The UK mainland coastline is roughly 11,500kms. I guess that measurement does not include the phaffing - there is a fair bit of phaffing cycling there-and-back along a dead-end lane, riding on access roads, meandering around village streets or rolling along the odd pier or two.

I imagine that a lot of people have ridden the coast. Not as many as those who ride Land's End to John O'Groats, a route that has become a cycling superhighway. If somebody mentions in conversation with other cyclists that they have ridden LEJOG, as it is known, there is always some egghead who asks: "How long did it take you?"

There are people who like to cycle from A to B in rapid time. For example, in June 2018 Michael Broadwith cycled from Land's End to John O'Groats in 43 hours, 25 minutes and 13 seconds. In the previous year Mark Beaumount pedalled for 221 hours over 14½ days to complete his journey around the coastline of Britain. Clearly this pair did not call into a pub for a few beers en-route. Indeed, their average speed suggests that calls of nature were conducted in the saddle.

For me, the best record-breaking End-to-End attempt was that of Ellie Bennett who, along with her best friend Mick, ran up a massive bar tab between Cornwall and Caithness. On the first day they got waylaid by an excellent pub just 16 miles north of Land's End and ended up having a session. Somehow, between rounds at the bar, she managed to scribble down her account of the journey for a wonderful book entitled "Mud, Sweat and Gears." Treat yourself to this book - believe me, you will fall off your bar stool at some of her stories.

So where am I heading with these examples at both ends of the cycling spectrum - from General Classification Contenders to the Lantern Rouge? Well, if you are chasing Strava KOM's then this route guide is not for you. This is more about seeing Britain close-up and personal, along with meeting people on the way. The journey is broken up into leisurely days between 45 to 80 kilometres-ish on each stage. This allows for lots of exploration, enjoying the scenery and nipping into the pub for a beer. We stopped to look at most places and locations of interest so each day is full of intrigue and adventure. So, forget the average speed for what is the point of circumnavigating the country without appreciating the rich tapestry the journey has to offer.

Although the cycle ride follows the entire UK coastline, there are even a few inland diversions so that a few extra taverns of note can be incorporated into the route. Not too many detours mind you, otherwise it would get rather silly. But it is easy to get go off-piste and get pissed instead of focusing on the mission.

The route sticks to the coastline and all tarmac roads are included along with some off-road riding and cycle routes. Only where it is impossible to follow the coast does the route go around obstacles such as oil refineries, secured docks or ports and nuclear power stations. There are also some areas where cycles are not permitted on footpaths. However, the route is pretty pedantic or punctilious in that it goes along plenty of dead ends in order to tick the completist box. The route also calls upon long-lost taverns where the tide has gone out for good. Consequently, if you are a tadge obsessive then you may wish to follow in our wheels. Alternatively, you can pick and choose amid these travel notes and do a little corner-cutting. We will not be scoping your Garmin or Strava pages to check!

I did question the routes of others who have published books regaling their experiences of riding the coast. Some of these are very enjoyable travelogues, but did they really "do the coast?" Some have explicitly cut corners or left out the occasional bit of headland. I have not come across the words of another travel writer that has cycled around Foulness Island. For us, this place, with restricted access, was a 'must do' element of the coast. As a result, this travelogue could perhaps carry the subtitle of "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Cycling." I mean, you have to be off your trolley to ride along every lane or path, or rolling down steep cliff roads before toiling back up a savage incline.

I wonder how many people have called at every pub on the coast? I dare say we are pioneers in this respect. And when I say every pub, I mean not just the taverns that have survived the test of time, the houses that have seen off economic downturns, wars, depopulation, gentrification and even a pandemic. Riding with Victorian maps, we intended to visit all the pubs that were once the haunts of fishermen, mariners and early tourists. Some of these former hostelries now serve as cafés, shops and private houses.

We did not omit the sites of long-lost taverns where we doffed our cycling caps and paid our respects to pubs where the wrecking-ball swung into action. The buildings may have disappeared from the landscape but they once had many stories to tell. After all, these old haunts were only second to the church in terms of historical importance. Taverns were central to the social, economic and cultural environment in which they traded.

As much as I have enjoyed pubs my entire life, the journey is not all about boozing. We tried to visit as many churches as possible. They are generally the first port-of-call to get a sense of a place. We ducked and dived in-and-out of interesting buildings and sites. We did not want to miss a thing - otherwise we would have to go around again. No bad thing except more of the pubs would inevitably have closed.

Along the way, there is a little commentary, observations, and an attempt to understand the topography and history of the towns and villages. I am no H. V. Morton or J. B. Priestley, but I made some attempt to discover what makes Britain, through the historic settlements that acted as our defence network or simply defiantly looked out to the waves. You would not think there would be somebody so foolish enough to tag along. However, my partner of many years, whom I endearingly call La Goddess du Vélo, is just as inquisitive as me and can also drink me under the table. She may not like the steep climbs but she loves good beer. Oh, and a duck. A whinging, demanding, moaning, foul-mouthed duck with a drink problem. Everyone else in the pub seems to like him and wants a selfie next to him. They have no idea what a git he is.

