Liverpool

My host for the weekend meets me at the station. He's an Irish Pagan (I think) and wears a green hat with a feather in. He takes me to the gardens below the cathedral - there's a spring here, and we wait our turn before filling up our water bottles. I drink directly from the spring and wash my face. Then we're up to the Cathedral.

I knew it was big. I didn't realise it was THAT big. I'm not sure about it. It feels very smooth. Very big, very empty. Very new. I struggle in churches full of tourists though. I think my ability to sit and be moved is based in either absolute silence (excluding the birds, the wind in the trees, bodies of water) or in a group of people sitting together with intention. Lady chapels are almost invariably better for this.

We visit St Luke's, (the bombed out church) which is being set up for a wedding, and then he's feeling a bit churched out, so we decide to visit the Catholic Cathedral the next day. We meet his partner from work and head for a drink.

I'm given a good chippy tea, which largely consists of noodles, and is very greasy and yummy. I'm told we'll get an 'early start' in the morning.

I love these people I'm staying with very much, but waking up at 9, and leaving the house at midday, is certainly not an early start. We do have bacon and eggs for breakfast though, so I can't complain.

We head out to the Catholic Cathedral, which is absolutely breathtaking. Rich blue light, and I love circles. Gathering in circles is a good way to do church, I think. But then my home church, physically, was a circular configuration of benches, chairs, or just sitting on the ground around a central point. More circular architecture in general would be good, but I guess you can't fit things together so easily that way. Maybe we learn from the bees.

They have a stamp here, unlike the other Cathedral. I don't want an orange sticker saying 'Liverpool Cathedral Pilgrim Passport'. Not as cool. The stamp is too inky though - the onion skin pages of my Bible don't help with this, and it smudges a bit, but it's a very recognisable shape.

We head out on the bus to the Calderstones. Neolithic stones, covered in carved spirals and images, and neatly arranged in rows in a glass house outside a cafe. Still, it's nice to meet them. We also walk to the Allerton Oak, which my host insists is over 1000 years old, and the information board insists is only 500. I mean, it's older than I'll ever be. Apparently this is where the first court assemblies happened in the city. She's a beautiful tree. Fenced in, though, and propped up a bit. My host hands me part of a twig from the ground. The power of the oak to carry forward with me.

I'd have loved an oak walking staff. Unfortunately, it doesn't grow as straight as hazel, which is what I have. Blackthorn would be gorgeous too. I'd have made one from ash if the ash trees in Dorset weren't all so, well. Die-back having. I mean, I did make one from ash, but it was way too thick and heavy, and it was swapped out for my current one on the first evening. A gift. Hazel serves me well though, and it's moulded to my hand now.

We walk in the sun (too much sun) and get on the train to Formby, where we walk through the woods. There are red squirrels here - I don't see one though. Still never seen one. The beach is soft sand, and the sea is wonderful. From the top of one dune, we can see Blackpool tower, which is about 20 miles away, and on the other side is Eryri, grand and magnificent.

My host says he wants to take me somewhere amazing, and leads me down to where the sea meets the land, and leaves me to stand there. He then runs back to give me a scallop shell. And leaves again, and I stand with the waves washing over my ankles. Life is so very wonderful.

His partner is snoozing where I return higher up the beach, and we collect a few good shells together, and I fill an empty sweet packet with sand. Some romantic notion of taking something from the West coast to the East. I know you're not supposed to take sand from beaches, but I've only taken as much as would end up in the folds of a towel, stuck to your feet and covering the inside of a car. And we pick up a lot of litter on the way back, and I do thank the beach for what I've taken. And I thank God for allowing us to see, and feel such incredible, overwhelming beauty on Earth.

I take a nap on the train back, and discover that my host in Hebden Bridge has fallen through last minute. She has, very generously, offered to send me hotel money, and I book two nights at the youth hostel. Always grateful. A few minutes of incredible stress, but then all is well.

We have Scouse for tea, with pickled red cabbage and good crusty bread, and scones with mulberry jam. A good meal for a pilgrim.