The infamous Bay Of Biscay, which was so often a turbulent grey soup, turned out to be a placid  aquamarine mill pond. As blue as the Carribean sea and with an air temperature to match.  On deck of the Brittany ferry Galicia, Paul  looked towards the picturesque and ever diminishing port of Santander and wiped away a maudlin tear.  He blamed it on the cheap lager, but he knew deep down that he was just very bad at Adios. Goodbyes to him had never come easy. It was an over […]

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