A rebel without a clue.

Depression is bizarre. Just like that I feel overwhelmed. The world I am walking through is so supreme. It's a rare sight to see early on a Monday morning, but something paralyzes me. The thing I feel haunting my steps and putting me back once more. Today I must focus away from the repetition of the hoodwinking mood! Let it drift away. There are dark clouds to the north and they are enhancing my feelings! Now the destination is reached it seems much too short a journey: I arrived just around noon. There are towns further up the pass, however there are no Halte Saint-Jacques. But maybe that's for the best? I see there is a Chambre d'hôtes up that long road at €40. Some days it's Donativo and other days you get something better? My budget is around right for today, but I don't think stopping here at noon is quite enough. Perhaps I'm addicted, or it's a habit, to carry on until the later parts of the afternoon? It'll be up, but this is piémont du Pyrénées ...

No my brain doesn't work today! It's impossible to switch into French mode! That's beer, but it's not the end of the world as the couple understand one too many beers. It's a hazard of towns on a Saturday during harvest season in France: they like to celebrate all weekend: and this is fair. It's going to be a hot one! I must depart shortly. Once my bowels have had their say! Walked all day, except for two brief "snack" breaks. Now having a sablé biscuit and hair of the dog! I'm tired beyond words. Why is it 31°C at the end of September. Break weather... Cool off please. Not a cloud in the sky. Luckily from noon it was not relentlessly up; calm down and not sadistically up. The Halte Saint-Jacques is next to the Cathedral, but I think I'm very early to get in. It says 6pm on the Office de Tourisme door. That's fine! I'm in the shade of the Linden tree here. The rest may wait! The custodian tells me I've an hour to wait before the pe...

Some Huguenots came from this part of France and they were persecuted for their beliefs. Why did those Catholic kings, queens and clergy feel so threatened by another voice? They felt they were unstoppable and supreme and were clearly willing to kill Christians in the name of Christ: such hypocrisy seems rife in France, Spain and Catholicism. No one really knows the true message Jesus was trying to preach. From the point of an Atheist, Agonistic, Deist, etc, it's all convoluted? Except perhaps the sermon on the mount. He was inspired to denegeate those who claim superiority through power, etc. Yet this "church" thing is obviously a fake in the sense of rituals, laws, constructs as a church exists within and not outside. A body holds it all because it's the mind which is the root. The stone buildings and the reliquaries are faux on every level. They won't let you in if you don't bend low and in a sinister way you are not worthy. Except I bet mosquitoes still bi...

A good night's sleep in this accueil pèlerin, on my own, with silence after eight: I was out in seconds, woke up around 2 with that nattering noise, but it wasn't a mosquito for a change, and headed back to lala land until 6. Fine breakfast, but only a small portion of coffee alloted. I've nowhere to stop at all before Mas d-Azil so I had to locate the well hidden grounds! This morning I left a Donativo, which means that's all the money I've got on me. The destination has all services so I'll start on the daily allowance again there - €35. Sunrise at 7:47 and the nights are drawing in: maybe the weather will cool a little in the middle of the day so I don't feel so bound to collapse? Cloudy as I leave the acceuil pèlerin up either side of the valley stags are groaning and braying. In the valley the sheep bleet, and one clearly coughs like she's on sixty a day. This morning I'm following the way exactly. Another 20 kilometres until I reach Mas d'...

While I am blowing bubbles out my nose, I need to blow (into the ether goes this slime as I shake it into the wind) it's Friday! No forgetting today! That'd be insane! That was a tough stretch from Pamier. Intense at first up to Saint Victor. Just up into the hills. A halt then up on a forestry road to the top before a huge descent into Montégut Plantaurel. The couple looking out for pilgrims are on holiday - fuck. I'm taken in by a "wine" maker who I think makes herb wines, etc. They've had to nip out and I need to rest! Rest I did until mosquitoes came to rest on me like U2 spy planes. The acceuil pèlerin across the street is open, but vacant. Where am I to stay away from the evil bastards who operate over enemy territory during the day! If they are away does it mean I'll have hang about in this "Breuvages de Pyréne" Cave where I think the kids have been left to devastate the habitation while their parents are away? Bloody tiger mosquitoes: a...

