Rosebud Farm Touring Park is adults only – caravans, campervans and the occasional tent neatly parked up or pegged in around the edge of the long field to allow maximum enjoyment of the view over the valley, the wings of the hypnotising wind turbine constantly spinning. My new bell tent is spacious, with only slight rain ingress!

We catch the number 96 bus, only slightly late, to the seaside resort of Rock. We’ve visited Rock a couple of times before, the first time maybe 28 years ago. Friends were getting married at St Enodoc Church. The quaintest little church nestled, and I mean nestled, in the sandy dunes of St Enodoc golf course. The bride’s family lived at Brae House, which we could see over the Doom Bar yesterday and I now note is marked on the map.

The bus deposits us and a few others at the clock garage from where we take the ten-minute walk to the quayside, the footpath coming and going, traffic whizzing past us. Grabbing a hot sausage roll and brownie from a café we sit on the quay watching young children messing around in the rocks. I buy a little orange pencil sharpener for my friend, Dylan – a birthday and new job gift, from the RNLI shop.

I’m wearing my walking sandals today, giving my feet a rest from my damp walking boots.

Through a car park the hubbub of the village soon gives way to sand dunes, a gently undulating path weaving through them, marked out by small, white painted concrete blocks. I spot Sea Buckthorn Hippophae rhamnoides growing in the dunes, its juicy, yet very tart, orange fruit not yet formed, but easily identified by its long silvery foliage and thorny twigs. I’ve not often seen this native shrub on the coast path, but looking it up now it is more common on the Britian’s east coast. I’ll get there!

Our sights are set on Brae House, sitting in the side of Brae Hill, it looks like a setting for an Agatha Christie mystery. It’s white rendered walls, slate roof and two white chimneys defined against the grassy hill and enclosed by windswept cypress trees. No longer the family home of our friend, it’s been converted into a very stylist holiday rental.

We follow the path which weaves like a ribbon between the sea and Brae Hill. It is a temptation we resist to take the path back across the golf course to St Enodoc church, but we have been visited more recently with our children and seen Sir John Betjeman’s grave.

A board walk leads us onto the northern corner of Daymer Bay, backed by a wire fence to prevent us from walking on the fragile sand dunes. Signs inform us of “stabilisation in process”. This end of the bay is rocky but bustling with people. Just above is a lovely sweeping lawn, called Greenaway, gently sloping towards the sea, where some have brought deckchairs and windbreaks to settle and enjoy the view.

The rocks below, uncovered by the sea at low tide are stunning. Black and grey stripes weave through them, looking ready to be chopped up to make mint humbugs. I spot the remains of maybe cowslip, the predators, namely little brown snails, clinging to the what’s left of the stems. Several of them. They need to find something else to chomp on now!

It’s a pleasurable easy-going walk along the grassy walkway, owned by the National Trust, called Fishing Cove Fields, which leads us into the bustling Polzeath (rhymes with breath).

Tempted again by the Beach Box café, this time I enjoy a fish finger sandwich. A brief rainstorm has us sheltering under parasols before continuing towards Port Isaac. We are hoping to catch a bus in a couple of hours’ time from around Lundy Bay and have Pentire Point and The Rumps to walk round so we up the pace. We pass a parade of shops and out of the town only stopping to snap a photo of a converted railway carriage, bringing back memories of staying in a similar abode near Pagham Harbour on Bonfire night maybe 2016?

We head up the steep steps on the clifftop where the last house has a Dutch style curved facia but from behind looks like any old Victorian dwelling. As we go through “Kevin’s gate” the landscape ahead is dramatic cliffs. My footwear is not the best and we are also walking against the clock, so my head is down concentrating on each step.

The rocky pathway is precariously close to the edge for most of the way to Pentire Point where we stop to pose for photos. Delightful clumps of Wild Thyme Thymus praecox with its dainty bright pink flowers cling to the walls alongside the faded flower heads of sea thrift. A little further on the Rumps are an array of grassy mounds and out to sea a rocky outcrop called The Mouls.

The route from here to Lundy Cove is easy going – a wide grassy path through a beautiful flower meadow, humming with wildlife. We then descend into a semi wooded ravine near Lundy Cove and thankfully realise we have just enough time to catch the bus. So, head inland and wait at an unnamed road junction hoping we can wave down the bus. Thankfully he stops and soon after the rain comes down.