This narrow gallery looks like, and is, a footpath, but it is also one of the half dozen old streets of Lyme, and its name is Sherborne Lane. The first few yards of it keep to the river's brink, and you might pause and look over the parapet, at the riverbed rather far below and not very full, and the walk along the equally high opposite bank. Part of the stonework holding up that opposite walk is clearly new: the section slumped into the river one night in 2004 and had to be rebuilt.

Sherborne Lane turns abruptly right to assault the hillside. The first third of the climb is both steepest and narrowest; to ride a bicycle up it is interesting and just possible, but one of the dimples by the doorsteps of cottages can put an end to the attempt. Getting to the top of this stretch you may notice the "no cycling" sign, which faces in the opposite direction (upward cyclists being unanticipated).

Between old cottages and pretty front gardens, the lane reaches its upper end, into which vehicles do occasionally manoeuvre. The whole lane is quite short; it's the short side of a triangle around the town, connecting Coombe Street along the river with Broad Street up the hill.

Onto the upper end of Broad Street you emerge; down to the left it slides, and over its multitude of heads and shoulders and vehicle roofs is seen the sea; up to the right Broad Street ends by forking into two ways, each of which inherits as it were half of its importance—Pound Street (left) and Silver Street (right).

As you stand wondering which of these three ways to go, a sudden noise—is it a jet plane?—has you jumping out of your skin! It swells and comes rushing down past you—it's a kid on a skateboard! What an exhilarating sight this is; like others that ignite the panic-reaction, it stimulates your circulation. Daringly he threads between the slow-moving giants of the traffic—Broad Street as he zooms down it looks steeper than ever—can he stop?

Yes, with a skilful flick of the heels he stops, only a few yards down the street, to let his friends catch up. Here they come—one has an extra skateboard under his arm—noticing you, the only by-stander grinning intead of scowling, he offers it to you—"Know how to ride this thing, mate?"—it happens that you do—you drop it at your feet and jump on, and away you go down Broad Street—