I was having a bit of a wobble; a bleak, dark November crisis of confidence and positivity. So I went for a walk around the seaside town I’ve made my home for the winter (probably: the jury’s still out). And that’s when I stumbled across the Scallop Shell House.
It sits on an unprepossessing corner of a busy road, but it’s a work of art. And it brought an immediate rush of powerful Camino memories from the happy weeks I spent walking across Spain, following the scallop signs. At that time I had no doubts; it was enough to just follow the shells on the roads, the pavements and on the backs of my fellow pilgrims.
Earlier this year I discovered a rough track in the north of Scotland that was spread with thousands of scallop shells and took some comfort then that I was, just maybe, following the right road. I’ll do the same again tonight, and place my trust in the crazy little house of shells just along the street.