Saturday morning consisted of consuming a whole packet of coffee-dunked biscuits and watching footage of the former president of Spain's funeral. Then Moisos took me to his friend Javier's butchery where I could see all meat being hung out to dry. We listened to the radio and had coffee from across the road with Javier's chorizo and Madeline cake. Moises took me into Verin to sort out my phone and then we went to the stables where he trains horses. The weather was getting worse - I was wearing all the clothes I had and Moises' coat and I was still cold. It felt good though, being looked after and not having to worry about food. I hobbled around in Moisos' slippers, the only things I could wear that didn't cause searing pain on my blister. The grounds around the stables had a bar and pool, even a jacuzzi, none of which were used. Hamlet's 'flat and unprofitable land' was in abundance everywhere I went. It was sad. It made me miss England, or the one I knew, where country houses were family homes, most public facilities were of a certain standard and used, and there was cohesion in restaurant decor.
Me and Moisos had lunch and then he toured me round the local houses, where I was stuffed with cake and pears. I sat with a 99 year old woman whilst her son-in-law showed me his throat staples where he'd had to have surgery to unblock an artery. The local shepherdess had mental health and drink problems and one of Moisos' closer friends lived like a hermit, perpetually fearful of her isolation in old age. I held the only surviving puppy of a litter of six, the rest drowned, and watched men forking manure onto the back of a cart, the steam rising from it and heating the house above.
We returned to the albergue for dinner, huddling to the electric heater. I more than needed a shower but the thought of getting wet with this cold was unappealing, so I went to bed stewing in my thermals. There was snow in A Gudina.
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