Embarrassing to report that I made the same rookie error 2 days in a row. A passing dog walker assured me with conviction that the tide only came up to the rocks. But when I saw the giant full moon rise, I knew I was doomed. Yet again I found myself moving my tent and boat at 11.00pm to escape the tide.

I set my alarm for 4.00am to catch the tides the next day but then lying there exhausted, cancelled it, deciding to treat myself to a lie-in. It’s a tough call to make. I have to weigh up how much faster I’d be paddling with the tide, and if that’s worth sacrificing sleep for.

Today I felt I made the right call. Feeling rejuvenated, I set off at 11.00 across the bay to Hastings. As I paddled past the golden cliffs at Fairlight Cliffs, I forgot where I was, and could have been anywhere in the world. Daydreaming, I felt like I was still paddling around the Med. I confess I held some kind of conception that adventure in Britain isn’t as exciting as abroad. So I felt the strange sensation of remapping when the adventure rush swept over me.

The tide turned as I passed Hastings and the wind picked up, blowing me across to Beachy Head. Friendly green waves. There was not another boat in sight and I thought it strange no one else was enjoying the joys of the sea.

I drifted passed the magnificent white cliffs at Beachy Head, not sure who called it that but it’s not very beachy. Having not eaten much all day I felt lightheaded and my vision was a bit odd. Always concerning when so vulnerable at sea. The mental stress of constantly staying alert uses a lot of energy. But it keeps you alive. I think I’m perhaps a little too on edge the whole time so I’m working on my zen. Because those fears are constructs, and I’m interested in reality. The attitude that the sea is dangerous is drilled in to everyone in Britain, and I don’t think it’s the best one for keeping people alive, it just means we grow up scared of the sea.

I plugged on towards Brighton, the cold wind now blowing off the land. Honest miles, I hugged the shore, staying in the shelter of the cliffs. At Newhaven I had my first rest of the day. Sitting on the beach, I overheard the guys next to me ‘did you hear Carl got out early?’ ‘Yeah, he only had 5 months, the guy pulled the axe out of his leg”. People have such different lives. I left feeling lucky to do what I’m doing.

Back on the water I tapped past some reefs to beyond Brighton Marina, where I called upon the paddling community. At short notice, Nick and Tash were there to meet me on the beach. “You can camp here, but it’s a nudist beach and you may get peed on in the night when the clubs shut at 4” said Nick as men walked in to the sea with everything on show. “Or we have a garden house where you’re welcome to sleep”. Mmmmm, tough choice.

Paddlers know what paddlers need. I crashed out pretty quickly after lots of pasta and wraps, my alarm set for an unpleasantly early time the next day. Thank you to Nick and Tash for my first bed and shower!