John North

"If he can be the first to walk 20 miles with nothing on his feet, I can be the first to walk 20 miles carrying a broom," says Geoff.

Though the brush could be a metaphor for daftness, it's more so that Geoff can do his John the Baptist bit - prepare ye the way, make his paths straight. Geoff's the sweeper system.

Imagine walking just ten yards over a pebbly beach, and then imagine 20 miles of stony ground. Bank Holiday, perhaps, but sure as eggs no picnic.

The Church Mouse is at Chester Moor, near Chester-le-Street, the barely credible route almost entirely down the A167, the old Great North Road, to the Cumby Arms at Heighington.

"I kept mesel' right until half past eight last night, then I had eight pints of Guinness," says Peter Bell, another of the walkers.

With the exception of Geoff, who's seeking naturalisation, the walkers are originally all Shildon lads. With the exception of John Robbo, we're all sensibly shod.

BBC Radio Cleveland presenter Ken Snowdon rings before we leave, asks John why he's doing it barefoot - "I couldn't do it on my hands," he says - and has a quick word on air with the column.

We tap him for £1 a mile, the first time (and doubtless the last) that we've been paid for an interview by BBC local radio.

John, a martial arts expert, has been training for nine months - at first by watching television with his feet in a box full of gravel, latterly by walking many a mile without so much as surgical spirit on his feet.

The "JR Barefoot Crusade" is to raise money for breast cancer research after Margaret Wilde, Geoff's wife, was diagnosed with the illness. Now she's out of action with a broken arm, after a fall whilst on holiday in Blackpool.

After 200 yards, a chap who's heard the live radio broadcast stops to hand over a tenner. It is to prove the day's only donation.

The first ten miles otherwise pass quickly and without incident, save for Alan Horner disturbing the rabbits on Mount Oswald golf course and the most extraordinary wailing - like a cross between a soul in torment and a herd of chronically constipated cattle - at, of all places, Pity Me.

Also among the walkers is Michael Coyle, a former lorry driver and Shildon wagon works man who discovered that he was diabetic and, unable to do heavy work, decided to further his education instead. Now he has three degrees, including a PhD.

You could tell he was a bright lad, mind, by the way he'd read Lord of the Rings on night shift at the wagon works. Most of the others just went to sleep.

"They didn't seem interested in the Hobitts," said Michael, now a latter day academic at Huddersfield University.

Peter Bell, who has an interest in several south Durham pubs - haven't we all, it might be said - was feeling a little liverish. "I think I must have had a bad pickled onion," he diagnosed.

David Beedle, partner in several south Durham chip shops, greeted us at Thinford roundabout with a chuck wagon that included everything from bacon butties to Boost bars.

There's a bit of a run on deep fried Boost bars, said David, although the kids prefer deep fried Crunchie. At the Tindale Crescent shop, passing Scottish lorry drivers demand deep fried pies, an' all.

John sit on the grass, picking detritus from his feet. It's extraordinary how many little stones, and worse, cover the footpaths, and how difficult it us to watch out for them all without walk nose first into a lamp post.

"People go on about taking dog dirt home and most do," says John. "The bigger problem is horse muck."

Near Ferryhill, there's nothing much on the pavement save for a painted injunction not to exceed 40mph; we reduce speed accordingly. By Chilton, one of John's toes is bleeding quite badly.

"It's all right, I've another four," he says, cheerfully.

At Chilton Club, where we look in for a refresher, someone asks if he's wiped his feet before he came in and David Strong's wife rings. "Just walking past Chilton Club," he says, in answer to the unheard question.

It's getting pretty tough for the lad now, uphill to Newton Aycliffe where he declines another stop at the chuck wagon on the grounds that if he stops he may never start again.

He's walking gingerly on the kerbstones, occasionally hopping on the grass in the hope of a little cool relief. Death by a thousand pin pricks may be the nearest equivalent, but he never once complains.

Mind over matter? "It's what we call 'Switch to custard'," says Peter Bell, psychologically. We're early, the reception committee not forming until 4.30pm, when a big do's planned at the Cumby. "John's having first dance," says Geoff.

Among the wearying support party, the conversation turns to why the human animal is so unsociable.

"Even dogs smell each other's backsides," says Peter, as you do after 19 miles.

Finally at journey's end - until Monday teatime, Heighington had never seemed like the promised land - there's a boisterous, balloon waving welcome. John - amazing feat, amazing feet - is able to carry in his grandson on his shoulders.

Next year, he reveals, he hopes to undertake a two day barefoot walk from Darlington to York, in 2004 to put bare foot forward from John o'Groats to Lands End.

As the shindig gets into full swing, Dave Strong's phone rings again and to the tune of God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen. For the amazing JR as for the last of the summer nine, it could hardly be more appropriate.

* John and friends hope to have raised several thousand pounds for the Breast Cancer Research Appeal. Cheques can still be sent c/o Mike Amos at The Northern Echo, Priestgate, Darlington DL1 1NF.

Among the other topics of conversation over those 20 miles of hard road was Shires Bar in Los Cristianos, Tenerife, run by Shildon lad Mike Gill (who prefers to call it Shearer's.)

We'd mentioned it a few columns back, tried in vain to find its whereabouts. Alan Horner's spent many a happy hour there.

"It's one of two bars he owns just a few doors apart," he says, "superb breakfasts and great beef sandwiches at lunchtime."

The bus station is almost opposite, the motorway at the end of the road. What makes Shires unmissable, though, is that it's built beneath a church.

"Look for the big illuminated cross," says Alan, "and you're certain to have found Michael's."

Phil Westberg, another North-East emigre, has e-mailed after last week's note on attempting to introduce Cape hake and chips to some of the region's fish shops. Phil's originally from Darlington. "So that's we why have a distinct shortage of hake in South Africa," he says.

...and finally, The Observer reports yet more problem for our farmers. Having lost his herd to foot and mouth disease last year, Mr Mason Scarr from Bainbridge, in Wensleydale, has returned from a sale in Norfolk with 33 Friesians.

The difficulty is acclimatisation. The cows, bred on flat land, don't like hills. "We have to push them up," says Mr Scarr, "but as soon as you turn your back they come back down again."

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