Away again.

The GP I saw, who I am now seeing regularly at the Light Surgery, thinks maybe the world is crazy and I am normal and that I will never fit it. I'm an outsider. I was inside for a while but feeling like I didn't belong or understand a thing. Now I'm always looking at this thing but it's as if I'm walking around an exhibition, or a zoo, where I can't grasp what the purpose of the merchandise is. I'm become an alien bemused or perplexed by something happening outside my experience: my reference point is now the Camino.

Off I go again. Only back a couple of weeks. No where to move to in Wetherby do I'm stuck in Little London for the time being. Plenty of places are coming up in that area, but always if I'm 60+ or have a family. Flying to Brussels Charelroi and late bus to Ghent. An additional night in Ghent. Heading on the Via Scaldea six or seven days. Not got so long this time: Glenn joining me so we can visit some WW1 sites. Must be in Reims on 11th so we can tour Verdun, Arras, Amiens, Ypres. Glenn wants to visit Bastogne, but I think that may be too far away really: it's closer to Luxembourg unless there is a bus back from Luxembourg to UK???

And so I'm thinking of how to get back before I've even left the flat. That's bollocks - I never cared before how/when/where I was returning. Returning to all this? Isn't it true I go away to escape the monotonous waking hours? Moving in a foreign land is more vigorous than moving in circles about Leeds.

Tony appeared today. I went where I don't normally ... There he was. Hair cut and smarter clothes. But still empty eyes. He whispered the request for cash. I hadn't any. I walked on. Then I recalled £1.90 I had jangling in my pocket was more than I needed today so I returned. He looked about warily as I walked back to him. It is possible he's become nearly invisible to everyone. I'd have passed him without a glance if he hadn't called my name.

Is Belgium a boring country? The two books on the shelf in Waterstones suggest so. However I didn't know this and the couple of times I've crossed it: on foot and by train I didn't think so. It's quite flat in the north, but that provides huge skies from which to look out on the road, way. Hills are better in the distance? Until you're truly ready for them. It gives you time to build up muscle and stamina anyway. The Ardenne isn't flat. Am I going through the Ardenne? Or into the area between Belgium and Lillle. Laon is there. So too Saint Quentin. The whole line of the first world war some cities German, French, British or fought over until they were wrecked. Mauberge for instance. A town without character. Robbed of charm. I stole a packet of Scottish shortbread from the pantry of the Priests I stayed with: pitiful.

The sign in Waterstones advertising the coffee blend states "provided and roasted" which is a bit back to front. I can be quite trivial: however we are surrounded by booked edited to fit neatly in piles without a typo or grammatical error and used to prop-up our decedent lives. I should have opium tainted cigarettes to shorten my life and crystallise my beliefs.

Nothing outside me has any meaning. I must remember the truth cannot be found outside. Deep inside me I'm truly happy. It's just very difficult to bring to the surface unless I cut myself off in my room, curtains shut, eyes shut, deep breathing and meditation. I felt a pain receded to the crown of my brain today. The sensation from the front of my brain has vanished entirely. Are these sensations a sign of anything real? I feel calmer so they must be really important to finding inner peace?