A rebel without a clue.

Pilgrimage Pt.15. Three bassoons playing a mighty sound. A bass and two tenors. Hugely funny. Well not when it is super snores at just about 4am. Hank the orange ogre is the leading instrument of this particular trio. But the rhythm is abrasive and never sings me back to a grave like sleep; I slept through my own memories of completing tasks and feeling open, yet on awaking I felt closed from self engagement. Truly. I feel mental this morning. I got up to discover all my walking clothes are still wringing wet. I'm not walking to Conques. There is no way I could with a rucksack and another bag of soaking clothes and wearing denim; rain loves denim. I now plan to get to Conques and get a sleeping roll for my tent; from June the weather is meant to improve. Christian the German walker who returned with snapped ligaments managed €5 per day camping. Either I give the clothes that are adding to my weight to charity, send them back or throw away. Bernard the Priest states you can leav...

Pilgrimage Pt.14. Late last night I changed my mind. If I can't just about walk straight on again today weather permitting I'll see how the bones and the damp feels Friday before deciding to walk to Conques or use a hackney. I've still got all of the emergency sterling fund that mother gave me without me asking; haven't had chance to exchange it. The Way of St James recommends Hospitalité Saint-Jacques: and I'm going to relax in Estaing, 320m: without a bleeding nose coming down from 1400m and snaking over many more petit Marilyns. So far all I've had for petit dejourner are a dozen Agen Prunes. I was helped on my way to my donativo so popped back for le cafe au femme et créme! Everyone else seems to be going forward to Golinhac, but they didn't go over the hill between Espalion and Estaing. I can't manage another afternoon of being wetness. My feet are getting trenchfoot from everyday's rains. It is another seventeen kilometres, up hill a bit, in...