The ferry bumps , lurches staggering its way across the Bay of Biscay leaving behind a Europe in Crisis.The hotel in Santander reminding me old values of bygone age Victoriana with wi-fi.The town deserted by the three king brigade of festival partygoers shivered in the keen January weather.The deceptive twelve degrees showing on the mini cooper plastic dash as the car sort to shake off its accumulated four months of Spanish mountain road dust. Failing to take into account the biting northerly breeze reminding me of the 1000 miles of journeying forever northwards again.Four brief months earlier with the weather starting its annual deteriation I had travelled this route sick and ill with the accumulated dross of forty years of hard living.Now was the time to take stock and look at my newly found inventory of that four interesting months.I had felt as though I was the recipient of old memories and that the good times what ever they had been were behind me on arriving in Spain this illusion was to persist for sometime.
The shock of a late night drive threw an unknown land was quickly impressed on me by my failure to update my satnav.The drive onto the plains surrounding Madrid included streaches of unrecognised auto-pista and roadworks the journey soaked up time with large white mercedes vans looming out of tne darknes at breakneck speeds with headlights ablaze throwing the interior into instant illumination.
The doubts and lack of planning for the journey invading my tired mind.The reality sharply contrasting from the cosy ideal of scaty armchair planning and a doubt starting in my mind could I given the circumstances place any reliance on my judgement or that of the out of date satnav. The lack of human contact to bounce my ideas of started to cloud my judgement.
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