A rebel without a clue.

A great breakfast: from afar I spotted oats!!! Martine is the boss here, her husband rarely looked my direction - probably loathes us English. Actually I am back in the land of the living. Porridge. I've 36kms to go. But it's the final etape ... Last Way this way. I know I'll never stop walking. The path is my destination. Am I happy? I'm sardonic! We had a better time this morning when she didn't need to play up to the crowd. Le Puy en Velay. I'm here. Managed to shave a little off the distance, but probably just 3kms, by following other routes and turning to the IGN app I'd not used yet. The last two hours were relentless, but I managed. Twice I forgot I'd left overs from the evening so I've just polished them off and am sitting in Brasserie Le Palais with a Fischer Doreleï (demi). So many people. I forgot the earth was inhabited by many of us. It's Dimanche and it's closed for business: I may just tuck into a pizza for my meal: have to b...

Sunday. Cockerel crows again because to him it is another morning and he sings before the sun makes its first appearance forever, but it's passed six anyway and there are no dogs howling at the moon. Strange scenes inside the gold mine: it is so long since I've stayed in a Chambre d'hôtes that I was truly surprised by what can only be called inauthenticity. When I went down from the Pelerin Gîte, which is the usual simple affair, the hostess and husband and three other higher ranking guests were arranged about the fireplace drinking aperitif with various fruit flovoured syrup. Once we finally sat down to eat I was very flakey: on the very edge of sleep. So phoney I had trouble at first not to feel in conflict with my being. So different from Accueil Jacquaire in an entirely pretentious manner. Totally unnecessary affectation. Not every meal in France is surely like this? More a means of chin wag not a means of sustenance. No wonder they've all bellies where they could ...