Fresh underwear is a revelation, but the time had surely come? A decent night's sleep with some intense dreaming. Feature length dreams fueled by the cheese course at each French meal. Last night's acceuil du pèlerin was a disused railway station. For the remoteness of place it was massive. Look at the Pyrenees to the south: mighty, yet serene. Unhurried they are still moving pushing up the land behind: a force in nature beyond our wildest misunderstanding. Now I head due west on the disused railway line in Pamier for around nine? Tragedy has befallen me! The ever reliable fork, knife and spoon set I was presented with in HMP Wealston are now two or three days behind me. Now I've no cutlery to eat this tin of lentils I've been carrying since then! Oh the humanity.

Laundry done. No more body odour driving folks away: as though I meet anyone while I am pouring with sweat! The main reason I walk is for the solitude which brings back to me a feeling of gentleness and warmth. Dwelling on the past or worrying about what's next vanish for a few moments and I don't know what the problem is. Occasionally I reach a plateau of calm and all tension dissipates, being in the moment is something satisfying but very hard to convey. This is perhaps because any words used to describe it aren't it. The times I meditate at home or at my mum's are the same. For a few minutes, perhaps a couple of hours, nothing is distressing me. The voice of doubt is silent. On a couple of occasions I've forgotten everything; however this becomes a little startling and panic settles in quickly. Only once did I reject the panic and let anything vanish; it seemed that this was the end of it all, yet something dragged me back. Repase smells wonderful and last nigh...

At 15 kilometres it's a little longer to Vals, along the minor routes either side of the main road to Pamiers, and quite boring, but not those hills. Tomorrow it's quite a different story with no option to miss out fairly steep hills. I'm not a coward I just have limits to my energy with this sack! Thierry has connections with the French foreign legion because he was a soldier in the Alpine division and they had an "exchange" programme. He stopped for a beer and I've stopped for lunch. That was a very tough morning and my boots are still wet! Did I mention it was a bit damp yesterday? On the eighth day Daniel wondered how Leeds Mind help publicize my erstwhile endeavour? Do they? Can they? Why aren't they? I'm not sure I can answer that one, but it feels I am trying to help without help! Except for the obvious help from mosquitoes? It's one o'clock so why move? It's shady and I couldn't care less for mosquitoes in the daytime. I disl...

Is there a shorter route today rather that 36 kilometres over three 500 metre hills?Not constantly on tarmac, not on the main roads and pleasant enough. Most of "modern" interpretations the Way of Saint James visit every church, chapel and cross on the road side which means that the route can often go backwards a while before the destination is back ahead of you! Today it does that too - definitely after Vals. It's a bit later start for me this morning and the shorter means of arriving in Pamier is calling me: voie verte : an old railway route. No hills, not backwards to go forwards: Saint Jean Pied-de-Port is far away enough! So I'm late? Well I've bread, cheese, olives and tomatoes. As it passes nine, and I'm behind my usual departure time (I don't like walking after midday!) I will use the disused railway track. My belly is distended with Andouillette : bizarre but pleasant French only style sausage which even includes the oink I'm sure! A coffee ...

Even here in France big beards are the thing! But the grooming which goes into it really undermines that whole Wild West/Ned Kelly outlaw type look, doesn't it? They're paying a mint to appear to be roguish! Yet I'm sweating my arse off, for hours on end, in the same clothes everyday, sleeping wherever I can and I feel I am a veritable tramp: throw me a box car and I'll stink right in. And this "dude" (dud) is delivering fresh laundry: he's got a trolley, a perpendicular beard several feet long and all that tattoo stuff too! Now the true France reveals itself. With a wild garden backing onto a steam, and the way the fields rise in that childlike fashion. The lady of the house has four cats, all with insanely long, double barreled names, and two ewes who are quite demanding of me. They wish to come into the garden. After asking the host, quite excitedly, because I just couldn't wait, they bound into her garden and lap it up! Quite some distance from Mi...

