A board for lodgings

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 style that was "all the rage" back in the day of all things pointing east. There is nothing to stop me returning when the weather is more appealing so camping is an option and I can carry less on my back from etape to etape (stage to stage). Reims is the land of Champagne - expensive nonsense really. The Nord/Pas de Calais is the land of working class biére.

My host for tonight has provided me a sleeping bag and two mats for added luxury. I will sleep happily enough. She's confirmed my thoughts about Reims and thinks I might find it a little Bourgeois. If it is at all like either Bordeaux or Tours it would not be right. Not that either of those two charming cities have any real fault apart from fantastic wine: just like Cahors (but Malbec is slightly worth going out of your penitence for!). So I intend to start back towards the coast. Anyway I need to be back in Yorkshire for the 25th to look after Lola - who I miss so much - because mother is away. It will give me a chance to walk some more, but just for larks! So still not got to Reims. But some people take for ever to start one step upon a path and others do it bit by bit, even if it takes them all the time given. Oh and my host says rain is on its way tomorrow while tonight it snows. There is no pillow...

Biére ... Again. Floreffe biére d'abbeye. Actually I feel much better for the distance I have covered in 6 days. Two of those beers (I wanted to right ov). Now for evening meal. L'Estaminet. Local and run by children ... Not really, but the music played is a la A Good Year. 1930s chanson. A bit of a cliché. But it reminds one of better days between 1918 and 1939 if this was possible. A satisfying meal. But probably too much really. I've been killed there. With Mouss'Tache blonde to absorb some of the fats from that Gargantuana chaucuterie I am ready for the floor in the chapel, where the Dame and Christ watch me sleep. And then "tactac" from A Good Year is playing. Gosh this had riclettes too.

The bill was presented before I asked for it. Perhaps I am bringing the tone of the place down with my walking attire - I have hardly said a word. Not everyone who would like to eat needs a conceit to get by - is not my money good? Maybe France is in danger of being pre 1789? Sacre Bleu! Apparently the low town is not as good as up here says an English girl who is having a year out in Laon. No more Terror please - but what is a tourist town but a way of prolonging the death of a pre industrial environment - it was missed in that horrible time and those that remained were not killed in mills or down mines. Later they were shot in the Grand Guerre.

But that was the best beer I have ever had France - Page 24 Malt & Hops. Flawless. No, I wasn't thrown out they were just efficient, so I will wander home in the snow shortly. Jesus has my bed really and protected from any Terror I suppose?

Another lonely night in Georgia - apparently; only lonely for the love lost right where he was right then (and not for everyone in all of Georgia. Unless it was a terrible time?) Everyone here has a crazy French accent! Another bar and another Belgian beer. This is Ploegsteert - where the joyeux Noel was. No more wars. No more biére.

...

As the dawn light crept into my cell I awoke with a mind set on returning to collect those items I left back in Wisques. It is a crisp morning, none of the rain my host predicted. Without haste I rearranged the chapel back as I found it, rolled up sleeping and mat, brushed my teeth and left the key where I was shown. A coffee in the square before descending the numerous steps - where in a moment of distraction the ice got me as I lost traction, but gripping the railing I didn't plunge too far. Then trying to go north it appears I must go south to Gay Paris. No! Oh shit! Not there please. Reims would be a pale reflection of Paris. But that is the only way if you leave it until the last moment to do anything. How is it right to be penalised for making snap decisions, rather than planning everything weeks or months ahead. The system doesn't want anyone to be unpredictable I think. Perhaps from Gare Nord I continue to Amiens which puts me within distance of Arras and the region of Pas de Calais? The in/out trip was going to cost me €66 to Saint Omer. Only €24.10 to Paris which will be a place money is snapped if I leave the comfort of Gare Nord. I've only been to Paris once, but that was literally to pass through from Montparnasse, Metro and away north on a day of strikes back in 2000. My addiction to coffee began then. Back in Brittany where I was 'managing' a campsite and had an espresso fix before scrubbing toilets for 65p per hour. I worked out how much I was receiving for non stop work from 8am until any late arrivals from Rostock and not one day off in a month and half of erecting tents all over Finisterre. Finally, after a terribly rainy May and being told off for having a day off in Quimper, I quit on payday and headed thoughtlessly to Paris to return to the UK on Whitsun bank holiday weekend. When I finally returned to Wetherby I was broke, tired and dirty. It took me all the strength I had to get from an "on strike" Paris to Calais on the final ferry. Being left in Lille with no idea how I was to continue when there was no more transport running after I got on the one train running north. Then someone put me on a coach full of French pensioners on a day trip returning to Calais. But this is not 2000 ...

As we travel slowly, some restriction in Picardie, it is time to reflect on our need to always get somewhere other than right here. The mind instinctively tried to banish restraint on this means of carriage. Across from me two ladies read from books and I listen to Wye Oak Civilian. It is because we don't want to be here really. Just now we speed up again.

Paris.