Dartmoor didn’t start well. The rain, six hours ahead of forecast, thwarted the planned walk down a river gorge. The landscape was rolling hills but they weren’t moorland; farm fields, the odd sheep. Not that you could see them. Steep banks, tall hedges, driving down a funnel.

The A road I followed South into the moor narrowed to a single track road every half a mile. An A road with passing spots. The B roads were worse, never wide enough to not need passing spots. I started regretting my propensity to find the less travelled roads, no letter or number. No passing spots either. I drove the same quarter of a mile on one of them five times, two of those backwards.

In four hours I got out of the car once, at a fuel station. That was after escaping the moor, near Plymouth. I swung back north there, found a sign to a nature reserve, spent an hour averaging 18mph before I reached another road with two lanes. Never did find the reserve.

At Tavistock I bravely headed back to the centre, and found the Dartmoor I’d expected, wanted. I still didn’t get out of the car but drove slowly, enjoyed the drive.

I should have photographed the rolling landscapes, the isolated hill with thunder clouds ominously darkening the sky behind, the ancient dark stone buildings in Tavistock, the arches made by trees lining parts of the road, the numerous pretty stone bridges and the burbling brooks they cross. I should definitely have photographed the pink sheep, the herds of ponies and horses, the mottled cow looking out from the bracken and the signing warning, “Road may flood” on a post below the one declaring, “Ford”.

I photographed none of these. Part of me knew I should but I slept two hours last night and another family sized cafetiere of coffee at breakfast hadn’t overcome the contentment of sitting, watching it all as I passed. I did photograph lunch, my final meal of the day.

The cafe does proper Devon creamed tea but I only wanted butter with my scones, and no tea. A sensible choice too, very filling even with no cream or jam.

As I left the cafe the rain came down heavily, and I opted to return to the B&B, see if I could catch up on some of last night’s lost sleep. A quick nap became three hours of deep groggy sleep, the skies stayed grey and the century’s longest lunar eclipse promised to stay well hidden from view. Worse, the dance I thought was on turned out not to be, so my evening’s entertainment had vanished.