I had a night of disrupted sleep, the wind constantly buffeting me on my platform. It was immediately clear I wouldn’t be going anywhere on the sea today – 3-metre waves were smashing in.

Loads of kite surfers and wing borders were playing in the shelter of the breakwater and quite a crowd gathered. A British guy told me 9 people had tragically drowned at this beach last week.

The morning was spent sorting kit and getting my boat seaworthy. I didn’t want to sit around all day and wanted to escape the nudists at Cap d’Adge so I decided to portage back to the canal.

Hauling up out of town I questioned myself, but thought back to day 23 when I pulled 10km along the soft sand of the Cote d’sauvage. I’d done it once, so I could do it again. It was far easier on the tarmac and I made good progress. A road and railway stood between me and the canal so I had to go 5km on a roadside path to Marseillan Plage.

Cyclists came by looking confused and amused. A beautiful horse gave me a far more empathetic look. The roadside was littered with rubbish. I hoped I’d spot something useful, but just saw cans, cigarette buts, and masks, loads of masks. My wrists began to ache and I had to swap hands more frequently.

I arrived in Marseillan Plage, another town I wanted to leave as soon as possible. A tacky amusement park ‘Pirateland’ was deserted, its ugly plastic playground covered in graffiti, like the half-finished hotels and crumbling garages. Billboards still promised cheap food and a fun time, but the doors were shut and no tourists were in sight. Brambles sprawled from gardens onto the rubbish-filled roadside, and the only people who walked the street had eyes that told me life had been tough on them.

I paddled out onto the Étang du Thau, a 21km long lagoon. It was a nice surprise to feel the wind on my back and the waves built as I paddled towards Sete. Wicked looking black clouds brewed over the hills to my left and I worried I would be caught in a thunderstorm. I wasn’t but a cold wind blew down the valleys and I arrived in Sete feeling chilly. I paddled through the town centre, now on the Canal du Rhône à Sète, then out through more sprawl blighted by tourism. The sky lit up with lightning in the distance and I raced the last 4 kilometres to a bridge before the rain arrived.