Ljilja laid out an amazing breakfast for me and I had the luxury of putting on dry, clean kit and walking off in a pair of unwanted shoes she gave me. Even if I had a bit of a late start, it was definitely worth it!

The line of waves off the beach, although only a couple of feet high, was enough to soak me, an irritating start to the day. The wind was slowing my progress to Venice, the cold breeze numbing the right side of my face and kicking up a swell that I had to fight against. Still, I reached Pesaro soon enough and then paddled along a stretch of wild cliffs that reminded me of the Jurassic coast back home, the clay slopes slumping and crumbling into the sea, held together only by a jungle of undergrowth. Heavy rain showers blew in and I pushed on all afternoon until I reached the outskirts of Rimini, my goal for the day.

I was warm enough, but only just, and a big wave broke over me as I paddled onto the beach, tipping me off the surf ski and into the water with a shock. I waded onto the beach and stood there feeling light-headed from the day’s exertion, or from the coldness, or from being sat down all day. I set up my tent in the shelter of a beach club and got changed, my hands numb and useless, fumbling to put socks on my feet and do up my zips. But man I’ll miss the raw nature of those moments.

Along the dark beach I wandered, until I emerged beneath the streetlamps of another town I knew nothing about. In my cold and famished state, I made the mistake of being tempted into a junk food joint where the Afghani guy behind the counter prepared some falafels and a wrap that were a disappointing shadow of the picture on the menu, a flawed form compared to the image of perfection in my mind. They warmed me up all the same and I went to sleep comfortably warm in my brilliant sleeping bag, but really not looking forward to getting out in the morning.