... to Ouistreham.

The story of Noah's Ark was the story of monogamy when the animals went in two by two.

You work for a pittance to pay over the odds for a two week holiday in a place everyone else has escaped to fiddle the time away eating ice creams and candy floss all to see you had no experience and no money and you go back to work feeling more bitter than ever before against your children, wife, the guy with the girl in the deck chair opposite and then in October you discover you've only a few weeks left to live because you're incurable of being irrelevant...

Guy from NC yesterday asked me if I had heard of Deliverance, I had, but said I hadn't. I know the story. I know how it goes... But what a way to introduce himself and his hometown... I mean it's like saying 'have you heard of The Ripper? Well I am from London'! Walking through a marshland before the Caen and Pegasus Bridge and now I have reached foot pain threshold. 35 kilometres as a donkey brays in the field next to the ditch I am following counting the midge bites. Americans can be arrogant twats but its worth keeping quiet as I might've been delivered or de-livered for lunch a la Lector?

At the crossroads, before the next ten kilometres, I realised it would be a bridge too far if I tried to get to Ouistreham on foot. No amount of temptation, or Wermacht, could get me moving as the last section continued through the humid swamp and the old war wound played up once more: foot aching .So now I sit on the left bank of the canal, carried over to Les 3 Planeurs with a cidre Normand before a shorter 4 kilometres along the canal which leads into Caen tomorrow.