Right. Bit of a departure, this one.

If you are here for the running, the sub-20 chase, the robot I built to nag me about it… bear with me. Because before any of that, there was Spain. The best part of six months living on the Andalusian coast through the strangest stretch of the pandemic, working off a laptop with the sea down the steps and a two year old learning Spanish off the telly.

I used to write about it. Then I stopped. Right before the ending, and never went back. Something about how it finished.

Well. It is all up now. Every last siesta, from the redundancy-and-Rioja beginning to the bits I could never quite bring myself to write: the December we had a properly great thing going, the drive home, a storm-bound ferry across the Bay of Biscay, and the dog we'd missed far more than we'd let on.

Start at the very beginning: Siesta 01, So here we are…

Or skip straight to the ending I owed you: The long way home

Normal service, sweating up trails in Cheshire, resumes shortly.

Pardo