Beside the Seaside

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In Which I Predict A Bad Night's Sleep

September 3, 2007 by Mike

Capbreton

Monday morning. OK With: back to work.

It's not a long ride from Arcachon down to Capbreton but it's significant: I've cracked the back of France. I can (almost) smell Spain: looking south down the coast I spy the shadows of hills trailing away westwards, far in the distance.

But hold on. I have to clarify that previous paragraph:

1. On *Smelling* Spain
I'm becoming very aware of the sensation of smell. (Nothing to do with the fact that I've ben camping and the showers run hot and cold, or that washing clothes might be such a bind.)

So today, for example, because the roads have been uncrowded and free of lorries, there has been no odour of burnt diesel. Instead: the smell of pine forest, quiet sea and open space. I note the nuances at every turn - how the pine gathers its fragrance at gentle curves in the road where the wind can't get at them. Where that salty tang of sea marries the headier notes of a fishing boat chugging-chugging past me, heading north.

I confess, the absence of fields full of cows, and their collected output, has been like a birthday present for my nose.

2. On Smelling *Spain*
Is it Spain? Is it the Basque Country? It depends who you ask. But it's a serious question -- more than 800 people have died in a campaign by Basque separatists. And/ or millions of Basques live under the shackles of a foreign power (Spain). Different answers to the same question. It's one I've been looking forward to asking.

--

I mulled over stopping in a B&B or plastic motel before a seaside campsite got my vote. I rigged the hammock about 20 seconds before the people in the tent next door came back from the beach. With their dog. Their yappy, whiny, snappy, permed ickle poodle. Bang goes my night's sleep. On the other side was a small group of Brits, here for the surfing. Three teenage boys and a man who is far too old to be wearing surfer dude gear. Who has the voice of Rory McGrath.

Now I realise that if Rory McGrath's voice really has been stolen by a bald surfer, this is great news for most of the people of Britain. It means you won't have to listen to his insufferable smugness any more -- or at least, not tonight. I, on the other hand, am forced to sit and listen to him talking very loudly to his young charges. Why me? And why, of all people, Rory McGrath? The only person who has ever insulted Norway to my face on a BBC TV show with an audience of millions? (Trivial Pursuit, as you ask. And, as you ask -- yes, I won!)

I will have nightmares tonight about a yapping dog with the face of Rory McGrath. Hardly a great leap of the imagination, is it?

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