One.

On Wellington Street, passing another reconstruction of the burnt out Majestic: once a cinema and once Majestk nightclub: an mammoth disappointment where vomit was spewed, piss was slashed, shit was daubed, Johnny's were ejected and, no doubt, people passed away to be born further down the food chain (thankfully); it's a blue morning.

For practical experience I walked my way back towards Leeds from Wetherby yesterday morning. My main consideration was to test the larger backpack I've decided to bring this time. It is quite possible to do damage to spine, arms, shoulders, legs and feet, when I'm required to cover 20 Kms plus a day from Tuesday, without a dry run or two.

By a quarter past eight on Sunday I was beside All Hallow's Church, Bardsey so I ducked inside for a rest. The service had just kicked off: communion. So I found a quiet corner to rest a while and listen.

The vicar was the youngest of the congregation. Is it the fear of hell or death which delivers the older and infirmer to the church? A gentleman with a hearing aid spoke to me first, but didn't listen to me when I responded. Smiling regardless I tried to tell him the church was in fact Saxon. He kept repeating "it's Norman" and this was a regular parishioner. Not that the date of the church matters in anyway: it's simply stone. It keeps away the snow, wind and rain. I quite understand why Oliver Cromwell's lot kept animals in St Alban's Abbey.

The fear of death. The fear of punishment. The fear of the unknowable. The fear of nothingness. Ashes to Ashes and dust to dust we are no more and no less. The body seems solid enough, but is more empty space than matter. Inside every atom, etc, is a realm quite unaware of the underlying fear inherent in consciousness.

They gave me a cup of tea and I helped myself two lovely home made biscuits then I used the toilet - the main purpose of my stopping - I put a pound coin in the donations jar, thanked the final nail left in the church and headed onwards to carry my cross all the way to Roundhay knowing a hill awaited where I could climb aboard the number 12.