Secrets of the gut

A damp day with drizzle and occasional showers, but mild for this time of year, eighteen degrees. We got up late, having stayed in bed listening to Jim Al-Khalili on 'The Life Scientific' interviewing Tim Spector whose pioneering research into the diversity of individual human gut biomes is revealing remarkable new insights into the reason why some people can eat whatever the want and never put on weight, while others cannot control their weight no matter what diet they try. The composition of microbes in the digestive tract is a key factor in physical and mental health. Eating more variety of fresh food, and less processed foods is essential for improving gut biome health. 

Advocates of vegan and vegetarian diets have been saying this for decades, based on practical experience. Tim Spector's scientific investigation of differences in health between pairs of twins, identical and non-identical over their life span confirms practical wisdom, but goes much further in identifying particular organisms and how they function as part of the digestive system. It's a scientific breakthrough which promises new effective treatments for some chronic ailments.

After breakfast, we walked down to the beach west of the port. The tide was far out and we were able to walk on the table of bedrock that extends over a hundred metres from red sandstone cliffs containing long streaks of friable grey limestone, as does the bedrock. This is one among many places where the Jurassic limestone of the Welsh coast interacts with the older sandstone of the Quantocks, turning and twisting under immense pressure due to movement in the earth's crust. It looks like a cross section of marble cake.

We bought fish and chips to take home for lunch, such generous portions that I regretted eating too much for the rest of the day. We both needed a snooze afterwards and then went for a walk along the coast path heading east from the other side of the port, as far as Helwell Bay. Here the clifftop path drops down a steep flight of steps on to the bedrock table of the beach. There's a sign that warns walkers of mud on the bedrock, and to beware of the tide cutting off the path. There doesn't seem to be an inland path diversion. As the tide had turned we turned around and headed back, but not before we saw an egret in the distance, and heard a distant oystercatcher.

We walked out on to the eastern arm of the port where the quotation from The Ancient Mariner had been painted last Saturday, and inspected the work, made by a local artist, who signs himself 'Pat'. The sound of a train whistle in the distance prompted me to dash to the station, and take photos of the arrival and departure of the last train of the day towards Bishops Lydeard.

The in-house internet wasn't working for most of the day, but we were able to alert the proprietor of this, and he went off and rebooted the system. It worked thereafter very slowly, and for three hours it was impossible to upload the photos I'd taken. I suspect dozens of other holidaymakers were attempting to catch up after the outage at the same time. I needed extra patience to complete uploading the forty nine photos I took today. And then it was time for bed again.

Sunday walks

After some early mist, we had a gloriously sunny and  mild day, enabling us to sit outdoors to eat and read while the sun was up. After breakfast we walked up the lane that runs up the side of the Washford Valley, overlooking the old industrial site where the paper mill and a melanine ware factory once operated to reach St Decuman's Church for the Parish Eucharist. The benefice has recently become vacant and it was the archdeacon of Taunton who was the visiting celebrant, making contact with church officers charged with making a parish profile for the job description. 

At St German's this morning, the archdeacon of Llandaff is visiting and preaching for the first time in the parish vacancy. What a coincidence! There were over thirty of us for the service, in which we were given Communion by intinction in our pews. Well, that's a first for us!

After the service we went down the lane nest to the church to visit St Decuman's Well. It's set in a nicely cultivated hillside garden, with a roof covering a wooden entrance gate - a lovely touch. St Decuman was born and bred on the banks of Milford Haven waters in the late sixth century and migrated to Somerset, it is said, on a raft with a milking cow for company and sustenance. He established a hermitage on the hillside above Watchet and practiced a Gospel healing ministry until he was murdered by a notorious local villain in 706AD. In those days the realm of Celtic chieftains embraced both sides of the Bristol Channel.

We walked back and sat in the garden reading until it was time for lunch. I'm taking advantage of having uncluttered time to finish reading 'Winter in Madrid' in Spanish. It's slow going, but worthwhile.

