I decided, since this was my last day on this trip, to stay off the cliffs and just meander around the coast. A lot of this day was through built-up areas but it gets it out of the way and was quite pleasant anyway.
Starting at the square which is much emptier at this time of the day, a 500m walk from my hotel. I can’t find a chemist that is open so, I am without paracetamol.The promenade. I’m playing guess the jogger. A hint of laundry conditioner on the wind hits me and I pick a sex and ethnicity from the scent. The jogger eventually catches and passes me and I award points. Have enough for a free Tesco rib-eye. Note the electric scooters. No Boris bikes here – just those. Better or worse?There’s no one around and I still wouldn’t use it. Does anyone?Into the bay and then round that point. Getting cloudy.I was wrong. I thought that these were car garages but, they are boat garages. Still end up as summer houses though.Another abandoned beach-side resort thing that I wandered into and got trapped inside. Had to retreat until I found a way up from the beach.This one, although trapped behind the glass, is obviously not a hunter. She gets fresh flowers delivered every day. I suppose the preponderance of female icons of worship suggest a female driven take up of the religion. No female priests of course – that would not do – but the engine of Christianity here undoubtedly the women folk.Salina bay. The old salt pans now turned into a wetlands sanctuary.The wetlands may be set aside for their wild cousins but their edges are patrolled and jealously guarded by the locals.While they are breakfasting, an interloper sneaks ashore.Cement puddle boy. After many complaints from women wandering along his path, the council decided to drill out his eyes – poor blind cement puddle boy.Send your kids to bin their litter and they must learn to swim or die in the attempt.A red racist post box. I dare you, as a foreigner, to put your hand into that slot – go on – do it!St. Michael’s Chapel of the Annunciation. There is nearly as many churches here as in sweet home Belfast Town.Unfortunately, not a giant hutch with play slides and grass.Salina catacombs. Call me a hypocrite if you will but it was on my path (nearly) and I needed somewhere hidden from the road for a pee.Might as well take a pic of the inside since I’m here.Seems perfectly clear.We aren’t caravans so F you council.This guy is taking the piss. Doesn’t even have any wheels anymore.The wind knocked over all these – I think – Yuca plants.There is a large area of the shore roped off and this very informative plaque explains why.This next tower. I can imagine these back in the day. Every few miles or so standing far above most other buildings and signalling to each other with a series of flags. Gold star to the Knights.I shall have a cappuccino and water at that blockhouse cum café on the right. How the Romans got their salt.Along the next part of this bay they allowed caravans and look at what happened. They built houses around them.Solving the water problem for your caravan cum compound, a giant water tank in its own little van. Something has become stuck to my head and I can’t get it off.Excellent idea. There are special stupid people targeting lasers, manned by a robot redcoat, built into the doorway.Approaching the Torri tal-Madliena and this massive development long abandoned. As with all these, I am taken by the fact that all the windows and frames have been removed, probably to be re-used elsewhere.The sea’s eaten the pathway again.The Torri tal-Madliena is on the edge of the Pembroke ranges still in use by the military. Range is live so I have to divert inland.I can imagine Alex visiting here one day to let a few rounds off.A view back to Pembroke etc.Spoil sports didn’t want colourful window frames and have ruined it for everyone.Even the feral cats get a little summer house.St. George’s bay, once I get round that pier thing.The sea’s been chucking the stones at the farmers again.It says, ‘You shall not pass.’ This is going to be tricky.Exquisite timing. I’m still dry. Well, thanks to that set of steps that bypassed the pier that is. One of the canon that defended the bay.I’m in the upmarket part of the island, St. Julian’s. Sort of wandered into a marina with all these yachts and classy apartments. What does a Greek urn? Is the old joke.Sea bass swimming between the boats. You could spell your name this way, Alex.She’s thrown her ear-ring away in a tantrum again. Poor smuck has to find it before the ambassador’s ball tonight. .Nice. Bend the building to save the ancient Acacia tree.St. Julian’s bay. Loads of people. WTF is it like in summer?He’s parked his traditional fishing skiff.While he fixes his net. ‘Give us a fish. Go on. Just a wee one.’The supposedly famous ‘Love’ statue. The finish.The photographic self-image of me about to treat myself to a lovely rib-eye and 0% beer – class.Ok. The beef must be well rare, they’ve given me a machete to chop it down as it stampedes through. Home soon.