Of course they brought forth juniper berries, here on this exposed spot, they're juniper bushes: still e xcellent - but minus the gin "boo hiss" I hear a certain voice cry out! Soon I'll be needing to do a laundry of all my underthings, but not yet as I'm sure there are two sides to every gusset? Day seven going into eight I reckon I've at least 12 days of sweating my proverbials off before I smell too much like my old man for my own comfort - I am even smelling like a 60 a day man too, which I really don't understand as I've never smoked ciggies. And being caught in a downpour means I am being launderetted for free, without Persil - parsley! And it's done! I'm staying with a family later. Not paying an absent Chambre d'hôtes £25 for a bed and a microwave - that's taking the piss! Am I talking to the wrong people by consulting the Office du Tourisme? I've to wait next to the La Poste, but currently I'm at The House of Consuls ...

Cows and potatoes, sunflowers and moorland: crossing the divide into mud and rain. Vineyards gone and olives vanished too; crooked oaks and rosehips brush my shoulder. Water drips off my nose tip and rivlets run down my sleeve; wait is there a break in the distance? Watch your feet as tractors tracks wallow deep.

I've been heading in the wrong direction for half an hour. Nothing left to do but cross direct to the correct Way! But through freshly ploughed fields in drizzle. Bugger me with a fish fork! All just to give me peace of mind! But somehow I feel exhilaration as I shake mud off the soles of my feet! That's why I re-treated them this morning. Met a fellow pilgrim in the Convent. It's his first and he's come from home, near to Nice. I've wished him Buen Camino as he's going as direct as possible and I'm slogging through muddy fields instead! Good luck Thierry!

I'm craving food, but I really can't afford it. It's desperate. Yesterday I could do it all myself, for €12.50 to sleep, today not a chance. The convent in which I am staying won't provide me any food until seven thirty this evening, and I've just burnt 1500 calories before ten thirty! If I start devouring someone's leg, arm or head that's it I am done for ... I carried some items from last night, but I thought, incorrectly, the sœurs would provide me a little luncheon. However the lunch(€15 three courses, wine and coffee) I've just had was absolutely stunning: no wonder the place is very busy (fit to bust). It did the best Crème Brûlée I've ever tasted in France down the years! It maybe was my desperation which spake thus, but it was a different class. It's only necessary to make one thing brilliantly rather than so many things badly! Now I'm so lethargic, but I'm happy to watch this fast world go by as a blur.on this busy main road betw...

Down off Montréal I've the massive Pyrenees boldly lining the South so I can't go wrong from here towards Saint Jean P-d-P. The autumn equinox has passed and the nights are now longer than the days: officially summer is over, but the air is so pleasant as dew hangs heavily and the shades of green I see reflected are peaceful indeed; a dove calls from the telegraph pole and the agricultural morning also begins. 13 kilometres is a stroll Tomatoes, glorious tomatoes. No one around for miles. There are so many that they won't miss a couple? Gleaning season as I pilfer some walnuts too! Up a very steep and winding path into the Monastery town and now it's time to rest a while in a comfortable bed in a wooden cell, while my sweaty clothes dry out in the beautiful morning.

It's quiet here. I'm awake but a bit sore behind my head from the migraine. Was tempted to roll over and stay in bed a while longer. It's a shorter "étape" today - only 13 kilometres to the Monastery town Fanjeaux. I'm yawning, and most of me wants back to bed, but it's a momentary lapse Coffee brewed. I'm telling myself to slow down this morning because there is no hurry. Nothing matters; just be peaceful. On a distant road a horn is honked. Carcassonne probably did things to me mentally for which I was unqualified to deal with. It's a UNESCO world heritage site and that means hordes of zombies trudging from one ice cream parlour to another with a somnambulist's gate. It interferes with my sanity. I have to cling to the edges, find other routes or run away. It was a cliché town. It's a citadel, fortress, nice things rarely happened in them places. Kings and Queens looked down on hopeless "paysans" and cried "mine, it's ...

