10/08/2026
Days 16–25: The World Answered Back
When I finished the last blog, I said Sidmouth was about to show us just how many good people had been there all along.
It did.
The practical problems didn't suddenly disappear, but what changed was the number of people who stepped forward to help us solve them.
By this point, the piano had five broken hammers and was badly out of tune. I could still play it, but with five compromised notes, giving people the performance I wanted to give them was becoming increasingly difficult.
Then the van caught fire.
We had actually decided to leave Sidmouth after the confrontation I wrote about in the last blog. We were ready to put that experience behind us and move on. Instead, the van arrived back in Sidmouth on the back of a recovery truck.
At the time, that felt like another problem. Looking back now, I'm incredibly glad it happened the way it did, because being brought back into town gave Sidmouth a second chance to show us who it really was.
The recovery driver who got us safely back was an absolute legend. Once it became clear we weren't going anywhere immediately, something shifted. I stopped trying to rush through Sidmouth and started experiencing it.
I stayed well away from the shops where the original confrontation had happened and busked in other parts of town. Instead of trying to play one long set, I played shorter sets but more of them. It suited the condition of the piano and gave me more time to talk to people.
That changed everything.
I met some tremendous people. Some were traders and vendors who couldn't have been more different from the experience I'd had on that first morning. Others were people I probably never would have met if the van hadn't forced me to stay.
One evening, with Totnes, Exeter and Sidmouth all still sitting heavily with me, along with the miles already behind me and the enormous distance still ahead, my head was simply full. I went out trying to clear it and somehow ended up at The Balfour Arms.
That's where I met Jamie.
We started talking, and what began as a chance encounter became one of the friendships I think I'll carry long after this journey is over. Jamie made me feel welcome without making a fuss about it, and I think it's safe to say I'll always consider him a friend now.
When we later needed to resupply while we were stuck in Sidmouth, Jamie did something unbelievably kind. He let us send multiple Amazon deliveries to his own home so I would have somewhere reliable to receive them.
When you're living on the road, things that sound ridiculously ordinary become surprisingly difficult. Having somewhere safe to send a parcel can solve a problem most people never have to think about. The fact that someone I'd only just met trusted us enough to let us use his home for our deliveries meant far more than he probably realised.
Jamie just helped.
There were others too: people I spoke to while busking, people working around the festival, other buskers, and complete strangers who stopped for a conversation. Slowly, the Sidmouth I was experiencing began to look nothing like the Sidmouth I had almost allowed five people to define.
Something else happened almost by accident: I disappeared from social media for a little while.
Part of that was deliberate. I needed some distance from everything that had happened. The rest was considerably less philosophical. Sidmouth was packed for the Folk Festival and the mobile network was being hammered, so uploading was difficult and streaming was even worse.
At first that was frustrating. In hindsight, it may have been a blessing in disguise.
Without constantly thinking about whether I should be live, whether something needed uploading or whether I was getting enough engagement on a livestream, I had time to simply be where I was and play the piano. Yorkie also got a few days where she didn't have to absorb everything she had been reading and moderating online. We both needed the break, and it relieved some of the pressure we had been under.
I spent time with the dogs, experienced the Folk Festival and talked to the people around me instead of worrying about documenting every minute of it. The PianoMission matters enormously to both of us, but we were reminded that I also need to actually experience the journey we're asking people to follow.
We know there will be more difficult days over the next year. We can't control everything that happens, but we're learning that we can control how much space we give it afterwards. The boundaries we've put around social media are already helping enormously, and it has been remarkably freeing.
Meanwhile, we still needed to get the piano repaired.
We put a post on Facebook explaining what we needed and asking whether anybody knew someone who might be able to repair the piano somewhere along the route.
People shared it until eventually it reached Henry at The Piano Restorer.
Henry contacted us and said he could help. And he did.
His offer actually changed our route. We had originally expected to continue through Seaton and Axminster, but once we knew Henry could meet me in Taunton and repair the action, getting the piano to him became the priority. So we changed the plan and headed directly towards Taunton.
