Sunday evening.

Happy to be in a warmer environment than the last two nights. And to have reset my attire to fresh. This town is crap. It's a road running between Madrid and Albecate with sour faced solumn men trudging by not acknowledging me. As it's cold, dank and drizzling it's possibly the weather doing it? Some loud and Bolshoi youths stand on a few corners kicking the pavement and kerb for entertainment. Sounds like many British towns during autumn however by July most locals kids will be falling about flaking under the burning sky whereas in the UK it maybe another season of kicking the kerb: if the Tories win.

It's my intention to be asleep before nine, warm and toasty, ready for tomorrow and one of the most famous vistas in all of literature: the very windmill sails Don Quixote went tilting at in his blind chivalric stupidity. This means I'm in Toledo Provence and only five days off the goal. My shin is brutal after two or three hours on the way. Popped into the bar nearest the Albergue, which is quite modern and middle-class. It is in the same square as the ayuntemento and iglesia, and not one of the several I saw with "loto" blinking it's entrancing glare back in the other part of Las Pedroñeras where all the banks are!

After returning to pay my bill for lunchtime tapas, and definitely struggling to find the will to overcome the sullen faces behind the Bar of Felipe, I drank a couple of glasses of local wine and head out: there it was tanking it down... So I'm better off sleeping this day off in the convent I've all to myself. With only five days to go from Mañana why worry? And the rain is sure to pass as this is La Mancha which is famous for its windmills not rivers! Now I'm very comfortable in a remade bed with sufficient layers and the necessary noises from the heating system to keep the frigid air at bay for one night at least. It's worth €15.