A rebel without a clue.

I've been there. And I was possessed by my venom, and time. Now I'm full of a poison which it seems impossible to cure. Taken to a sagging rest, and my back curves truly. I don't choke on this toxic breath. Puking in the whimsy. And numerous gasp. I don't believe in me. So the sputum is dribbling my nose, burning a hole in a grave I've devoured. Oh the loam is thrown to finish this body off.

So here's I am. King's Cross. Time till departure 35 minutes. There is a persistently heavy rain falling on Old London Town. But I didn't let it get me down. This morning I woke close to 6:30 and was gone from St Aphelge CSF by just after eight. I followed the railway bridge and was shortly deposited by the Tate Modern. It is a lot closer to Borough Market than my perambulations would suggest when I returned at 6:30 on Sunday night. It might have been my imagination, but the frown Sister Joyce gave me when I arrived at the door might've been reserved for anyone late arriving to the establishment? So I ate the cold shoulder of mutton I was provided and went to bed intent on being gone before any more frowns. Last voucher given to homeless person. I've eaten quite enough this morning so it seems only fair I give what I can. The young white gentleman looked quite shocked as did the young Middle Eastern lady I saw sat in the cold outside Southwark Cathedral. Actually I...

I've decided to stay on the train, which has reached Amiens, to Boulogne-sur-Mer as I can get to Calais from there and then Saint Omer. I think I will be there in good time to get to Wisques Abbey de Notre Dames. It was very difficult to use the system designed to get you from A to B regardless of changing trains in the opposite direction to eventually get to the desired destination. It's a bit like a three point turn. They don't know I am coming, but if the is no way to rest back there then back to Calais, etc. Perhaps it is an illogic of computerised search engines? The conductor will find me shortly to get me to pay the ferry man his demand! Blessings of the day! He's allowed me passage to Boulogne-sur-Mer gratis. He says I will need to pay at Boulogne-sur-Mer only. Maybe it is better if I get it from this generous smiling French conductor? I recall that with my delayed train from Saint Quentin that SNCF would provide a taxi to Laon if the other train had departed a...

It was a very interesting experience finding a place to sleep in Paris. Eventually after a lot of walking, to be told the options I had been provided were full, I was back where I began (thinking I would just have to head north and try my luck there). Just as my energy was on low I reappeared at the Parish Office next to Saint Severin Eglise, but then the Priest was back and he said I could sleep next to a radiator with bedding. I had to return at 7:30pm - apres messe - when I could have dinner with those provided for by the church - which is very powerful in France and is positive as it treats all in need as well as it is possible. So many homeless people in Paris. London feels a pale reflection of this terrible modern scar. This is not a depressed time and not one person should be forced by circumstance - because of addiction, mental health, financial destitution or fleeing tyranny - to beg. Such a lot of France's bounty is provided for those bleeding Bourgeoisie. Reading "D...

Went far so to find a the place I have to sleep is another school floor. Hell, I left all my sleeping items with Soeur Lucie back at Wisques Abbey Notre Dames. Currently I am finding it harder and harder to get a place to sleep frugally. The Office de Tourism tell me the next two etapes on the Via Francigena have only Hotels, special pelerin rates for sure at only €46 per night (oh but of course that includes breakfast). And until Reims there is no donativo at all. Maybe in winter this way remains as impassable as during Sigerics time, but for another reason. Really as I have only €75 remaining of the €250 I set off with and I really don't want to withdraw anymore money until I require it to catch the ferry back home. It would be ideal to cap this treatment for my "head" off tonight (being mindful as often as able) and head back to St Omer. Reims can wait. I am not really interested in any "monuments ancient" as every single church is a repeat of the definitive ...

