A rebel without a clue.

The first cuckoo of spring and the neighing of a stallion as I do not dally up this pass to repase around one thirty, or I get there just in time? Jeane d'Arc the lass in the restaurant was definitely a dark Jeane in more ways than one. This town is dark. Everything is closed until 3. The one restaurant is open but won't serve me so I'm sat on the crossroads hopeful that articulated lorries don't squish me. Batteries died. It's like they're trying to kill me with meat. Tonight I had a 9 inch sausage and a faggot/ducks egg ... And a quiche Lorraine and with some wine. Maybe I offended the mother of the house because I could eat no more. I've a mountain to climb tomorrow ... But it's only 600 metres further on. And I was trying to stay away from meat today. The bastard's I never stood a chance. Please forgive me...

Two hours gone and time to stop this moment and take a coffee. Make a sandwich, perhaps buy one too? No. Only 18kms to go. Stop around 10kms for repase(lunch), however I've decided to go vegetarian again as of this morning. Once the cheese has finished I'll move onto beans and/or lentils. It's a bit cooler today, and I'm heading upwards continually, which means it is time to don the pink tasselled affair, which is blatantly female, but is warm and obviously visible for miles around (I'm such a whoopsie)! My waterproofs are on, but as yet these are just sweat boxes, with the sun pouring amber from it's globular majesty I go upwards and onwards!

[Verse 1] Jeane The low-life has lost its appeal And I'm tired of walking these streets To a room with its cupboard bare Jeane I'm not sure what happiness means But I look in your eyes And I know that it isn't there [Chorus 1] We tried, we failed We tried and we failed We tried and we failed We tried and we failed We tried [Verse 2] Jeane There's ice on the sink where we bathe So how can you call this a home When you know it's a grave But you still hope for ridding grace As you tidy the place But it will never be clean, Jeane [Chorus 1] We tried, we failed We tried and we failed We tried and we failed We tried and we failed We tried [Verse 3] Cash on the nail It's just a fairy tale And I don't believe in magic anymore, Jeane But I think you know I really think you know I think you know the truth Jeane [Verse 4] No heavenly choir Not for me and not for you Because I think that you know I really think you know I think ...

Years ago I was told of a phenomenon which I thought was literally nonsensical: that water can flow up hill. Yesterday the rain fell so fast and so heavily that this was definitely revealed to me to be true. Under force water always finds the route of least resistance following on from the laws of gravity I suppose. With enough force it could surely pour out in a gush. After all is not a gesser one such forces combined with thermal dynamics??? I've just left the first household in France where bread, cheese, butter, meat and wine were nowhere to be seen. Lillian and her mute husband were pleasant enough, but she whittered like my mother's sister Iris: who was a God fearing Christian and a hard line racist (mum was always an apologist for her too saying "she's harmless really" or "doesn't know what she's saying" while she attacked how fat or thin or badly dressed or overdressed or over intense I was or how the coloureds have ruined Rotherham ... ...

Wednesday was a very difficult day, mostly. After a lovely diner, complicated night's rest and an exceptional breakfast at the large Ferme/Chateau where I had slept - cared for very well by André and Danielle, who both spoke no English and were Octogenarians (meaning they lived through the worst of times and the best of times?), I'd set off with recriminations of the things I'd written about my dad. Although they were the truth, as I saw it a long time ago, and, I think, people cannot read between the lines very well (Facebook is a simple medium, filled with people who have perhaps little real intellect to comprehend I wasn't actually attacking my father but wondering how it was he got the way he did (the final sentence was the lead off to a discussion of his father)), I was definitely feeling I'd said too much this time. Family can have a different out-look on him, but their direct experience is another story really, and one I but rarely witnessed, and doesn'...