A rebel without a clue.

Blue skies on a Monday morning. Looking out towards the giant sycamore which has sat, sentinel like, since I can recall, on the embankment next to the original marshalling yard of the Engine Shed, the original railway station, the crows caw, but now amongst full foliage. June 24th. Going to collect Lola at 8am. It's around 6am and I am listening to the butt end of a Forum on the BBC World Service. The crows are chatting before they take to the skies; what are they discussing? Yesterday I walked to Wetherby. At around 15 miles it was a good, if slightly boring (because I walked for a long way on either suburban paths or greenbelt lanes - minding the traffic). At the final gate, nestled in uni the corner of the Wetherby Ings Playing Fields, I saw Lola with Emma and Finley. Serendipity. Finley, Lola and I waded through the edge water of the Wharfe for one landing spot and to four of the beaches. Lola loved it. Finley loved it. Emma was ott about how muddy Finley was going to get as he...

It's too cold in the room without more than a sheet for protection, but I am awake anyway at 5:30am. I really want to be walking away from Palma de Mallorca early. Before the early summer sunshine makes it painful walking into the sun. No power cuts during the night. But deep dreams. Yesterday was too warm to linger out of the shade... So I walked to Ca'n Pastilla in three hours. And found it's one saving grace: I can see the airport from the roof terrace... In truth it was the genuine café, comida mallorquín, next to the Iglesia. And I think I will be walking once more on the morrow so I will probably go back there for an evening meal. But now I am heading first into Reginald Perrin: I know exactly where he is coming from... *** BOC beach hostel. It's too warm in the coffin which is the stupid capsule of a bunk bed. The stupid lights go on all the time so it's impossible to sleep unless cocooned in this trap with the heavy curtains pulled across the gap. And the sp...

A new day dawns. Sunday. A second day of rest and reset? And I am heading to the beach... After another coffee, croissant, orange juice. His grace is given me now and forever. In every way. Always and in all ways. As always, the three gentlemen and the one lady are very calm. They definitely engender a calmness. No hurry. Only patience. It easy like a Sunday morning. *** The fuente up above the town, Son Trias, has a flexible pipe running from it too, so the water goes somewhere, but the guys in Café Passeig  thinks it goes to the sea... I don't think it does. Someone in the town gets that water. Perhaps it is pooled and collected as it was being the day I walked to Banyalbufar? There are a lot of water tankers about so I think it's very precious so must go somewhere, not the sea? *** I walked into Palma from Esporles, via Establíment - where I stopped for a coffee and banana break. Actually I walked to Santa Catalina, not Palma, to We Hostel! As it was the cheapest option. I...

On the corner of Albion Street and Boar Lane. Free coffee from Caffé Nero. Good morning. Draw a line under the negative me since Estaing? What is going to happen today? Mum just told me the airport in Palma has been closed due to adverse weather - heavy rain not falling on the plains of Spain - but I believe that is old news? *** Dead moods. Yes I understand dead moods. When I can not connect with anything to help me claw myself up from the flatness. 2nd time in a few weeks when I can't connect. It's LBA. It's a form of escapism. But it's never going to resolve it unless I face it absolutely head on. Although I know it's always up to me I don't think it's a thing I can chose. Cause and effect.  The world I react to is simply my projection. Voices, in waves, like a tide Overwhelm in foaming murmur; Differential drown, Approaching yet to depart  And return again; spluttering. But no words, only Suggestions, on this dead shore. From a landscape to cloud cover. ...

Tuesday, Very bad IBS. At least five visits to the toilet during the broken night's sleep. Finally climbed out of bed at 4:30am. Yesterday afternoon. Failed again. Two days of sobriety and no more. Nothing to do in the afternoon - once I arrived from the allotment in Leeds - around 13:30. So I bought some groceries and then proceeded to drink. Was I craving it or was I lonely? The loneliness receded a little in North Bar where I stayed for four bottles of beer. I'd had two halves in Brownhill and Co and two more in Whitelocks. Everywhere was pretty desolate with the rain falling along Briggate. A wet Tuesday afternoon. Excellent work in the morning with Lola. And quite a bit of stuff on the allotment. Planted all the remaining corn which I hope develop? These ones I brought back from around Leon last year on the second section of the Camino Frances. And I know I can do three days sober. Before heading to Le Puy-en-Velay I had no problem and felt I'd done something very good...

It's time to draw a line under the journal I've been keeping for Abby and returned to the journey. So I've begun day one the same way as all the others. Coffee. Podcast. Listening to nature awake. Crows and pigeons. And the distant hum of the A1(M). I know where I am staying for three nights from tonight. Wednesday I am in the communal tent on the campsite in Monistrol-d’Allier ( Camping le Vivier): I am packing my own tent... But is this a fools errand as the more weight I put on the left foot the more it seems incapable of coping. Hobbling the GR65... If it fails I will hitchhike forward. But I am not there yet? It's just gone six am on the May Day Bank Holiday. And I've got to pay to put the larger backpack, I intend to carry, in on hold of the plane: vintage Karrimor Jaguar S65 Litre KS-100e SA - I have two, but one (although better externally) has lost its waterproof treatment to the corruption of time. But I am not on the way yet. Back to Free Thinking with Ma...