Hats off to those who have gone all the way round the coast in one go. Because we could not pack up home for a year or more, for economic reasons, tied to work, mortgage, annual leave, it was not possible for us, so we cycled it in stages. In any case, the Covid19 pandemic got in the way of things when everywhere was closed for business. Riding in stages does have an advantage in that there is no travel fatigue - not the physical effort, but the mental weariness from having to be on it all day, every day. Plus, with the level of detail we went into, it took a month to research a week on the bike. There was one disadvantage - the travelling on trains to pick up where we had left off on the last leg.

We rode for around ten days at a time. Went back to work. And then came back for more. We could have got around quicker if we had devoted every holiday to the mission but there were often other vacations we did not want to miss - cycling trips to Tuscany, Provence and the Netherlands for example.

Although we have ridden in The Alps and gone up big mountains, it is touring that really ticks our boxes, where we ride to see things rather than just ride. I cannot pedal past a sight that sparks my interest - What's that? Why is this here? Who built that I wonder?

The illustration at the top of this page is a book cover I produced when sending manuscripts to publishers. Although feedback on my writing was positive, I did not find a publisher that would back a series of books to cover the entire journey. Consequently, this travelogue is for those silly enough to follow in our wheels. There are maps, directions, audio sections and lots of photographs. I took thousands of photos and augmented these by acquiring several hundred historic images on postcards and negatives. For those who want all this at the touch of a button there are PDF downloads so that all the information can be viewed on the handlebars via mobile phone.

Armed with the travel notes, mapping and directions, all cyclists will need to worry about is what to pack. Talking of which, did I mention the tent? No, sod that for a game of soldiers. Indeed, once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I did rough it in uniform. On leaving the world of bivvy bags and trench-digging, I vowed that I would not be kipping under canvas again. If you require a new definition for the phrase "pissing in the wind" try to conjure up an image of darting out of a tent after downing a few pints of bitter in the local cliff-top hostelry. Add to that the inevitable stumble over the guy rope or worse - treading barefoot on a protruding tent peg. Or how about a flip-flop blow-out in something squelchy underfoot in the dark. No thank-you, I want a comfy bed, a proper loo and a hot shower at the end of a day in the saddle.

Fellow grimpeurs, consider also the fact that only a complete idiot would want to lug extra kilograms of canvas and equipment up steep climbs out of sleepy fishing villages. If you look up oxymoron on your favourite online encyclopaedia there will be an image of a glamping cyclist. And yet on the road we have encountered those who insist on carrying their kitchen sink around the countryside. They are usually pushing their bike up an incline. The term push-bike went out of fashion when fancy derailleurs became standard equipment. Sir Cliff saw out the 1950s by singing "No comb and no toothbrush, I've got nothing to haul, I'm carryin' only a pocket full of dreams, a handful of love, and they weigh nothing at all." You can even hum "Travellin' Light" as you glide past pannier-bursting cyclists struggling up the hill out of Robin Hood's Bay after a hearty lunch and a few beers in the Laurel Inn.

Undoubtedly, the most leisurely way to cycle around the coast is to be a free spirit and park up overnight wherever your heart desires. Alternatively, if you plan ahead you can sleep in relative comfort at very affordable prices. If you book in advance there are some deals to be on sites like Airbnb which has some quirky ports-of-call. We tend to go for these and try to stay within the home of the hosts. We prefer this as it does not support those who are in the buy-to-rent business, thus depriving local people of housing and raising property prices within the local economy. Sometimes we stay at a Premier Inn, the bonus being that you can take your bikes in the room for extra security and added peace-of-mind. Indeed, when you stop anywhere for a beer or to have a mooch, do not leave your bike unattended. Bike locks can be removed in seconds and your heart will sink when your pride and joy, along with all your valuables inside the panniers, have vanished. Some of the folks running B&B's do not seem to appreciate this when you ask to park inside the house or garage.

Technically, you can start and finish the route from anywhere on the coastline. However, the geographer within me determined that the logical place to embark on such a trip is the Royal Observatory at Greenwich. Hey, there's a quiz question ... "How many times will this journey cross the prime meridian?"

The second quiz question, and one I come back to often myself, is why did I elect to travel in an anticlockwise direction? Most people undertaking the End-to-End ride start at Land's End because the prevailing south-westerly wind provides a little assistance during the ride. Or a lot of assistance when it is blowing a gale. Unless, of course, one rides during the spring when there is a higher frequency of north-easterly winds. Considering that Greenwich is partly a memorial to John Harrison, a good quote to roll out here is courtesy of Stefan Emunds who once said: "Time is an illusion, timing is an art."

So, logic would seem to suggest clockwise is the correct way to travel around the coastline. One element of my logic was that La Goddess du Vélo, does not particularly like riding up steep hills. Consequently, I thought the gentle terrain of Essex and Suffolk would be a good opening gambit rather than hearing obscenities being hurled at me when climbing out of Kent's shoreline villages. Apparently, it is my fault that the map contours are closer together in such locations. It doesn't matter how good the beer may be in The Coastguard at St. Margaret's at Cliffe, the climb up Bay Hill is guaranteed to get the heart rate going and the language blue. So, without further ado, let's climb on our bikes and get going. Enjoy the ride.