and pick up a sticker at each stall. It’s a crafty way of getting footfall from one end of the quay all the way over to the Sailing Club.

The pirate theme was taken a little further by one particular well-known house. It had a fantastic human-sized Wurzel Gummidge-style pirate. Wearing the head this year was everyone’s favourite fascist, Nigel Farage. Pieces of eight, etc.

My main contention with the Regatta each year is that I never normally get to see any racing. I made a point of correcting this. For 2026 we took up a position along the public jetty and watched as a series of Wivenhoe One Designs, some more modern dinghies, and some larger yachts making their way upstream. It was choppy waters out there.

And then from the distance up came Varuna, the second WivGigs boat. I had a brief conversation with the cox. It looked bloody hard work. She said launching had been something of a demolition derby.

We took up sanctuary down at the sailing club. This is a lot more chilled on Regatta day. I was tempted to hit the BOOZE, but with so many local people around I knew I would only make an absolute dick of myself.

Chin chin.

Cutting a lone figure down on the sailing club hard was one young chap who had been building his raft since early morning. The raft race is often the highlight of the Regatta.

He had taken innovation to a new level by customising an old wooden bed frame. There’s no way that’s going to float, fella.

We walked past the WivGigs stall and a few friendly conversations later and I had talked myself into talking into taking over the raffle. This wasn’t part of the itinerary.

I spent a pleasant hour however, rallying for the cause and doing my best sales pitch. I have to confess I’m half decent at this. I do miss my Saturday morning job working on the record stall back in Vicky Market.

The only downside was that Mr Punch was doing his wife-beating thing opposite us. To be fair to the big-nosed fella, Punch and Judy 2026 is a lot more acceptable in the modern world.

There was something of a star-struck Rebels moment when one of the leading men’s players walked past. I had been quite content to do my wheeling and dealing Del Boy thing with my buy a raffle ticket one-liners. I admit to being a little overwhelmed by seeing one of the Rebs walk past looking an absolute dude.

The raft race was about to begin down by the old hard. I made my excuses and left the WivGigs stall. It was absolute chaos down there. It’s always absolute chaos for the raft race when launching.

To my surprise the floating bed was actually floating. It was also doing rather well, coming in a decent second in the very short form course. I’m not sure why but the cop boat was also circling the various rafts.

It all got a little too much for one young lady standing next to me. She had something of a box park football scene. Rather than chucking her pint of lager in the air in celebration, she let slip with her glass of red. No worries Madam, but it did land all over my immaculately OCD clean Vans trainers. I went home in a sulk.

Regatta Day. Always fun, yeah?

I had a little extra time to spare on Saturday morning, in between table tennis and helping to set up the Wiv Gigs stall for the regatta.

A few simple calculations regarding distance, time and my energy and yep, I was free for a 40-minute or so walk through the woods and back along the quay. Job’s a good ‘un.

Some welcome shade was available as I made my way through the woods. The ground was bone dry.

It’s been a while since I’ve walked through the woods. I crossed at the railway track, I then headed back up the trail.

It’s been even longer since I made my way along the trail. I’m still pretty much without any bicycle access as the shed is blocked off with scaffolding.

There were more cyclists than walkers out along the trail on Saturday morning. Hopefully I will be able to join them in a few weeks’ time.

To the Church… on Friday evening. Steady the buffers, Jase. It takes quite a lot to actually get me inside the church. Thankfully I remained on the outside for the evening’s entertainment.

On the agenda was the Weird Wiv Shakespeare Company and their summer performance of Richard II. This can be a tricky text. It all gets lost in the mix for me: historical plays, tragedies, comedy.

No worries. A quick shifty online the night before and we watched a five minute YouTube catch-up of the plot. It was animated and mixed in Jacobean costume with Roman figures. I fear the content was purely straight out of the confused mind of an AI machine. It didn’t really help me in trying to prepare for what was to follow.

We rocked up outside the church, surprisingly on time for once. We were greeted by the very friendly front-of-house staff. I was tarted up. But OF COURSE I was tarted up. I’m always tarted up.

One of the front-of-house team joked (I think?) that I would fit in well. My choice of attire for the evening was of a similar theme for the cast. Oh dear.

The setting was just perfect. The main stage was set up within one corner of the two church walls. There were two lighting towers for later on during the performance.

The chattering and excitement ahead of the performance soon died down, and then we were straight in ass a rather Withnail inspired Richard started to pounce around and hold centre court. He was bloody ace.

The costume observation was spot on. It was still early evening sunlight. I was hoping for a rapid shift towards sunset to help disguise my costume clash. Talk about immersive theatre etc. Even some of the main characters had tattoo sleeves.

The YouTube video beforehand was so so. It certainly helped me to follow the general thrust of the play. As ever with Shakespeare, I just sit back and take in the language and some of the interpersonal battles taking place.

I don’t think I was alone in rooting for Harry of Bolingbroke from the start. It was all going rather well for the protagonist character until it was let slip that he was also the Earl of Derby. I had some Pavlovian desire to stand up and shout out some obscenities towards him.

The performances by a very local cast were superb. This was a very professional production, albeit put on by amateurs.

As well as Bolingbroke, there were some strong performances from King Richard as well as Jon of Gaunt. My penny-pinching ways meant I didn’t extend to buying a programme to give local people a name check, but you know who you are. All the cast was spot-on.

The complexities of the plot were even followed, despite the sound of a couple munching rather heavily behind us. If anything it added to the suspense of the evening.

SHOUT OUT to the local dog walker who decided to parade his bonzo right through the churchyard mid-performance, oblivious to what was taking place around him.

A brief interval followed. We had a leg stretch. We turned a blind eye when we caught one of the cast members having a crafty fag at the back of the church. It was well deserved.

And then the final part of the play was an absolute romp. King Richard descended from Withnail comedy to Withnail tragedy. Bolingbroke bounced around and was boisterous, cocksure in that the kingdom was his.

I don’t think I was alone in noticing the symbolism of a King of the North seizing power from some poncey twat down in the south.

A spectacular evening.

An afternoon of Mad Dog Walking around the Estuary Wilds. Strolling with my best foot forward at midday under balmy conditions shows the current state of my mentality. Don’t be a dick, Jase. But I was and so I kept on walking.

Down by the quayside the regatta preparations for tomorrow were well underway. Bunting is hanging from every conceivable hanging point. It looks rather pretty, albeit a little jingoistic.

Past the sailing club and a warm wind started to develop. The sea wall path was rather busy for a Friday morning. This included a peloton of electric mountain bike riders.

The tide was slowly, slowly starting to creep in. I was joined a little further towards the creek by the most magnificent collection of dancing butterflies around my knees.

I reached the creek. There was a middle-aged couple sitting on one of the benches, both engrossed in their own books. Parked nearby was an MG sports car. They had picked the perfect spot to escape and lose themselves in their books.

I turned around at Alresford and headed back along by the side of the town. It was bin day collection over in Alresford. It bloody stank in the developing heat.

I reached Wivenhoe for the final leg of my walk. The Wivenhoe Walker was out doing his walking thing. I wonder if people blog elsewhere and refer to me as the Wivenhoe Walker?

Live to walk, walk to live, or something.