Firstly, if anyone reading this has a loved one or friend affected by the Boston bombings, my sincere sympathies. I cannot fathom the thinking of the person or persons who could so such a thing.

Here I am on the Camino whinging about a crook knee, and athletes there have lost limbs, and lost their lives. It's horrific to contemplate.

My mate Nelson Woss sent me a message saying that I should use a cream called Voltaren. Nelson is not only a very fine producer, he's also en endurance athlete. So I took it on board. Then late yesterday I was limping around the village where I was staying, and this very sweet German lady approached me. She had been watching me limp everywhere, and she had a tube of – yes – Voltaren. She insisted that I not only put some on my knee straight away, but that I put some in a tissue and use it in the morning.

It worked. My knee today was much better, although the shin soreness on my other leg has now kicked in good and proper. So I'm kind of in balance.

This morning was one of those glorious days. The path from the village was relatively flat and smooth, and for nearly 10 kms it was beautiful walking as the sun came up. I figured out later that I was averaging nearly 5kms / hr, which with my various injuries was fairly powering.

I thought during that time that these guide books on the camino should do what the weather folk do with temperatures. They say its 20 degrees but it feels like 25 degrees. That's what they should do with kilometres. One kilometre does not equal one kilometre. A km this morning was not the same as a km going up the Pyrenees, let me tell you.

I didn't see many people walking today – only about 6-8 all up, including the 3 Asian girls who were staying at my place last night. I ended up doing 31kms today, and really felt the last 10kms. It was hot, and I was aching, and the backpack seemed disproportionally heavy. And I started getting another damn blister – this one on my right heel.

But I really wanted to get to this lovely medieval village named Viana. I'm staying in a hostel above a pub, on the Main Street in the old part of town. I had a late pilgrim's lunch – paella for starter, roast lamb chops with potatoes, and Galician ice cream. And a bottle of the local red wine. All for €10!

I'm writing this blog sitting at the front bar, and the barman has just done his cider trick for a patron. That's it. I'm having a cider.

Or four.