A rebel without a clue.

Two fully loaded breakfast baps from Greggs(yuck!!!) later and I'm heading out of Bristol towards the Clifton Suspension Bridge. What a view looking up at it and looking outwards towards the Bristol Channel: I never knew that Portishead was on the coast. After I'd been on my feet for 2 hours from Clifton, and leaving behind the heavy Monday morning traffic, I passed through a 'random little village' (Dundry) on this Samaritan's Way around 10:30am and there in the Pub/Shop I bump into a guy who used to sleep below me when I worked in Padstow at Pucelli's in 2010! Small world full of serendipity! He was a great lad, but got moved into another house as soon as possible - I do snore my head off. Looking back I can make out the suspension bridge 5 miles away as I'm about to hit rolling countryside with Chew Valley Lake in the distance. The fecundity of England in June where everything is verdant and nodding in the slightest breeze. A touch of hay fever caught me ...

All is as I like to leave it at number 69: washing done and left tidy, fridge on setting half and all other electricity off. Almost set off without a coat! So hastily headed back to the eleventh floor. Also took a meter reading, but it seems only to show one figure - not a day/night reading - so need to speak to someone at Eon on Monday morning. Ate a very 'soured' porridge, which I left out on the windowsill for two nights. I love soured/fermented oats and it's better for digesting. There is a gentle rain falling on Leeds which might help to refresh my allotment or encourage more thistles to pop out. The coach is going to be full by Nottingham and there is no social distancing in place. Sit back, relax and fear naught: it's 8:05am and I'm finally on my way out of 'war torn' Leeds; Covid has gone on and on and on since December 2020.

5 hours in a cramped Coach, with an hour hovering in Birmingham - a town I've always felt foreign to my charms - and here I am in Colham. Perched above Bristol it is definitely Portobello or Brighton. My gate dragged me to my hostess, Airbnb, far too early so I suggested she doesn't rush back from an afternoon tea on account of me. Now here I am in 'Bravas' pretending in in Iberia and not the South West. It's going to cost a pretty packet so it's neither Malaga or Alicante - another Camino setting off with a slight hangover. How did I do the first day from Alicante up to Cueva de San Pascual with a hangover... I will probably find out tomorrow on my way to Cheddar? I register nothing here though. I'm watching chefs in dirty/discoloured attire... This happens. But there is definitely a surfit of cleanliness in their nether regions. I dislike dirty chef pants and filthy shoes.