After a pleasant day walking I finally arrived at the Parish office and it is written - "La maison des pèlerins est fermée du 15 novembre au 1er mai. Merci." Balls. And my illiteracy in the native tongue means I can't get a word in edge wise. Return between 1545 and 1600 to see what the priest says. I hastily walk about the square and return to the office de tourism who have my credentials! I had high hopes of making myself something to eat here tonight. The Parish option was also closed in Bapaume. The priest returns but cannot help. The petit maison that they have aside for pilgrims is without heating currently. Not the end of the world as there is an auberge towards the ramparts, but at €30 pour pèlerins! Just enough time to visit the Brassiere De Clerck and collect two biére. Perhaps a take away for meal tonight. As long as breakfast is massive! A better idea eat all my cheese, saucisson, figs and bread then refill tomorrow at another supermarket. Because...

Half past four and another stage complete. Such a peaceful walk from Arras to Bapaume, passing Sunken Road and Gomiécourt (stopping for lunch) commonwealth war graves. On leaving Gomiécourt I said thank you and sorry to those buried there. It was cold when I left Arras, but blue skies from east to west, by afternoon still bright looking down on these corpses. What were we thinking marching to Tipperary to get our bodies ripped asunder? The highlight of today was passing an exposed shell and two grenades, one British and one German, corroding in the mud. I moved the German grenade with my foot gingerly - and thought better of that action ... You never know with explosives? Not after 100 years for sure! Just before I happened along this cache of armaments I was lost in thought. Deep in the ego resisting this walking. As I gave it a stern telling off, and began with another lesson from the Course, out of my mental haze stood these horrors. Obviously with that much death and des...

Obviously my second Achilles heel is cheese. Paul called this devil's food. Probably correct if it's just factory processed. Yet cheese from a farm is another matter. It still contains all the negative aspects of cheese, but is a reflection of "le terroir" and the local air borne yeasts. Occasionally a little local cheese is terrific. Le Pe'tit Dieu is made with top cream of the milk and has a very earthy taste. It is semi hard. It is nice! However I will indefinitely prefer Comté as it is particular creamy and wild. It has everything! Smell, taste, etcetera. What bolderdash. It is all aged curds! And most of the work is absolutely done by nature. We just move the finished article from time to time in storage for another occasion to be consumed. I wonder how we came across cheese in the first place? I have always thought it strange to be addicted to any milk from another animal. There is no human cheese? No woman is fed the lushest grasses that a pasture can perfo...

Opportunity to have a warm bath. Two days without and my body required that! On the scales I am a trim 77.5kg and have covered 107.9kms on foot since leaving Canterbury on Wednesday morning. But I read somewhere that back weight ratio should be only 15% of body weight. So I might have to really send back some items to get the optimum weight down to 11.675kgs including boots, water, food and warm layers. This village is Labuissièrre on the IGN and it has an ancient church - Saint Martin. I am not too far from Vimy Ridge which I missed in 2014. So perhaps it would be necessary to visit the site of the trenches - get a feel for the horror of trench warfare. It is not in the village, but to the South West. When I head north again. The war was such a horrible consequence of the ego. Which side was God on in this conflict? To see an image of a whole trench of dead Germans killed in an instant. We are not made aware often enough. Just two minutes once every year! It just isn't enough. Ev...

With a solid day of walking behind me I am now at Notre Dames Abbeye Wisques. My sack is much too heavy. I will leave some things here and return for them on the 25th on route north again? If I leave my sleeping bag, bivvy and pillow I may not feel quite so oppressed by the end of the day? Will ask Soeur Lucie if I may return for one night, on my way north, at dinner. ... There are a group of French undergraduates in a house the Soeur's have apart for pilgrims. We shared dinner in the refectory and they helped me to get my request across to Soeur Lucie that it would be helpful if I could reduce the strain of the weight I was carrying? She's fine with me leaving it here to return on the day prior to departing back across the Channel and I can sleep here again. I am not up to another 100 kms with the backpack as it was. Yesterday I rushed because by noon it was getting heavier and heavier to get to the Abbey for around half three. ... Gathering around the breakfast table I ad...

