I was not meant to enjoy this view again.

Exhausted, I flopped with a crash to the weathered bench at my knees. At this time of day, it was quiet. Everywhere was quiet. Anybody who needed to be amywhere, would be on their way.

Or there already. I glanced down at my new stainless wrist watch. Low tech. Deliberately. I’d bought it for the easily-readable face, not for its wow-factor. I’d even had to change the time – this must’ve happened automagically for at least the last dozen years.

In front of me, a picture of tranquility. On an ancient stone quayside, I faced an azure sea, with a reluctant sun, struggling to hoist itself above the horizon. A benign bay containing dozens of small boats, all moored. It’d be busier come lunchtime, I’m sure. And one large ship. Though it, too, seemed lifeless, I knew it would be a hive of activity – it was due to sail in ninety minutes.

An hour ago, that was me. This ferry had brought me here, for my first proper holiday in nearly ten years. I remembered how I’d always loved these relaxing crossings. Far from the stress of flying, the holiday had started the moment we boarded.

This time had been different. I’d worried. Racked my brains to find new reasons why not. But I had to go. I had to discover my limits. Could I do this? Was it worthwhile?

I’d chosen the easiest holiday I could think of. Just a long weekend, to a place I’d known well, where in theory, everything was within range. If the worst happened, I could walk. In times gone by, it had been the ideal overnight stop before catching this same ferry. But in those days, there were no limits. The port had been the start – or end – of thousand-mile expeditions. But this time I was on foot.

I’d already completed the first part. The first three parts, I suppose.

For one, I’d made it to the port in England. An hour in the car before, double that now on the train. Plus slack, because… trains. But I’d done it. With luggage, too. On occasion it was ugly, but I made it.

And I’d navigated the ferry. Got myself on and off. Okay, mostly I’d been asleep, but ferries are designed for the able-bodied.

Last – latest – that ferry must be the best part of a mile away now, and I’d walked it. There wasn’t really much choice at this time of day. Despite a packed ferry, there were only a handful of pietons, and we swept quickly through the sleepy terminal into an empty car park. The trudge had taken its toll but behind me was a Porte into this medieval town.

My mind returned to that initial thought. I was not meant to enjoy this view again. And I welled up. But that’s the thing. You don’t dwell on successes, because there’s always more to do, always further to go. Wiping my eyes, I heaved myself to my feet, and turned toward the town. I’d rested enough and besides, I wanted breakfast.