The hillside slopes on upwards a little and it must have been from here that as a teenager B remembers watching without paying. Returning to the auditorium I notice a few shards of an old 78rpm record. Crows call in the dusk, the shadow of one passes swiftly over the screen. The cinema itself is almost a clone of the others we have seen—one of the consequences of central planning—a work of architecture in the age of mechanical reproduction.

By the time I get back to the restaurant L has been on a tour of the kitchen and my order is ready.

By the time we’re finished it’s getting late, a relative term nowadays, because on our return I’ve got to write my logbook, download the photos from the cameras and archive any video we made.