It would have to happen at some point and, here it did. I had gone to bed, ear plugged up and expecting a good night’s sleep, found it impossible to get to sleep because a certain nationality of campervan enthusiasts had got together to eat, drink, shout and talk unnecessarily loud into the small hours, like they still thought they owned the country.

I get very dirty guts about things like this and it wasn't long before I was making plans to set their self propelled raison de ete on fire, or maybe remove the valve cores, eat them and return them in the morning on their little step. Just to give them something to search through.

Before I got too wound up they did shut up, but it started a day with quite a few poor outcomes.

Away early, I wanted to see a few things around Tafroute, firstly some painted rocks, done by some Belgian artist. Why I don't know, they were precisely what they said on the tin. Some painted rocks. Bollocks of the highest degree.

I was most upset I had ridden all this way to view art at it's very lowest common denominator. A few miles down the piste I managed to drop Betty in some loose gravel. Because I felt strong and it was fairly cool, I wrestled Betty back to her wheels by the handlebars but something had bent with the forces involved. The handlebars were now hosepipe kinked. Another lift up might just snap them. If only I hadn't gone to see crap art! It also felt like I had ripped a few muscles in my chest undertaking such a stupid feat.

Then I set off to see some ancient rock carvings over 4000 years old, invariably, I couldn't find them and the new positioning of my handlebars was really getting on my wick.

So instead of anymore, I headed for the coast, where it would be a lot cooler, at least. The road took me in some confusing directions, up and down, and aided by a frankly totally drunk sat nav, I ended up on some tiny roads sometimes turning to piste, and other times appearing to be nationally recognised roads.

As I pup putted through a rough section of piste I was confronted by what I can only describe as a Docker God. This dude, was bouncing off the rev limiter in top gear. Total safety gear equating to some open sandals, yet he gracefully slid his machine around the corner sometimes bouncing off stones, wheels never in line, chewing gum, mobile phone held in hand rather than covering the clutch. This guy needed to speak to Repsol Honda! Guy Martin, move over…

The rest of the journey was uneventful. The Atlantic came into view and somehow gave me the feeling of seeing an old friend. You always know where you are with the Atlantic, its wet and it contains fish.

Sidi Ifni was a curious place which I instantly liked. It had been a Spanish colony for 50 years, full of art deco styled buildings. I opted for the Hotel Bel Vue right on the sea front. Taking a walk around town too look at the art deco lighthouse and the art deco Spanish consulate, it was a little like being in 'The Prisoner'.

I had not realised that it was Friday, but when I had come into the town, it had coincided with kicking out time for Friday prayers at the mosque. I was somewhat here and there trying to avoid the faithful. That said, I kind of like the Moroccan’s take on the road. In the UK we have surrendered the road it the car, making it a virtual no go area for foot/donkey/under performing Dockers. In Morocco, everyone is equal on the road, it’s just a bit more living space, so look out coming through, watch me Donkey. It is how it should be, not some preserve of metal boxes on wheels!

The hotel which had come highly recommended, was fantastic in all its art deco-ness. I paid a little extra for a room with a balcony and sea view, even so, the cost was still under £13. It was one of the few hotels I had stayed in where there wasn't a smell of rotting water.

Top view for 13 quid

I took a walk down to the beach, it was mid afternoon and there were families out enjoying the sunshine, youths messing about on mopeds and groups of girls giggling and laughing from behind their hands. It was like anywhere, just about anywhere in the world apart from there being a very art deco feel to it!

Hotel Bel Vue

Back at the hotel, I decided it was beer o'clock and went to see what was on offer in the restaurant. There was quite a selection of Eurofizz, so I had a go of some Flag, brewed in Casablanca. It felt a bit naughty drinking beer on a Friday in a Muslim country, but I suppose that is half the fun of it!

Naughty

I had a good chat with the barman and found dinner would not be served till 7.30. Looks like they do dinner the French way around here, so I made my beer last as long as possible, had a shower and enjoyed being cool for a while. The proximity of the sea had dropped the temperatures by almost 10 degrees and it was well within British summer levels.

I had the set menu for dinner of Moroccan salad, of course, locally caught shark brochettes and a huge fruit salad. I was bosent. Added to this I had had 4 bottles of beer, the last I couldn't finish, and we were in trouble.

I left the restaurant and went up to the terrace where the fresh sea air helped me to get better control of my bubbling belly. It was one of those 50:50 moments where you couldn't be sure, one way or another, if you were going to shout soup. At one moment, I thought my moment had come and leaning through the beautifully crafted framework of the building, I was shocked to see the restaurant forecourt below. I couldn't hoof up there. On the other side of the building was a car park and directly below was a Renault 12. This was an option, but it was too much like Top Gear.

At the front of the building facing the sea, was a clear drop, 100ft at least, to the cliffs below. I positioned myself so it wouldn't pass in front of the restaurant window, which I thought was most generous. It was time. I opened my mouth ready for it, but the needle had just swung the other way and the preposterous thought of puking up on a unique bit of 1930s art deco architecture helped me to man up a bit and keep me shark brochettes down. If it had been some painted rocks it would have been another story!

Went to bed, gurggling all night but a good sleep listening to the ocean.