Chips, cider and the Daily Telegraph

It pissed it down as I put up the tent, and the only consolation I had was that I had picked up a rock outside Bures to knock the tent pegs in. But I stretched the outer tent too tight as I erected it, letting the water seep through to my sleeping quarters.

But I got it up in the end, sat inside and kicked myself for not bringing any food or drink. The longest distance I've walked for about 15 years and I forget the provisions. At least in the cadet force we had petrol-soaked Rolos and "Biscuits Fruit" (as opposed to "Biscuits Brown") in our Compo Rations.

So I put on some dry clothes and looked at the map again.

If ever you go camping in Sudbury, don't get carried away and think that the campsite is actually in Sudbury. It's not. It's a good mile and a half outside it, right on the outskirts of Great Cornard. Just ask for the road to the sewage works and you'll find it.

On went the boots again and I went for a dispirited trudge into town, just as the sun was setting over the church. Normally I would have taken an interest in the fact there's a statue of Gainsborough outside it, but all I really wanted was a consignment of saturated fat.

I got it all right. After turning my nose up at various unpleasant fried chicken joints I found a place selling those chips that, while astonishingly greasy, have the ability to suck every last bit of moisture out of your mouth.

But it was too wet to sit down and eat them, so I had to shuffle past crowds of locals cannoning from one boozer to the next. My favourite group was of a bunch of women on a hen night, all wearing deely boppers and t-shirts, which had sequinned slogans indicating their place in the herd. The most pissed off looking woman had "Bridegroom's Mother" studded into hers.

But then I had a stroke of luck. I found an offy-cum-minimarket, where I stocked up with four tins of Strongbow, six Price's nightlights and a copy of the Daily Telegraph. The candles made the condensation in the tent intolerable, but reading the Telegraph in a mild cider haze was a delight.