The clocks ticking to remind me of my death; I am awake at six. Why does anyone require more than one time piece? And why must they all tick off another second from our short mortality? Such a snug bed otherwise and Ruth provided a wonderfully healthy supper. Last night she went to a Pentecostal Church group and took the lovely Husky girl - but I only just heard them return as I was fading fast. Can't have been later than nine. Reading a few pages of RC last night it is impossible not to think those people venturing out on the wild seas really were brave and resourceful. To manage not to kill himself with the food he prepared, butchering goats, birds and turtles. And to discover methods of drying grapes and basket making. It makes me certain the industrial revolution made us dispossessed of the land and the ways of the land. Now we have artisans then we had to survive. The village is named for the Knights Templar and a water source. This morning I will set off at eight and head ...

Over to Costa for an erstwhile coffee. Woke up at six. Remade the bed then heard wood pigeons. Morning prayer is at 7:30 in Our Lady Martyrdom chapel. When I collected my pilgrim credentials yesterday the lady at that post said there were two Dutch people who had picked up theirs earlier in the day. Perhaps they will be in the chapel this morning. It is Ash Wednesday. It is here! It was a long time coming! A brief breakfast with Austin and An other then I set off back to the Cathedral to see the congregation gather for the Eucharist. But I can't partake in any of the prayers, excepting the Lords Prayer, so I couldn't go into that chapel and listen to any more of the Psalms. There is no reason for vengeance in the message of Christ. I don't know how it got into the story of Christ at all? The weather is sharp showers and chilly, it passes for the sun to appear and me to sweat inside my rain jacket. No sign of any of our orange cousins on the route so far. Finally I have r...

It's just me at the refractory table. I've some saucisson, rye bread and a belly of local ale - three pints at The Foundry brew pub. Austin and Micael are out. It is nice to be here on the main thoroughfare in Canterbury alone. I am ready for the off. Canterbury has the cathedral and the pilgrims hospital for me. The main way is the same souvenir coffee shop retail parade that is representative of every town, city and suburb in this era. In London I saw an Ethiopian roasting coffee for a genuine cup of what we no longer consider a luxury. St John's off Waterloo Road. The best cup I ever had was at the mediaeval fayre in Sherwood Forest back in 2008. Some mockery of the Knights of St John made Kava. Near to the optional original heart of that forest I felt the crusaders were home! There is no centre in a forest unless you are an outlaw keeping Him at a distance. Stout men in heavy garments polishing spears and swords for another go at the Saracens! Are we back there again i...

Lost note. Oh well. Not quite Coleridge. At platform C Waterloo East. It's a little cold this morning, but not windy. I've discovered that my boots are retaining moisture from my thick socks - thick wool socks so today I try a different method. Only man made fabric. This morning I looked around The Cut and found the three vintage Citroens which line Roupell Street. They're a tourist destination for me. Didn't manage to get to the Scooter Works on Lower Marsh, but I've enough coffee already. One 99pence filter at Pret, there are so many coffee shops in London. What else is there here? Millions rushing to their many boxes being drawn to the ball and chain. I stood and giggled. Then gave my remaining change to a homeless guy. He's from Adelaide and used to work in the film industry. Now he's on the streets next to Southwark Underground. Now I am heading east of on an earlier train to Canterbury. Had a lovely breakfast chat with the three Sister's at the ...

The harshest experience I've ever had must be finding Inner Temple Gardens closed off because of 30mph winds! Surely those barrister's are insured against a falling tree? No doubt the discount is mighty? Setting off down Gray's Inn Street I quickly arrived at Fleet Street and from there it was not long until I crossed Millennium Bridge. I will never forget the short cuts in London to try to keep away from tourists and the law. I found myself laughing at my surprise at arriving at the junction of Fleet and Fetter so soon. The backpack is heavy but not over the top. The weather might be inclement but it can't be the Aubrac in May 2013! That would really be a surprise? Maybe a welcome challenge. So my route was curtailed to the Thames, but eventually I came upon it at the end of Temple Avenue. The mighty Thames where slavery is still shackled to the brick and mortar edifices. No longer filled to the waterline with vessels, but pushed upon by every quay and embankment so th...

