A rebel without a clue.

I tried to switch off, but the Chinese takeaway is replaying. Time to get my act together. Peppermint tea and then back to LaLaland. First hostel for a while. Indeed since Alicante when I started the second leg of this idiocy. Already I feel a little better in my head: there really isn't anything to worry about! I've many good memories since leaving Alicante back then on the 7th November, and obviously some real challenges - which I overcame each time. Last night a lad from Wisconsin who was traveling and busking around Europe: and was an excellent chap, gave me two short novellas, to envelope, which I will dig out tomorrow or Friday. After I've cleaned up this abused body with a good night's sleep and then I'll shower, get fresh and cleaned (unnecessary) clothes on - I managed to wash all in Alba de Tormes and properly unwind tomorrow. But clothes ... I mean why? *** What is this word "holiday"? It makes no sense to me. 13.8 billion years for us to appear...

Christmas Eve: Had to cheat a little this morning. Up at six and leaving the Casa Parroquial at seven I spent half an hour trying to find a place to have breakfast before walking to Salamanca, but I failed. Crossing over the river Tormes I thought there maybe an option there, but no there wasn't so I began to feel it best to stick out my thumb and go another way to Salamanca? Here I am. Just gone eight and it always amazes me just how direct, far and fast it's possible to go via the internal combustion engine! And how the city shines in the morning sun. The fellow who picked me up was delivering some Jamón to the Central Mercado and so now I'm here. On the way, in my very broken Spanish and his broken French, we discussed some things: his jamón business, the fact he knows the US but not the UK and I asked him about Christmas Eve and when the shops etc shut. It appears that by 1pm that's it! It's a bloody good job I didn't walk... I'd have arrived to a possib...

But what is it worth? That's the golden question. I'm sat at the bar enjoying a Ribera del Duero in shorts, socks and a borrowed pair of Crocs and on the TV is some garbage about catering for the mega rich at Christmas: fuck them! Most of them couldn't masturbate alone, never mind boil an egg, yet someone in the UK thinks the mega rich: or the mega twats, need our attention over Christmas? Why, because they gave a great big bird to someone once because they were shown their souls - but this was a Dickensian fantasy anyway. Penultimate day on The Way this year and I am once again relying on the Padre. This time there are two places in the Casa Parroquial, but I must be back by 9 otherwise the bedroom shrinks to one hundredth of a second after the Big Bang in dimensions: hang on I'm going back. Why do we need this nonsense? What does it complete? My only feeling is it creates another hurdle, another frenetic fear driven assault, on what is totally at ease and should only ...

Finding the key to the front door of the Sunday School was making me lose the plot. Then I recalled that the front door attacked me last night. It's one of those stable door types, but the bottom half wasn't moving as I collided with it. Merrily I was a little merry from the vino and finding this bed in a classroom. I'd left the key in the front door. Having repacked my emptied rucksack and left the room ship shape off I went to locate a cafe, putting the key through the post box of the priests home. Yesterday was the first time I'd stepped into a church and it was quite beautiful inside: I've been trying to stay clear of the Church for a while: as though I have a grievance with it. It has done wrong on many many levels, but I guess it gives millions much needed sanctuary. Mostly I find mine in the unexpected incidents: like the previous town where the bar had a "real" cider from Navarra: a guy in the bar told me I was more excited than his children are on...

Starting on Sunday with one hundred percent in my head. Infact my eyes were dilated when usually they've been bleary. Churros and coffee and too many young boys drunk and possibly unable to pay attention. Attention span of a gnat. I just want to relax and consider I've three more days until this is over. Actually I've not had this kind of experience ever on Camino. The last experience like this was coming back through Leeds City Station. It's eight on a Saturday. Are we all the same in Europe and the world? It's probably true. The grocer makes money from us always. The rich get richer and the poor pickle their livers. Yesterday they fed me here with a large plate of various pork products and I can't escape Jamón, salchichón, lomo. Then I retired to the calor gas fire and tranquility in the haze induced by fine fine Sidra, sin sulphate. *** The wind and rain blowing forcefully against me: direct and at my head, brought me sagging into a town without an Albergue. ...

