The day before.

Penultimate day. Tomorrow London and ten/eleven days away from The North. Really I've been nowhere at all in the UK since Lockdown... Apart from last year's week walking from Bristol to Exmoor... It's definitely been 3 years plus since London when Glenn and I passed briefly through on our way back from Ghent?

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Actually I was last in London in 2019. I passed through on my way back from Dieppe. Such a long time ago: post-COVID and I don't remember it.

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And fear grips me. The thought of the cost of a pilgrimage in the UK when you know no-one and have a low expectations of being helped along The Way. Michael said he'd help with accommodation, but I feel I shouldn't have to rely on anyone to put one foot in front of the other.

All my understandings of The Way fall away in the UK. I am left high and dry by the blank stares I get. No one would stumble over a foreign language here and expect any form of deeper revelation? It's always a test and I guess that's good enough? A trial of various forms? Perhaps we could sleep on Epsom Downs...

On the roof terrace in the Belgrave, I've just bought groceries and came for a half before I set off back up Wade Lane to the flat. I often feel like a spare prick in a pin cushion when I am upstairs!

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Very practical, but I making a snack for the journey tomorrow: some new potatoes pan fried in garlic, paprika and a few other nice things! But it's time for bed

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