God is the Mind with which I think (Lesson 45). Good, Monday, morning! I awoke at four with excitement at the challenge of the next few weeks. Did my laundry at six, having turned over in bed for a couple l of hours before deciding it was a waste of precious hours. My rucksack I packed on Sunday evening. It might be a little heavy. I am not sure I will need a bivouac really and the two banana rye breads I baked last night are fairly heavy - a kilo at least, but I assume they will be gone before France(I read on Wikipedia that rye bread keeps weeks but I am not sure bananas don't go rancid if not totally dehydrated?) After a really very hot bath ... The last for a while ... I opened the window to be greeted by rain, so what. Yes I will get wet. So what. As long as the jacket I own doesn't give out too readily ... I have gaiters and eVent trousers and plenty of wicking layers. Last night I stupidly decided to update my rooted Galaxy Tab S and found I was stuck in a loop. Inf...

The Ego pits illusions against truth to such an extent that even my perception of presence is flawed, indeed false. I cannot witness to presence here. The illusion is a projection outside the Oneness. Try as I might being present is not possible outside until it occurs naturally inside. To see the Real World is only possible once the illusion has been revealed for the imposter it is. It came to me that every action is only a reaction to the illusion. Stillness is still an illusion, as that too is a projection. A couple of days remain of the longest waiting game I set myself. The clock ticks relentlessly but from Monday I will leave time on the train leaving sunless Leeds ... And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes Final visit to Hebden Bridge for a while, perhaps I will return to that Course group once France returns south in my mind. Yesterday I realised nothing at all matters here - not even walking makes any difference. It is only...

I've had humanistic person centred counselling on a Saturday morning for a number of months. This combined with a daily intake of antidepressants, regular walks with our dog, a better diet, less alcohol and regular observance of mindfulness, meditation and A Course In Miracles has made me realise I've been denying my truth all my adult life, and quite a lot of the preceding years, but now I am trying to see my life for the opportunity it is. Not to look to the past for answers I have never found, only more questions. Something wonderful is becoming clear and it has made me reevaluate all the self doubt and guilt I have carried as a misperception of my lack of worth to everyone I have ever known. My sense of being wrong, inferior, weird, odd, bizarre, contradictory to every one who stood over me and called me thus! It was never true. How many years was I going to try to be the other lie? Not forever and now, thankfully, because I have the time to get my self back to where I was ...

Some people are true examples of courage. Those who live without the safety of a cave aka a home. The homeless who shelter in doorways from the bitter sting of misfortune. Usually stuck in addiction and hopelessness. These are emblems we need to be aware of before we say I want more. Less is more. Giving is receiving. Knowing no scarcity or lack is something we were given before the system attempted  to warp our truth into conceit. See through the system it isn't there. It is Monday. There my brothers go: constructing yet another raft of perceived vengeance adrift on the barren ways, where lonely flotsam twists in the breeze. It will not save you from this desolate shore as the promised land is an idea and ideas are always within. You have protected your route home with obstacles and mazes but it is still there hidden amongst the briars. No. This is not it. This is not what I meant at all. Maybe I missed something in my later years but I don't yearn to wear any token of trib...

All my relations go rotten when alcohol is involved. Even a quiet evening in Headingley becomes a vicious monster once a few beers have been consumed. All about which fighter was Germany's main aircraft in the Second World War! Such a trivial mindless unimportant argument about the past, the dark days of the twentieth century. It doesn't matter. Nothing will change as a result of this passionate and brutal onslaught. Instead of this I could see peace. Decided to head to Hebden Bridge slightly earlier. Not feeling Leeds this morning. Needed to be mindful and let last night fold back on itself. I am blessed as a Son of God. There is a way of seeing last night as another lesson on my stubborn mind. The pain I bring in to being is finite. Perhaps the target I have given my self is the problem.  Waiting for Lent is so silly! Christ didn't chose to go into the wilderness on a specific date! He went because he was called. There is no time. The system says that there is, but that...

