Duck Season

A rare sighting last night of the Black Duck.

In pensive mood.

The team is assembling, with Franck, Gigi and the Duck in Bayonne/Biarritz. Today they will be joined by JC before moving up to Saint Jean Pied de Port.

Here, its just gone 4am. I’ll be leaving here at 6, arriving in Bilbao in time for lunch. Then Stu will land and we will make our way to St Jean in time for supper.

The weather forecast looks set fair, which is probably an indication of impending storms.

Right – time for a shower.

Look out Camino. Here we come.

the-duck

T minus 2!

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Good Grief.

It’s happening. T minus 2. Too late to back out now.

Although – not too late to make a donation.

24 Hours from now, I will be waiting for Stuart Smith (it was ever thus) at Bilbao Airport.

48 hours from now, I will be toiling through the Pyrenees, closing in on Roncesvalles, gasping for a beer and a lie down.

“ANDERSON!!! I bet you are laughing your head off!”

The bag is packed. (5.2kg if you are interested.) Hanging from the bag is the obligatory scallop shell, the symbol of the Camino. Mine was picked up on Malahide beach when I came for a practice walk earlier this year.

Anyone called Stuart on this walk wants to thank the French for being French…

“Ah, a walk? For Terry? Of course. We’ll be there.”

Thanks also to everyone in Ireland and the UK that has helped get us ready; and most especially to our long-suffering wives. Every year we find new and exciting ways of exasperating them and yet they soldier on, to date, with minimal violence. Ger, Mags – you are saints.

We’ll see you in a week or so.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

Entente Cordiale

It’s National Poetry day here in the UK and the Tight-head has come across all lyrical.

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‘Agincourt, Waterloo and all the rest; not to be trusted, the French. Garlic-eating, cheese-munching surrender-monkeys, The French.’
Germain, Jean Christophe, Franck and Laurent are French and yet, THEY are the ones walking with us: Curious lot, The French.
Terry was irascible, difficult-to-know, hated fakes, kicked people in the shins and yet he seemed to love The French.
He loved visiting France, especially Bayonne, going into the mountains, drinking, eating and sharing his pleasure with The French.
They have a lot to answer for, The French.
I don’t know much, but I think I like The French.
Even though they are French.

Stuart Smith – 6th October 2016

I have no idea what has come across our wafer-thin friend, but I feel certain that ‘The French’ will beat it out of him by suppertime on Sunday.

Thank you once again to all of those who have donated. Should you need any love poetry to woo the apple of your eye, Stuart is writing to order in return for donations…

Ultreia!