From today I really need to detox, both mentally and physically, which was the plan of this walk. Yesterday I managed to resist alcohol with my evening meal and so I was awake at six when breakfast in the hotel isn't available until 8; with no one in the dining area I was sat patiently for the time of activity to begin. Last night I felt I'd been overlooking the other way too long: peaceful within and mindful at every instant. It's so easy to forget this proven path to an instant when all the perceived pains are shown to be nothing beyond what exists in the mind. There have been times I've being feeling so tarnished that the walk was unpleasant. It's become something of a meaningless ritual. The pleasure I've felt from walking is become just another habit which has taken me over. Although I think that by constantly carrying more stuff in my sack than I will ever use is blatantly stupid and could be making it feel less inspiring. The craving to feel the inspirati...

Venezuelan breakfast. Arepas, onions, cream cheese, yogurt, tomatoes and strong coffee. Off to finish my ablutions and walk due west for five more days. Into Salamanca on Christmas Eve. The rain has stopped and the birds are chirping in the Albergue yard. The wind from last night has abaited. The Venezuelan gentleman makes ice cream in Valencia, but here in Spain he is a gardener. Must be awful being a refugee in the cold Meseta? *** A guy at the bar said this weather was perculiar, even in winter, for this part of Spain. Cold, but dry, not windy, cold and wet like this. But it is wet and windy and I must endure four more days walking the tedious terrain with nothing to break up the day. Gosh and I'm carrying far too much stuff: I looked at my trousers, etc, this morning and questioned my reasoning... Far too many changes of underwear, shorts and at least three pairs of trousers: ok the waterproofs are necessary, but two pairs of shorts?!? It's constantly making the walking in ...

With mallet finger and something happening in my jaw: is it a wisdom tooth, abscess or just a result of too much air turbulence from two flights recently, here I am up in a Café, just away from the core of the city. Being here i am reminded of Cahor in some way, but there it was the river acting as a boundary looping around two thirds of the city, here it is the finest mediæval wall I know - and it's all the way round. How would all British cities look with them entire? York has a fair allowance of walls, and so does Canterbury (rebuilt in Victorian times?) But most bits and pieces I've seen in Newcastle, Exeter or London have to be sought out. I've been on an extensive perambulation and now, although it's a quarter before noon, I need a restorative beer and Racíones. The only place which has true beer and doesn't have a television on in the corner or music blaring out seems to be Cervercía La Barraca therefore I will stop there, before back to the Albergue for ...

Day Five is here and it's raining outside. I am exceptionally tired this morning. The stiff jaw which developed after the turbulence in the air going back to England at the end of November is still aching, although it is feeling less painful, and the ear is still aching. Sleeping on my right side is difficult. I'm trying not to eat anything which requires too much chewing! It's twenty days since Alicante ... *** It was quite a day! But I feel Ávila is worth the drenching I got coming over one monster climb: and I thought today would be simple. It's actually freezing outside - which might be positive as I love the crunch of frozen puddles and it's a million times better than the rain. Finally a proper day off tomorrow because I need it. Sierra de Gredos was tough - three days to cross with a lot of ups and downs. The Amigos of the local association are letting me stay two nights and it seems they've a fiesta planned for tomorrow evening. Six days to Salamanca on ...

So begins day four: with a night of indigestion which woke me at two am until the gases subsided and I managed a few more hours away from my own fears: I should not have eaten the Cornetto I saw in the freezer? The Albergue here in Cadalso de los Vidrios is well appointed: the número una as It was rebuilt with American Pilgrims money when it was falling to bits, but it was pretty cold in there this morning as I struggled back to sleep. Today is a fairly long etapa, without a break in a village along the way so I must await the opening of the supermercado to get some combustibles for the journey: and it's up further into the mountains, but I hope free of asphalt? How many days since Alicante? 19? Well finally got to the Camino which is more like those in France on Chemin St Jacques. *** There is no chance I could've managed to walk the extra 19kms through these mountains. As the sun was setting I found myself exhausted, but back on the road. And I thought better I wait to thumb ...

Tired, but not hungover. Many many strange dreams which woke me with a start throughout the night. Here I am at the Churrería around eight thirty and there is a dubbed Game of Thrones playing in the corner. The voices just sound wrong, aka funny. There are a few late night locals heading home in here and a handful of hunters about to head on another morning of killing. From a distance I heard the ricochet and the barking as I, finally, left the asphalt and farm track behind. It was still a well worn track, with bicycle treads everywhere, but finally I was alone and happy. Without a hangover. The last five kilometres to this short day was on another road, but as I saw brambles and juniper I was transported to northern climes, looking everywhere for nettles, and a reminder of Lola and home. My tiredness becomes frustration at what I misperceive which blinds me to what is really outside - like a child who moans when they fight sleep I did so again yesterday and found it necessary to attac...