After lunch I walked to Washford along the footpath which now occupies the trackbed of the old mineral railway line from iron ore mines up in the Brendon Hills down to Watchet Harbour. It's a five mile round trip. Twice I got an opportunity to photograph passing steam trains, but wasn't all that successful. I should have used burst shots to benefit from my trackside viewpoint of such a huge moving object.

I arrived at the cottage in time to accompany Clare to her daily swim, twenty minutes today, double yesterday. My walking mileage is up again to nearly nine miles today. I didn't think I'd ever get this fit. My right ankle is not giving me as much trouble as it did before, for which I am most grateful. I went out again before supper to photograph the harbour at high tide, and climbed up on to the east side cliff top for a gloriou sfull sunset view. The almost full moon was sitting on the horizon in the Quantocks as it reached to top. A truly marvellous moment.

I spent much of the evening uploading photos rather slowly. The internet is adequate, but not for half a dozen devices at a time. A large dose of patience was required before I could see the results of my day's shooting.

The writing's on the harbour wall

Our holiday cottage is in a back street three hundred down the hill from the West Somerset heritage steam railway line. It's like being transported back sixty years to hear the train whistle blow as it enters or leaves Watchet station, and then the perennial chuff-chuff sound as it makes builds up a head of steam to climb up the gradient on the side of Cleeve hill overlooking the sea. We heard but didn't see any trains yesterday, but today were in the vicinity of the station at the right time, first at noon to see a big diesel locomotive pulling a mix of half a dozen different style carriages towards Minehead, and then to see the last train of the day, being hauled by a big steam locomotive to Bishop's Lydeard. 

The sound of old style carriage doors being shut with a satisfying clunk also took me back to my Grammar school days, when I travelled to Lewis School Pengam by steam train for everal years, until these were scrapped in favour of smelly new diesel railcars. It was marvellous when the trains were in the station to gaze through the windows of carriages some of which had corridors alongside their compartments, others of which didn't, or had open plan seating. A rolling exhibition of post war carriage design, fascinating to recall, having lived through that era.

I walked after breakfast to the port and photographed the west side which we'd only seen last night in the dark. The tide was still far out. On return in the afternoon the harbour was beginning to fill with water and the smaller boats starting float again. There was something different about the east side port wall, which I had not noticed yesterday afternoon - an inscription painted neatly in letters large enough to read across the marina. It's a quote from Coleridge's Ryme of the Ancient Mariner, who wrote this poem when living locally.

I overheard a conversation remarking on the fact that it had appeared since this morning. Later, when I looked at yesterday's photos I could confirm that it was true. A remarkable coincidence that we should be here now.

We walked up a long wooded lane parallel to the coast road, hearing the occasional sound of a pheasant croaking in the undergrowth, and at one stage a bird flew up and over us into a field which it ran across for cover. Quite a surprise. The path emerged on to the road where I suspected it would, just opposite the gate of Watchet's fine 13-15th century Parish church dedicated to St Decuman. He was a seventh century Celt who sailed over from Pembrokeshire and was martyred here. There's a holy well nearby bearing his name but we couldn't find it. The church and churchyard are beautiful and in excellent condition. Much to our delight we found the building was open. We'll be back there for tomorrows ten thirty service. 

We went out for supper this evening at a small restaurant called 'The Cat's Whisker' just a few minutes walk from our cottage. We had a selection of half a dozen delicious tapas dishes to share between us, and ethos of the small room in which we sat was decidedly Spanish with a nice looking classical guitar on a shelf about our table and the music of Buena Vista Social Club playing quietly in the background while we ate. It was an enjoyable experience, and I think we'll be taking Ann there when she comes next week.

As I relaxed full this afternoon, I started to feel terribly weary, but didn't sleep for long. By the end of the day I found that I'd walked thirteen kilometres, a quarter more than normal, and feeling no worse for wear. Early bed in any case tonight.