The past few days have gone by in a kind of blur.
Might be something to do with approaching my destination- the focus has been less on the present, the oh-so-important journey, and more on impatiently wanting to just get the there, already!
Then again, it may be something to do with the self-inflicted, self-perpetuationg solitary confinement I'm going through (sorry if I'm being melodramatic but it's 2:51 am); if I wasn't so tired from cycling all day I'd go out in the evenings.
Of course I could just take it easy- I've got all the time in the world after all, ha ha- but then I wouldn't get back so quick and that's all I want right now.
To give myself credit I have been out to a couple of bars, purely for the sake of meeting people; not knowing what to order cos I didn't really want a drink in the first place.
But they seem to be popuated by loud, closed groups of ageing americans discussing Obama's something-or-other tactics or their great neice's placement at so-and-so; or smelly french men hitting on me.
And to be honest the embarrassingly stilted conversation is more exhausting to me than the cycling.
Another reason my days seem hazy could be that 'watched pot never boils' phenomenon - now that my ferry is booked it's all I can think about and I catch myself checking the calendar on my phone a few times each day, thinking- "What, it's still today?"
This slowing of time has sent me into a rare and ironic insomnia- thanks a bunch, Universe. That really helps.
It could even be the gripping yet horribly depressing book I've got myself hooked on (another one! Every book I've touched the past ... however long, has been absolutely horrific!) I've read half this evening already.
To be honest though, it's probably cos I got myself a book of sudoku, and since then my dreams of fluoro vests, bungees and roundabouts have been overtaken by floating grids and numbers.
Not joking. This is my life now.
As I was reading afore-mentioned book (it's called 'Leaving the World' by the way- and whilst it's not quite as devastatingly horrible and disturbing as We Need To Talk About Kevin, it won't exactly make you smile either.) this evening, I was startled by a loud knocking, not on the door but on the caravan window by my bed, over the sound of rain drumming on the roof.
It was after 11 and I was confused and sleepy, but got up and opened the door to a French man trying to say something.
We quickly established I couldn't speak French and nor could he speak English, Portuguese or Spanish. (Thinking about it I should have checked Welsh.) That was about as far as the conversation progressed, though, for the next 10 minutes, while he carried on trying and trying to tell me something, or ask me for something, or something...
But the whiff of alcohol on his breath transcended the language barrier and I would have turned him away by now if it hadnt been pissing down- I wasn't sure if he was having camping+rain troubles.
I got him a lighter- no.
Bottle opener? No... but nearly...
Pen and paper. Can you draw it?
He threw up his hands in exasperation and left.
I zipped back up the awning and crawled back into bed.
Knocknocknock.
Chrissake!
He had a bottle of champagne.
"Do you want to drink this with me?
I nearly laughed in his face, in fact I might have, but I couldn't explain that the very fact that it had taken a good quarter hour to convey the universally simple message of 'want a drink?' wasn't a very good sign that conversation was going to flow particularly easily.
"Good night."
To give myself credit I have been out to a couple of bars, purely for the sake of meeting people; not knowing what to order cos I didn't really want a drink in the first place.
But they seem to be popuated by loud, closed groups of ageing americans discussing Obama's something-or-other tactics or their great neice's placement at so-and-so; or smelly french men hitting on me.
And to be honest the embarrassingly stilted conversation is more exhausting to me than the cycling.
Another reason my days seem hazy could be that 'watched pot never boils' phenomenon - now that my ferry is booked it's all I can think about and I catch myself checking the calendar on my phone a few times each day, thinking- "What, it's still today?"
This slowing of time has sent me into a rare and ironic insomnia- thanks a bunch, Universe. That really helps.
It could even be the gripping yet horribly depressing book I've got myself hooked on (another one! Every book I've touched the past ... however long, has been absolutely horrific!) I've read half this evening already.
To be honest though, it's probably cos I got myself a book of sudoku, and since then my dreams of fluoro vests, bungees and roundabouts have been overtaken by floating grids and numbers.
Not joking. This is my life now.
As I was reading afore-mentioned book (it's called 'Leaving the World' by the way- and whilst it's not quite as devastatingly horrible and disturbing as We Need To Talk About Kevin, it won't exactly make you smile either.) this evening, I was startled by a loud knocking, not on the door but on the caravan window by my bed, over the sound of rain drumming on the roof.
It was after 11 and I was confused and sleepy, but got up and opened the door to a French man trying to say something.
We quickly established I couldn't speak French and nor could he speak English, Portuguese or Spanish. (Thinking about it I should have checked Welsh.) That was about as far as the conversation progressed, though, for the next 10 minutes, while he carried on trying and trying to tell me something, or ask me for something, or something...
But the whiff of alcohol on his breath transcended the language barrier and I would have turned him away by now if it hadnt been pissing down- I wasn't sure if he was having camping+rain troubles.
I got him a lighter- no.
Bottle opener? No... but nearly...
Pen and paper. Can you draw it?
He threw up his hands in exasperation and left.
I zipped back up the awning and crawled back into bed.
Knocknocknock.
Chrissake!
He had a bottle of champagne.
"Do you want to drink this with me?
I nearly laughed in his face, in fact I might have, but I couldn't explain that the very fact that it had taken a good quarter hour to convey the universally simple message of 'want a drink?' wasn't a very good sign that conversation was going to flow particularly easily.
"Good night."
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