The Swallows are still here in Montréal. Soon they'll head in a similar direction. And then sparrows will be left behind, but they're obviously hardier and will happily have the skies back to themselves. Any warm spell and all insects will be their's too.? I've bites on my head, ankles, elbows, behind the ears too! What are these feathered friends doing as I'm sat here being nibbled? Perhaps they are short sighted? But I heard that birds sense of smell is swell? They must follow me. My forehead feels swollen, but perhaps this is a combination of the effects? Today was obvious. I've not had a migraine in ages, I thought I'd never have one again, but there you are. The Collegiate Church calls time at seven as the locals play Scrabble. Must be testing. Some kids are singing songs and the fountains flows on. It's getting dark and I can feel those Tiger Mosquitoes using this Yorkshire blood. Actually I wish them luck as it's never done me no good! Keep...

They're bringing in the grapes and I'm forced to cut a few small bunches ... Figs and mûres sauvages. Got locaux fromage and now looking for walnuts. Stopped for cheese, baguette and vin rose before noon. That was twenty Kms in four hours. Another hour and I think that's this day done. Must dry my boots today - still moist after the rains! Not exactly ideal. Everything happens for a reason, and I've no control over anything, like having a migraine and being eaten alive somewhere along the way! I think when I pluck fruit deep in the undergrowth the ants get me and whenever I lay up somewhere the mosquitoes pounced. Just as I was finishing for today - bang - migraine. It's totally unfair, but what can I do at all? Find a dark space and sleep it off, but that lets the greedy bastards in! Round my ankles and elbows they swoop. It's all part of the experience. Like being so low financially that everything becomes potential food! If it tastes good I eat it, hoping i...

Monday morning and the refuse collection truck has me awake before my alarm. The bedding the hostel provides to sleep in is utterly pointless: paper thin, but it's to prevent bed bugs. It doesn't work/match up with rubber coated mattresses to be honest. My back was attached to the bedding all night and it had to be peeled off several times when I was so coated in sweat it woke me. Last night I returned to the Hostel after finishing an excellent read about trees, The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohllebe (which really brings home how incredibly arrogant is our relationships with the denizens of woods and forests), and now I've an item less to carry in the backpack: hurray. Part of me says leave the LePere guidebook, for the route I am walking, too as it is out of date (2016). I have all the information at my disposal on my phone and l would've set off without a guide if there hadn't been one in the Gîte in Béziers; I'll ponder that a while: passing the waste bi...

Two hours solid meditation after I got moved to a quiet room, on my own, in a bed without a shortness issue. Sorted out the backpack: ready for the morrow. The real Way begins from Monday with clearness and a less distracted mind: I ordered water with lunch because booze does get in the Way I want. A lot of meat passed into me: from tomorrow it's going to be lentils and beans mostly. Hastily I head back to room 19 as that lunch killed me off - again. Yesterday is really taking its toll on my body: zero energy being chalked up. Was going to walk the circumference of the walls, but really can't be bothered. Maybe later, but I really don't know if I'm going to wake up today really. The bad rain returned and it's a day to keep quiet.

Life is for experiencing everything. To be, do and go. To touch, taste and feel. To belong everywhere. To be entirely true! But isn't that's how I'm challenged, because it's disapproved of: I disapprove of myself constantly with the voice. Feelings of unworthiness and disappointment, but what are my true emotions and who's voice is ripping me apart? Yesterday was harder than I cared to believe, where each footfall was painful and I was fatigued in all my body, carrying a overwhelming backpack, so I started to question myself and my ethos: what does all this thing you do mean Daniel! So I cried into the night because I felt helpless and hemmed in. Even with all the years of walking I'm still lost upon the highway and have no goal in mind: other than perpetual peace. Two mornings ago I was on the path to peace, but then the noise overtook me again. When the Coquille - scallop shell - vanished so did that peace and I allowed it to chase me for 50 kilometres! Stra...

