Although yesterday thought I’d decided on option A – leave my boat in Messina and spend the 90 days back in the UK – I wasn’t very convicted in my decision.

I left the stunning beach I’d slept on and followed the coast to San Ferdinando, a small town next to a big container terminal. No one bothers to visit such towns, so they don’t pretend to be anything that they’re not – I always like this authenticity.

Sitting in a beach club eating a panini, I wrote out all the pros and cons again. I’ve probably over-thought this way too much, and I can’t bear to go through it all again. But anyway – my final decision is to paddle to Brindisi, leave my boat there while I do the insulin 360 challenge, and then return to paddle north through Albania, Montenegro, Croatia and Slovenia. What will happen after that? It’s a waste of time for me to try and predict.

I remember when I decided to do this trip in August 2021, I was determined to leave immediately, because I’d planned to paddle around Portugal and the waves would be too big if I delayed. So I rushed around getting ready and left 3 weeks later, and never did paddle around Portugal. Any plans I’ve made on this adventure have always changed, so there’s no point in looking too far ahead.

In fact, leaving the future unwritten is necessary for adventure by my definition. Not knowing what will happen next breeds exciting experiences. But I realize now that a pressure to plan has been conflicting with the philosophy I need to embrace for adventure. I’ve grown up in a society that’s scared of the future, and this has rubbed off on me. Why is it that so many people ask me what I’m going to do next? Is what I’m doing now not interesting enough? Now I’m aware of this I can stop putting pressure on myself to plan my future – it’s not compatible with a life of adventure.

I joined some guys playing table football and a beer was thrust in to my hand. As usual I let down my county’s reputation, being rubbish at drinking beer, playing football (even on a table), and not supporting any football team.

At around 4 pm I carried on, feeling good to have a plan. It’s around 1000km to Brindisi, and I need to cover this distance in the next few weeks, leaving me enough time to have a rest before the insulin 360 challenge.

I passed the industrial port, the cranes lifting containers on to ships, standing there like giant robots with minds of their own. A ship was heading in.and I thought I was going to get told off, but the pilot boats didn’t interfere.

Sicily appeared on the hazy horizon and the sun set, the tangerine orange reflection on the oily water making me feel like I was in dreamland. The flying fish show started, some as small as moths fluttering past my boat, and others bursting from the water like pheasants from a thicket.

I paddled past Bagnara Calabria and sat a mile or so out to sea listening to the sounds of the town drift towards me – church bells, mopeds, music. I love the feeling of having the whole sea to myself as darkness falls. The lights of Scilla guided me across the bay, and a fish jumped in to my boat as I entered the harbour. This must be a good omen so I set it free, it was too small to eat anyway.

Scilla must have given Tropea a run for its money in the most beautiful town competition, and one newly wedded couple certainly thought so. Dressed resplendently, they stood on the harbour wall, the fort on the cliffs lit up above them, bustling restaurants built on stilts over the water below. I walked around before making camp between two fishing boats on the quay side.

Diabetes

I’ve been pretty frustrated and annoyed at myself for having rubbish levels the last few days. I had a hypo last night and have been high most of the time. But I have to remind myself how challenging this adventure is from a diabetes point of view.