Following the Flow: A Quiet Week, Rich in Its Own Way

Blog writing is always easier when the week has been action-packed, full of incident, fun, and achievement. But after the energy of last weekend in Orihuela—where we walked a half-marathon distance on Saturday and I ran the half marathon race on the Sunday—it felt time, to stop trying so hard. Time to stop forcing things along and simply follow the flow of life at a slower, more forgiving pace this week.

Fewer miles, more reading, and a bit of honest recovery. None of which seems to make writing easier—until I realised that the pleasure lies in the writing itself, not just in documenting activity.

We’ve also devoured some wonderful books this week.
Andy Wilman’s memoir, Mr Wilman’s Motoring Adventure: Top Gear, Grand Tour, Clarkson and Me, was a real highlight. It’s a witty, behind-the-scenes wander through decades of motoring TV chaos—creative battles, friendships, reinventions, and more than a few “only Clarkson” moments. It’s sharp, self-aware, and packed with stories you genuinely couldn’t make up.

In an utterly delightful contrast, we also read A Pawtobiography: My Adventures on Gone Fishing by Ted the Dog. Told in Ted’s voice, it’s full of canine logic, belly rub politics, and affectionate observations about Mortimer and Whitehouse. Utterly charming, the perfect palate cleanser between heavier reads.

Helen, meanwhile, tore through Adrian Edmondson’s autobiography, Berserker!—chuckling loudly enough at times to disrupt the football. Ade’s story is brilliantly told: a mix of punk energy, mischief, grief, and self-reflection, laced with the humour he’s known for. A firm thumbs-up.

And finally, she read Madame Fourcade’s Secret War by Lynne Olson, a gripping true account of Marie-Madeleine Fourcade, the young woman who led France’s largest spy network against the Nazis. Written like a thriller, it’s inspiring, humbling, and packed with courage.

Those who knew us in the heady days of almost full-time van travel across Europe will know we’ve been retreating from the world of social media. Gone is the 8,000 + -subscriber YouTube channel with its million-plus views; gone is Instagram with its couple of thousand followers; gone too are the group Facebook pages. We’ve begun to savour a smaller world—quiet, gentle, and blissfully free from the near-intolerable noise of the wider world. We don’t watch TV news, we don’t read newspapers, and we’ve become quite content ignoring what we cannot control. Something routed in a stoic response to the world.

This week—delightfully detached from the noisy, shouty world—pushed us even further down that quiet path. I did wonder, at one point, whether I’d even continue writing or indeed social media at all . The peace has been that wonderful but there are people who we’d rather not disconnect from.

So yes, less happened this week in the usual sense. And yet what a paradox: we’ve done less, tried less, and it’s been fantastic. Philosopher Alan Watts would approve. “The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple.”

We walked Poppy—who turned five this week—across the delightful local reserve, did some recovery running and gym sessions, and visited a few local eateries.

Helen’s bike needed repairing, which limited our cycling, but hopefully it’ll be sorted next week so we can rejoin the group rides. The highlight was José, the non-English-speaking cycle mechanic, communicating through Google Translate. It was mildly amusing watching his words appear as five passionate paragraphs of Spanish that translated into two polite English sentences on the app. Spanish really is a beautifully wordy language.

Christmas decorations have begun to appear around Catral, first noticed as we sat over a hearty lunch in a local Cuban restaurant where you never leave with anything less than a full tank. The consequence? Helen has now downloaded Die Hard, Love Actually, and Home Alone 1 and 2. Tinsel has been purchased. The Christmas period is officially imminent.

She’s particularly pleased that the star she bought in Budapest on the Club Running Trip is now proudly hanging in the van.

Spanish Christmas begins earlier than in the UK and stretches from early December to 6 January. Nochebuena—Christmas Eve—is the main family celebration, with big dinners, nativity scenes, and often Midnight Mass. Christmas Day is calmer. New Year’s Eve brings the tradition of eating twelve grapes at midnight, and the season ends with the joyful Three Kings celebrations on the 6th January —colourful parades and the day children receive their main presents.

We’ve spent Christmas in Spain before and always found it warm, inviting, and quietly enchanting.

The weather has been sunny but colder this week, as Europe felt the touch of a Siberian chill. It’s been quite funny listening to the Spanish complain about the cold in their big coats while we stand there in shorts, nodding sympathetically, never mentioning UK temperatures. Not that we’d win the cold-war bragging rights—our Finnish neighbours can casually drop a “minus twenty” into conversation and blow everyone else away.

The national mix on the campsite is constantly shifting. The Spanish dominated Halloween before departing en masse, replaced by large numbers of Dutch. Now the Germans have arrived on their winter campaign, setting up in areas B and D with impressive organisation. We genuinely like having German neighbours—courteous, consistent, reserved—perfect companions for members of the 5am club. The Spanish, much as we adore them, excel at 3am fiesta stamina.

Meanwhile, every time I look up from writing this, more festive bling has appeared in the van. Helen is fully in creative mode, demonstrating advanced husband-handling skills by delivering another Estrella Galicia, resulting in immediate compliance with whatever festive plan she unveils.
I must have had a few because I’ve lost the annual battle. Normally I restrain her until 1 December, but this year all bets are off. Beware: anyone daring to mention “12th night” will receive a Yorkshire-flavoured bah-humbug. She insists the official decoration date is the fourth Sunday before Advent—30 November this year —and she’s happy to work a week either side. Thus, she claims the moral high ground.

So here we are: lit up, festive, surrendered, and twinkling, although this is only phase one apparently.

We spent Saturday morning wandering through our local Spanish town — a place untouched by mass tourism and wonderfully calm and unrushed. It was perfect for a little street photography. The Leica Q3 remains my favourite camera: lightweight, compact, and more than capable of capturing moments in almost any conditions. I’ve dropped a selection of the images into a YouTube video on the link below if you’d like to view them in more detail.

Afterwards, we revisited the local Cuban restaurant for the €9 meal of the day, reflecting on our week over simple but delicious food, before strolling back to the van with bags of nuts from the market.

A short week in terms of activity, but rich in peace, warmth, and the quiet grace found in simply doing less.