Ghost villages on the edge of town. Bricked up windows and plots with little more than a suggestion homes were going to be built here. A lady sweeps outside her gate and a dog barks at me passing the final empty abode before Val de Santo Domingo. Must stop as my guts are rotten. *** The sun is shining and it's suddenly away from the asphalt on a true grass track where there are puddles to negotiate and there is the accompaniment of bird song. Stopping for a little Tapas in Maquenta rescued me and now I'm in a more pleasant environment as I think Castilla-La Mancha is tappering out.  Coming down a shandy track I reached a brook and a ford which was too deep to wade through so I removed boots and socks and gave my feet a pleasant. Back up the path I heard, then saw, some hunters out gathering up their dogs, about to head away with their trophies, loading their vehicles. I stopped round about there to clean off my feet and restore socks and boots: it was roughly half way between M...

And there we have it: a Conservative landslide. I'm not there. And I'm not here this morning. How is it I always back the losers? I always have. There seems a bad vibe spreading through the world to me. How will the rest of Europe react ... Does it really matter? It's Friday the 13th, the moon is swollen in the sky and I'm heading away from all this again. The booze will not touch me again in the same way. I must walk safe and enthusiastic. Indeed I am excited again. Coffee and Churros this morning next to the Mercado and before the Cathedral. This time, up to Feliz Navidad I will reflect more about what this time of year should mean. Merry Christmas to all, regardless of any perceived difference. *** That was an obligatory wake up call! My whole body was refusing, and 99% of my mind was too. 26 kilometres before I could stop, being prodded on by thoughts of Boris and his elite. The local brewery in Toledo does a fantastic smoked Porter, but it is a little heavy in alco...

Feeling sick because of the awful smell produced from some incense stick. It was so artificial and woke me too often with this overwhelming odour! Hostel X. Young lovers in the room: ear plugs at the ready. She's hot, and German, he's annoying and Cayman ... They were quiet and slept separately: I think it was a little snog. Ate late, but was asleep by midnight. Awaiting the doors to open for a coffee and I'm not far from where my lift collects me at seven. But I was shattered. Arriving at the hostel around ten thirty I was driven to find a small "ración" or simply flake out: the belly won and I ate a confit of lamb and some fishy thing called Pericana, which was simply too salty for me! I polished off the first copa vino in moments and, with the assistance of the second copa, managed this Alicante speciality. *** Here we are, three Spaniards and I, heading to Madrid on the A-3. We just stopped half way for a coffee. This was so so necessary: 5 hours broken sleep ...

Time to unwind on the sofa, comfortable with our lass, before another journey to Leeds/Bradford airport! Ever since I returned from Toledo I've felt more misshapen in England than I usually am. This material way is truly redundant for me - as another British catastrophe unfolds (Christmas Election) and overwhelmingly commercial Christmas revves up - I feel insanity all around me! And I'm bound to fall foul of it again and again if I stay here! Since I walked through Leeds City Station on the 23rd November nothing seems to be heading in a wholesome direction. The crowds of "revellers" falling drunk, like a modern equivalent of the Gin Lane etching by Hogarth, welcomed me back to West Yorkshire with a shock so frigid I thought someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water over me? Then by the following day I was stumbling along like one of the buffoons merrily staggering on ale. It just doesn't help me in anyway! Now two weeks have flashed by and I'm looking dow...

Bookies: Paddy Power, William Hill(now closed), Admiral Casino Slots, tobacconists, The Three Legs, Barclay's bank, The Money Shop and this is The Headrow. Further down, on eastgate Victoria Gate and it's a temple to nothing. Further up and it's cheap £1 pasties. This is the left side of The Headrow. Climbed onto the 52, but it must've moved 20 metres before grinding to a full stop. All up the Headrow it was buses wedged together going nowhere. Climbing back off the bus I headed home: Alfred can wait until another night. *** Remember you must be a different person. The person who you were didn't work out.  Stop trying to return up the old roads. They don't lead you anywhere good And you know this! Listen to the other voice as it is the only way you'll ever find Peace of mind. It's all up to me. It's always been up to me. *** But it happened yet again. I drive myself crazy. Another day where I've had to hide from the world which works black magic ...