How many dog walks along the same old paths! Too many! Unseasonally warm and wet everywhere. Sweating on the inside and drenched on the outside, but it is not Burma 1942! I am not dodging mortar, grenade or sniper. An hour and a half is sufficient this day! I am back to Leeds to check into 69 - mailman bring me no more blues. Then continue to work on these waterlogged boots. The amount of conditioners, cremes and wax I am forcing on these things, but I will introduce water repellency and bring life back to my expensive Meindl Bhutan three season size 10.5s. It appears to be breathing new life where I thought they were a goner! Such a mistake not to treat them prior to their first wearing! No one in Cotswold's told me I'd need to start at the very beginning. This has been such a wet winter, and mud can be so acidic, that they've no chance. I've not developed trench foot, but I had no traction traversing Spofforth Golf course, Green Haggs Lane or Crimple Beck falling at e...

Such prospects. One night over means one last sleep until I get on the road again. The eighth of February is the grande depart along the route I tried back in December 2014. My bed is found for the first two nights. Down in London and Canterbury the graceful Society of St Francis will allow me a night to get in order. I've booked a one way trip to King's Cross at a cost effective £23.50 and I will walk down Kingsway to Southwark bridge. They expect me at 3pm. My thoughts suggest I should walk a little out of London on Shrove Tuesday before I depart east into Kent. Up to Greenwich is a pleasant walk indeed, or Deptford for a moment with Christopher Marlow - I can get an out wards bound train from Lewisham I think! Or perhaps the DLR. I am not following the A2 anywhere. I know Harry Bucknall did but I can't see him struggling with the noise demons? Yesterday I saw Gemma from Leeds Mind and hopefully they will be able to share my journey to those in search of another way out ...

A spectacular week of unbelievable ups and one unbelievable down. But I did it all to myself. Three days of bliss - Walking through Leeds purposely saying Good Morning to all the people i passed, meeting a fellow student of A Course In Miracles, an amazing deep breathing mediation (in my cell) twice, a few pleasant conversations with strangers, another excellent counselling session followed by the second Zen Sangha in Leeds Unitarian Chapel, Mill Hill. Then snooker, pool, darts and chess up at the Brudenell on the afternoon and into the early evening. Walking home through the snow still wishing everyone good day! Then ... becoming a mindlessly stubborn drunk by the end of the evening. I repeated the same pattern of behaviour which seems an established part of my post adolescent self - an emotion out the bottom of my very soul - when I forget I don't need alcohol to be happy! It has taken me two days of this bottoming out depression to see that I allow the other side of me to over...

20th August 2010. I think it was on a Sunday in 1980 and, as was usual, we were taken in the family car by my father, on his only complete day away from the job he usually hated, to visit our relations in Rawmarsh South Yorkshire. We'd drive south on the A1, turn off at junction 36 and pass slag heaps and dirty rivers. We'd cross the Don and fly through Conisborough, Mexborough and Swinton to arrive at Hallam Place, Goosebutt Street,  Parkgate or Claypit Lane. Crossing the Rother and passing many thousands of council houses and coal board housing jostling with the smells of tar, coke, coal and steel industry in the air along to Jean and Milton's abode. Mother and father's oldest friends while they were married: best man, etc., regular guest at our house since I can ever remember. When all else of Rawmarsh has vanished with the death of dad they still occur regularly in my life. Solid as a pair of Doctor Martens boots. Andrew and I were proper childhood pals. Did ...

How to walk in February, through rain, mud, snow, ice and find somewhere to sleep. Homeless people sleep in doorways, they can't be freezing otherwise they wouldn't be alive in the morning. They must cherish wool, thermally protective clothing. Many layers. The smells of their bodies must be beyond their perception. We're not used to our natural smells as the huge perfume and deodorant business demonstrates. We are animals with sweat glands, we perspire to keep cool, yes it smells but that is actually normal. We deny our true nature by pampering our selves in cosmetics and fabric conditioners; Glade, Air Wick and Febreze fill shelves in all supermarkets. But why? What made man hate his own smell? Are we always going to deny our nature. Will scientist develop pleasant smells in our DNA? A few stem cells will consign that industry to the dole queue. Quickly please tweak the genome! How do you sleep in a doorway? How many pairs of socks would be enough pairs of socks? You c...