Spots, Podcasts and Mints.

“So…..what do you normally do when you’re doing this drive?”

“Sit in silence.”

“Oh..........”

“Or listen to a podcast, some music…”

“ ‘cause I’m happy to have a game of Spot the Spot, if you want.”

“What’s Spot the Spot?”

“Well…”

We didn’t play.

I guess the world can be divided into those that would enjoy a three-or-four-hour game of Spot the Spot and those that wouldn’t.

I played on my own; spotted the airplanes on the runway, the remains of this summer’s fires, the shadows of former vineyards, the possible patch of snow on a distant peak and the sea.

I got maximum points.

We listened instead to a podcast that the podcaster described as exciting but which was profoundly disturbing, a journalist’s view of the rise of the far-right and its echoes of the 1930’s.

And we ate mints.

Thursday passed with no swim, just spots, podcasts and mints.

Friday almost, but in the end not.

Not even spots, podcasts and mints.

A chill had descended from the mountains.

Spaghetti – yes. With pumpkin - an unwise choice - and Ice-cream for dessert - tasty but foolish.

Saturday was blue, the sea too and at 8:14 I was awash.

The hope of the last few days finally fulfilled.

Again at 17 hundred hours.

And this morning, before the breaking day had.

It was silky, salty, serene.

Three swims and three Ss.

On the headland there is a statue (4) of Mary.

She holds a rope between her hands attached to an anchor.

Pained gold, looking out to a sea.

Empty of sail.