Looks like it will be a fine day. The morning view from my bedroom window.

Cobbled streets and brightly coloured houses. Another very nice little town. Christ knows what happens when the British arrive in the summer.

The view from the bridge over the river. There is a ferry which would shave 3K off this but what’s the point. Complete and full accounting is what is required in my book.

Now this went one of two ways. Either the woman embraced the “You can do this walk in your bare feet” philosophy completely or, well we are next to a tall bridge so perhaps these are a monument.

A path through the woods. Pine and old gnarled oak trees.

Some graffiti by local dude João Maurício. This one is Eve pregnant with Cain. I mean, if you have to slap some paint on to an abandoned house.

Vila Nova de Milfrontes from across the river.

Either a young Buddha or bad replica of Mulan.

The bridge that the woman with the shoes may or may not have jumped off.

I thought, what is an emu doing running wild. A huge stork.

Again no agriculture. There are marks of a tractor so must have been cultivated at one time. Now a vast, two mile long, wild flower meadow.

A wee look back. I’m pausing because – abomination. Tooling along enjoying the solitude. Hear tiny noise that resolves into rap music coming from the ear buds of the Yout coming up behind me. Fuck me! Is nothing sacred? Why spoil it with noise? How do you hear the world? I had to stop and let him get far ahead of me.

A look ahead. The furthest headland is tomorrow’s, I hope.

The self-image of the day. Fucking walking groups.

The poppies starting to bloom. I came upon the rap Yout having a rest and 50 to 100 metres in front of him, spread out blocking the way, a walking group. A mix of London and Californian Valley accents which Alex takes off so well – their breathless stops and terminal lilts. Christ! I had to squeeze through them. Is that what I’m setting myself up for in October? This misanthropy, too, needs a bit of self-examination.

Their inane chatter behind me and I’m back to the sea. I also hate being passed and will push myself to overtake any who so do. People far in front of me must be caught and left behind me until I can no longer see them. I don’t think that it is competitiveness. It is more that they are offending me by being in my view.

The foliage is moving in. In some places over the mile or so I had to bend double to get through. I wonder how the oldies from the group got on.

It is warm and the flowers and trees are giving off a wonderful scent. Wish you could smell it. In fact, I wish that you would all come with me for a day. Phones off, and then after we’d all suffered the obligatory hour of bickering, you’d find yourselves at peace. 

It feels like I’m in with the VC trolling through the jungle for the old US of A boys. Not bamboo which explains the lack of Pandas.

You could troll in here in your little boat. Driven by that qualified person – Jordan, of course, and have a lovely day with the beach all to yourself.

The rock reminds me of the helmet that the Predator wears.

Signs of civilisation and I’ve made good time.

Signs of civilisation and I’ve made good time.

I’m surprised by the lack of V.M.s in this deeply catholic country. This seems to be one of those fish pedicure places – outdoors of course. When they have punters, they flood the place and let slip the fierce fishy beasts.

The town centre with some of those fish stuffed and mounted in honour after a life time chewing on peoples hard, hoary, hairy feet.

All the footpaths in these towns are made up like this. Loads of tiny quartz and gray slate. Must take an age to do.