In the pitch black night I stumbled around, unable to find the door in to the bathroom, in desperation I ended up urinating onto the floor. Never ever done that before and I don't know why I didn't switch on the bedside light? I think I was sleep walking. Even when I'm a sleep it seems I want to walk. There is a stiff breeze blowing outside and the weather is moving more autumnal for sure. At least until Monday. Yesterday I paid for the night's rest and asked for PdJ at seven but the host was a little reticent to be up at that time? But I like away by sunrise to get the best of the day so I twisted his arm behind his back. *** Fantastic breakfast! Too much really. A full complement of Confiture, honey, yogurt, coffee, orange juice, croissant, baguette, butter and I ate what I could. Host reminds me the weather won't be good today. Proofed my boots and seen the direction of travel to the next village. I will reach Carcassonne today regardless of the weather with a...

Day three began too early. Alarm at six is pointless when owls, mosquitoes and an other thing are busy throughout the evening. So I rolled over and jumped back out of bed around 6:45. The host at this campsite were excellent and I feel enthusiastic about another 30 kilometres in the heat. So far it's a bit chillier than yesterday, but we are a bit higher up than Capestang, and I'm grateful for layers. A happy cyclist from Valence gave me some peaches, and the host gave me some plums, which I am grateful to receive! So I give the two dogs on the campsite my love because it's better to give what doesn't diminish with the giving? *** Part one down. Coffee in Olonzac and rearranged the sack. Eat a plum and the little cheese I've left from day one, with the bread of the same, and I'm off. Lost sight of the Coquille, my erstwhile indicator, disappeared the scene from Olonzac so I had no indication whether I was anywhere nearer to Azille. I was totally heading sou...

A tough day so far. Must stop for "repase" in Bize. During the morning deluge my phone got water trapped beneath the screen protector! It rained that hard for two hours before the sun showed through. *** On and on I went up and over and down through a gorge. Now I have shade and a glass of Minervois white wine. Staying in a Chalet tonight, on Camping Les Auberges, €20 bed, evening meal and PdJ. Just had an hour horizontal and a brief nap. It was a thirty kilometre day. Two more until Carcassonne. Decisions decisions: where to Daniel. Random is best, but the Chemin Saint Jacques has better sleeping options. It's amazing how quickly the Mediterranean is behind and the mountains rear up. In the distance I spy the great divide between continental and Mediterranean France: where everything changes and my sack gets subtlety lighter? *** Strictly wine mode. This area has some pretty interesting cliffs and vineyards upon them. Next to the campsite is a production facility an...

So damn humid this morning. 92% on the app. Not much enduring sleep. Window open then street lighting creeps behind my eyelids and with windows closed the room in a sauna. Strong coffee and sweet patisserie before sunrise. Today I must use the early, clouded hours to beat the 30°C humidity. Found coffee in the kitchen of Gîtes Lo Castel and it is flowing to my fingertips and the soles of my feet while it disturbs the guts onroute! Purge this unclean pathetic heap of a man! Remember to look out for free food dropping off the bushes this morning: figs, blackberries and haw-berries. Yesterday was a day of lush French cuisine, but from today I must tighten my belt and be more frugal. It's not about consumption and I'm far from desperate to eat France clean. Although the mantra is "it's not a race" the sun is a different commander: once it shines directly onto my bald head that's the end of the line ... Get out of the sun and siesta where possible. The crows ch...

Only one day! That was a terrifically long day. The distance, along the tow path, is nothing. However after the airport hell came the late arrival, the waiting for the host and too many beers. It's insignificant because I believe I'll sleep forever tonight. The food I've eaten today is definitely a contribution to France's nation debt, yet this is necessary. France has my heart, but I don't know where my head lies! Nowhere is my "main complaint". No sense of belonging. The body succeeds yet my mind is short of aspiration. I'm a dull boy. You know? *** If you show your teeth this means a "concord" - bullshit, as the locals sit opposite the Krauts, it is distinctly non-cordial. When will they learn to be honest. Sebastien is not Sebastian. Simple. I listen and pause before the cheese onslaught. *** And the gulf separating those Southern Europeans from us witty Brits, with our Monty Python! What can I do? Smile and poke my teef in their gen...

