Wednesday morning, D-Day in 3!

Well that was a day of two halves... The morning and early afternoon fine - fantastic walk from Wetherby to Boston Spa with Lola and then the late afternoon the usual family affair with our grievances. That was yesterday afternoon. It's gone. I slept well.

No nightmare just the final recurring dream of hitchhiking back to the same 'dream' town in France which is a theme of my memories of Les Chemin Saint Jacques de Compostelle - churches, castles, bistrots, gîte d'etape, boulangerie, bastide, bar/tabac, font: I definitely am returning to Le-Puy-en-Velay soon to do that Chemin again (the first spluttering one which only got as far as Cahors).

I love the Camino, but truthfully I prefer walking between the ville fleurie in France and the rivers in that region surrounding the Massif Central, and heading to the ocean or sea through the wonderful meanders and turns, while looking at towns and villages clinging to cliffsides, riversides, and steeped in pre-Christian holiness (Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert Le-Puy-en-Velay, Cahors, Conques, Rocamadour). I am not Hispanophobe, but I am so much more Francophile!

But regardless of this feeling I am back on the road to Santiago on Sunday: ten days to Santiago, then the other few days to Fisterra/Muxía and Muxía/Fisterra, to literally tie off that once and for all time? By Land's End (literally Finisterre), if I reach it, I will have walked to Santiago from the North, South and East!

Why do I constantly tell myself that this is the last time? That's impossible. It's like telling myself this is the last time I drink too much or spend too much? They are empty thoughts... Promises of an anxious mind?