Startpoint: Burgos; Endpoint: Hontanas; Steps taken: 40,010; Distance walked: 29.5km; Conditions: like a pitbull in a muzzle, the rain kept threatening, but never bit.

Sorry about the delay on this post. I wrote it last night while watching a huge thunderstorm, but when I clicked ‘Publish’, my phone couldn’t find the wifi signal. Being a smart chap, I knew what to do: I took the battery out of the phone to reset it, after which the wifi worked perfectly. Unfortunately, the blog had been deleted. I will now try to recreate the brilliance of my post from last night. It’s a difficult task.

I had dinner in Burgos in a small tapas bar, where they were playing motown, soul and classic rock. Having seen The Commitments three times, I consider myself quite the aficionado of soul. The tiny waitress served me fresh warm tapas. I know they were fresh because I watched her microwave them right in front of me. She was so tiny, she had to reach up to the beer taps, like I might reach up to a showerhead. She could very easily have had a beer shower. I don’t know if she ever did, but I can’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t have.

As I ate my dinner, a couple entered the bar carrying a little dog. It was one of those scruffy hairy ginger dogs that looks a bit like a rat. The dog was wearing a red velour onesy. I’ve never seen a dog look more embarrassed. If my visit to the museum of human evolution taught me anything, it’s that opposable thumbs gives Homo Sapiens the evolution advantage of imposing ridiculous costumes on other species. If dogs could undo their own zips, the world would be a very different place.

The lighter bag, rest day, cool weather and flat terrain all conspired to allow me walk a little further today. Unfortunately a step is a step is a step, so my feet were very sore last night. On the terrace in the hostel, a muscly tattooed Spanish man (looked like a cross between Captain Jack Sparrow and Fabio), was giving a long slow foot massage to a tall slim blonde woman he’d met along the trail. I was tempted, but finally too embarrassed to ask would he massage my feet too. I regret that now; maybe he would played ‘this little piggy’ on my toes. I love that song.

On the trail, I met an American girl and an English guy and we all checked into the hostel together. At dinner, we discussed tattoos, couch-surfing, and freetarianism. Freetarianism (if that’s the right word) is about only eating food other people throw away. Anecdotally it can feed a group of ex-squatters on a feast of lobster and potatoes in a warehouse in Copenhagen.

When I wrote this post last night, in the thunderstorm, with lightening flashing and hailstones pummelling the roof it was much funnier. Trust me.

Buen Camino!