Pilgrimage Pt.29.

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The devil is in our midst and he is Canadian. Stoned beyond redemption and suddenly he's the chef de cuisine. I'm hating the way my experience has been altered by one unaware individual. He is meaningless. I must remember that he is meaningless. He has disturbed me twice now. In both large Cities: Pamplona and Logrono. So much I just want to go home. People have played up to his appallingly bad meal. Flavourless and over cooked. Second time I've needed to flee the dinner table at the conclusion of the sweet course. Oh why! Those guys from over the Atlantic must make themselves heard. They're insanely insignificant to Europe.

With a better morning and rice pudding for breakfast I run run run to autobus estacion for to out-distance Peter, Amish and two Americans. thanks to Claire from iglesia de santiago el real for helping me. and also Nicole and Antonio at breakfast for bringing the better feeling back. if I see Peter, Hank or Bernadie again in this life! I realise within the 1% are 99% for whom I am also disenfranchised from. 1% of 1%. I am so so alone. if I see the devils again I will trip them up in their paths; they'll roll in the gutter with all the other forgotten turds; I am arrogant! San Domingo de la Calzarda then 1.5 kilometres to Grañon will put me away from these bandits. Did this same problem always happen on the way?

Something tells me I should call my mother today.

When I consider the labeling that was occurring and the generalisations that those guys, even a good Catholic lady when condescending to me being an English Anglican; when I am not!

Four Swedish ladies are returning to Malmo/Stockholm via Bilbao. I would prefer the gabble and babbling of foreign tongues to the assaults of a madder tongue spreading like disease from the USA and Canada. Relief! Another day.

The detour to Montpellier has left me £100 out of budget for that misconception. I assumed a donativo would stand me. But now I'm back on the path of refugio donativo my oath is to reach a destiny on the 12th July. I hope Glenn is ok. I wish him happiness until I see him again; one of the too good guys.

Come together 0.01%.

Bus stations are blackened chewing gum and diesel stained places where my eyes see only the dead or the dying. Coffins are autobuses and undertakers are Drivers. Leaden glass a veil too opaque to long for; immortality in a steel mauselleum. The Usher's sweep away tobacco not roses. My hackney, blackened, arrives a herse to clean away my indifferences.

Another good truth comes of busily busing the distance after those last 4 days walking beyond my skin, teeth and torn muscles.

Jim Broadbent has played the same character three times.

I found my seat, spoke briefly to an Australian father and son, we discussed the forthcoming Ashes, why Aussie cricket is so dire and how the AFL is playing out. Then I got severe motion sickness. It took my until the WC of the cathedral in San Domingo, and vacant retching, to come round.

As fast as I could I turned my feet along the 2hour journey to Grañon.

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