That's something else this journey continues to teach me: a planned route and an inflexible route are two very different things. The destination is John O'Groats. How I experience everything between here and there is allowed to change. This is my journey, and ultimately it isn't for anyone else to decide exactly how it should be experienced or whether every decision makes sense to them.
Getting to Taunton wasn't entirely straightforward. The van developed another problem on the way, but thankfully we were able to nurse it the rest of the way into town. We've exchanged messages with several mechanics about what it's doing, and a mechanic is coming on Tuesday. At the moment, we're hopeful it isn't a major repair and can be dealt with quickly enough to get us moving again.
The piano, however, has already been sorted.
Once I reached Taunton, I finally met Henry. He removed the piano action and took it back to his workshop. When he returned it, the broken hammers were fixed, he'd brought spare parts to help us further down the road and, because apparently repairing my piano for free wasn't generous enough, he'd also brought treats for the dogs.
I don't quite know what to say to that other than thank you.
After nine years of moving pianos around England, I've learned a few things about what makes a piano suitable for busking. One of them is that a recently tuned piano doesn't necessarily make a good busking piano.
Before LEJOG, I normally changed busking pianos every three or four months. When I was looking for the next one, a piano that had been tuned recently, especially very recently, was often one I wouldn't even consider. My pianos are moved constantly, pushed over pavements and cobbles, loaded and unloaded, and exposed to changing temperatures, so I've learned not to interfere with the tuning pins unnecessarily.
Henry understood exactly what I meant. He concentrated on what genuinely needed repairing and left the tuning to me. I'll only adjust the notes that actually need attention.
A busking piano has a very different job from a piano sitting safely in somebody's living room. Mine doesn't need to be perfect. It needs to be stable, playable and capable of surviving the road.
The LEJOG piano has an even more complicated job. Before this journey, my piano would travel in the van, be unloaded for a busk and go back inside afterwards. This one hasn't been transported by van since before we reached Land's End. It lives on the VOK and travels every mile with me, exposed to the vibration, bumps, changing temperatures and everything else the road throws at it.
This isn't a concert-hall piano. It's a working piano being asked to cycle from Land's End to John O'Groats. If I can keep it stable, playable and sounding good enough to entertain the people I meet along the way, then it's doing its job.
Looking back now, what I'll remember about this week isn't that the piano broke or that the van caught fire. I'll remember the people who helped us put things back together.
The recovery driver who got us safely back into Sidmouth. Jamie, who became a friend and trusted us enough to let us send supplies to his home. The traders, festival workers, other buskers, and strangers who stopped to talk. The people who shared our Facebook post because somebody they may never meet needed help. And Henry, who saw it, stepped forward, repaired my piano without charging me, brought spare parts for the journey and even remembered the dogs.
They were the majority all along.
I'm glad we stayed in Sidmouth. What began as somewhere I couldn't wait to leave became somewhere that reminded both of us how much kindness there still is when you give yourself enough time to see it.
There will be more challenges over the next year. Things will break, routes will change and plans will occasionally fall apart. But there will also be more little girls dancing, more police officers who take the time to listen, more Jamies, more Henrys, more shops that bring a coffee and warm greeting, and more complete strangers who choose kindness when they could just as easily keep walking.
Those are the people I want to give my attention to and the people I want to remember.
For now, we've made it to Taunton. The piano is repaired, the van has a mechanic coming on Tuesday and, compared with where our heads were a week ago, everything feels different.
I'm looking forward to getting back behind the piano, meeting another community and doing what I came here to do: busk.
When the loud voices inevitably appear again, I hope I remember what this week taught me. They aren't the majority. They're just louder.
This week, the world answered back.
And thankfully, we were finally quiet enough to hear it.
One last thing before I go.
If you’ve enjoyed following this journey, please take a moment to support the people who supported us. Follow Henry at The Piano Restorer, and show some love to The Balfour Arms in Sidmouth. When people choose kindness, generosity and practical support, we want to make sure that some of that kindness comes back to them too.
We notice the people who show up for us.
And we’ll always do our best to show up for them in return.
— James
