Le Tréport.

The sweet perfume of tansy along the way, precarious near the edge of the fragile cliffs: I took no notice of the two or three signs giving me 'obligatorie' advice not to walk that way... and here I am with an April 2021 Orval in Place Notre Dame (Bar Les Cordiers €5.60). Opposite me is Chris Pizza.

All along the harbour frontage folks have mounds of steamed Moules. Can it be so good in such quantities? Like fish and chips along the seafront in Whitby... It's farmed mussels.

If can find a place which feels less prole and more bourgeois... Such a fool. As an erstwhile paysanne I opt for a pizza... There must be more to me?

Another 35/40 kilometres. I am killing myself as I burnt the soles of feet on the exposed chalk heading up from a cleft where the ladders had been ripped off the surface, with some force(water water everywhere, but not a drop has fallen on my feet), and were difficult to manage; going up.

***

Another day dawned and I am still here? Another day walking walking walking - to where? The destination isn't the end of the walk. The destination is the moment. A desire for a moment hidden deep within the folds of time.

Tuesday morning in Le Tréport and the eglise on the hill chimes 7am. There is a Marché being set up along the quayside.

As I brushed my teeth I watch two boats leaving the empty harbour. Coming down to the quayside the same juvenile herring gull lingers, as I warned a cat to leave alone last evening, lonesome and forgotten on the stairwell below the eglise: the cat wasn't large enough to eat that being!

The final extreme weather event as tomorrow clouds, rain and a reasonable temperature pours water on the sauna like cinders of the remains of frazzled galoise.

After wondering about the overfishing of La Manche, and surrounding seas, I took myself for a doner teller. Assiette of burnt chicken. I sat overhanging the polystyrene container, beware of venturous gulls, and ate chilli sauce and all... But a little of some salad sauce dribbling on my piss and dust stained shorts. Yesterday I hoped the Airbnb had a washing machine, but it didn't, perched above the quayside, I overlooked the empty harbour and destroyed the blinds in the bedroom where they were too tightly fitted.