A rebel without a clue.

The new market hall. Ravioli and three glasses of wine: Sancerre, Chablis and Rías Baixas, but I must drag myself off to bed. I've some mileage to do tomorrow towards Whitchurch, Wem or Wrexham... All the double yews. The Watling Street... Offa's Dyke. Malvern. Oh the memories? Oh a pizza - yes. I need the calories for the walk? *** But I didn't. And that room is just too warm. Even with both windows open. So it's a new town and I played out. Once again. I am leaving though. Once I am level, not horizontal. Coffee on Northgate @ Café Gate. As Tradeteam start the morning noise rolling barrels into The Coach House Inn. It's not yet 7am. Do I not bother with a heavy breakfast? Porridge would do. Waiting until 7:30, then off at 8am. Over the bridge and away into the wilderness? *** Two coffees, three almonds and one Huel and passing under the Queen's Park Bridge heading towards another me...

Walked the walls and eaten a hearty full English breakfast (vegan). Now it's time to relax and let it work its magic: the house keeper dropped a sheet off - the under floor heating is a bit much and the windows are so large. The building is listed so the heating comes with the territory. *** At 2:30 I drank a Bruges Zot and then a Karma Kola ... Too sweet. Now I am back at Porta and only a Estrella Damm then seek pasta. Handed over The Doll  by Lukáš Tomin. Finished but it's very surreal and it wasn't so compelling. So the girl in Porta from last night, who was interested in it, can have it and decide if it's just me who struggled with it ... otherwise it's another charity book. 

Good morning Chester. The edge of the civilised world. The Roman's built their Deva opposite the Welsh/Druid/Briton madness to feel safe? And that's where my feet will be leading me tomorrow morning - to be unsafe ... I was going to Basel, but I didn't, instead of climbing out of the 13:42 to Victoria Station in Manchester I bought another leg of the journey to Chester, leaving Stockport and Greater Manchester for another occasion. At 1630 I checked in to The Coach House Inn, at five I devoured a plate of black beans, salad, quinoa etc from Big Lola's in the new market hall. At 5:30 I was sipping vino de Jerez in Portas below the Northgate arch and then I wandered around Chester, crossing the river and back over to The Rows . It's a stunning city and it's English through and through. A frontier ... Beyond the river it's banditry and hooliganism? Perhaps I should be scared of Wales as I go to be scalped by woad washed barbarians?