The first morning is usually contending with the final other way in my life. Like a sliding door the habitual beer glutton is gone as I really have to focus on the path at my feet! At six my alarm began startling me. Before then a heavy freight train and a battle between alley cats. Just one more beer? Enough I say. Leaving le Trois Six and doggies my feet returned to the gites and I took the left over beans the previous person left in a jar. Gilbert is one stage/étape ahead as he arrived 16th September: people do walk this path. The host told me it's quite straightforward to Carcassonne, along the Canal du Midi, with its locks, bridges, docksides, etc. No climbing as such. A day or two to get into the stride and today I will reach Capestang. Sundried "mûres" are the greatest wayside snack ... Apart from Haw berries ... Wolfed them down. All the figs I've found today were totally dried out. I found an almond tree but these were the bitter variety: Cyanide. Obviously ...

Literally the worst experience I go through to escape what I find so threatening is the departure from in and through airports: the intensity of all elements of the corralling system used make me feel worthless. It's a bottleneck in every way. With Ryanair it always seems at the last moment everything is accomplished too. I noticed a sanitary vehicle cleaning the toilets just prior to boarding. Now on the plane they refuelled as we took our sets. Due to depart for Béziers at 13:20 seems unlikely. Departure for them probably means leaving gate number 52 and not take off so perhaps it's my interpretation that is flawed? They give land-yards to people on the spectrum; I never knew. There is no quiet space on airside. No prayer room. It's super intense. On this occasion I was just in time to board the flight, I was assisted all along the way after I managed to leave my phone on the self check-in scales - bag comes in at 9.8kgs (just within bounds). Everything else is in the wh...

Another working week begins, it's dark around six but the traffic noise drifting from the A1 to the east is building constantly. Summer is almost gone with October just around the corner. Crows chatter, pipes groan, wood creaks - all in the dawn blue - and I'm awake before it's supposed "healthy" however I know being awake naturally when the day begins is truer to my being. A spider spins its web by the back patio doors ready for another day catching lives. The sky is ribbed and carries broken clouds, to the east is a purple pink glow. It's going to be a lovely morning a blackbird sings. The dawn chorus only somewhat smothered by the sounds floating to me from the A1. Someone shouts on York Road breaking the moment. Back inside, brewing tea, I wonder how much the spider registers of this same beginning - does it experience everything as I do while setting it's trap? Is it a habit waking prior to the dawn? It's the only time of day when I feel nature h...

On the road home I pop in to step around Delayed accord Peace between dreams Muddy tread! Some buckthorn soured device. Another bearded Fool Plays random LP. He's not interested! Because no one listens In. And, out of his time, Two suggest something like Caring? But they've borrowed looks Bothered before being And fingered a wilting crust Mouth bound. No track skipping Beats. Gone where the road grows Narrow. There is no force at work Girls pneumatic chased Towards implicit doom. Yawn, My own deviation dragged Me forthright and carried me, Chin first, where My life screams: No!

Feeling the end is near The rest I had today sunk me Towards the true light Where none of this pain strikes Little more waiting And less pain forming There is a Spanish enclave Never once spoken of Up upon a mountain, I sigh to tread, Another path Where you is lost And I am found. To find the me Hidden in the dust Scratched below the dirt Blown under those silicates Between beetle battling grains And the warp of wavering life, Overwhelming dessicate, But shining through! It gleams And suggests fault free Inspiration. Justice stands Apart these Untrue visions Disgracing me And all I see is myopic Triste; begone! In uncharted ways Be brave and step forward Youth in spirit Blithe and totally Corporal; alive!

It could be worse? The town of my formation. Kills me Off. It's probably necessary, because it's driven me to anonymity. And the kind of look I think suspects get? All for dog shit And all for a left bag of dog shit. It's welcome and despised.