A rebel without a clue.

Selectively mute. Anxiety. Weighed down with fear. Was bullied at primary and secondary school, dislike playlike banter and insults.  Reinforces feeling of inadequacy. Being quiet won't hurt. I went to the Inkwell, part of Mind Leeds, in Chapel Allerton. Had a spot of food, coffee, listened to music and a little light comedy. Suddenly Felt I just had to leave. Had no one to talk to there. Same feeling of wanting to hide away. Didn't want to look in the eye of anyone there. Just travelled back on 48. No idea why this palpitating keeps coming back. I am threatened by this end.  Inkwell maybe does well for those knocking on heavens door. I might be closing in on that, but not yet: not right now. Some of the artwork on display is genuinely brilliant. Some is half hearted. Some delicate sketches of bodies and a few in a post-impressionistic style. I am en-route to Cornwall again. 3/4 months of slog and sun and sea too. Always a job needs doing in a tourist town. I'm bring...

Worth @ 11pm. If I thought living in a dismal half hearted, cold, excuse for comfort, which equals £50pw on top of working 50+ hours a week for an adhd ad-hoc chef who has a simple mind and rattles on about the ways and means of getting Cajun chicken ready like pick and pick and pick (just do and be done to a reasonable standard! Please!!) and being a  hieronymous Jew in flesh made real. Where there is a Matt who is a dull repeat of my man from Portsmouth 2008 without the dreads: oh I dread the repeat and lies and lies unless he is the actual urban guy who actually swallowed the poisonous tropical fish and spent 6 months strumming a 6 string guitar. Then there are the managers who are nice, but hooked in Cornwall hospitality and are not in this charmless slopping roofed old and smokey joint: people are so happy with my apparent nothing. I expected respect but I got The Rising Sun! Then again the feeling from the Harbour Inn was nonchalant. A commis called Smithy who...

Sunday 10th April, I disappeared on to the train on Sunday. ... I glimspsed 2 Mallards drifting on the early morning Aire and felt a little sprite in my feet.  I could actually travel for ever and never get tired(oh I'd be bone weary). Moving through Leeds City Station I pick up a cup of coffee and a Mcdonald's McMuffin and jog along the platform to await our first leg. I spy a copy of the Daily Star and am about to pounce when the guy beside me just gets there first. I don't read newspapers as I feel they bend your ear and corrode your soul, but then I haven't read any newspaper in a long time so I was ever so slightly moth like for a fleeting moment. That guy saved me an indignity and helped me recover from news melancholy. The first leg is 3 hours from Leeds to Birmingham New Street. I find the carriage with the fewest sets and get a forward facing table chair. I have a dislike of the squeeze that the rest of the seating arrangements provide on any mainline trai...

Eh you know I'm not one for complaining, much, but I think I've just spent £250 quid on the biggest waste of 5 days ever. Exeter piss poor backpackers with zero feeling shoved full of itinerant workers and chinamen. Launceston so in the middle of nowhere to not know where nowhere is (is it Cornwall or is it shite or is it on the A30 between nowhere and nowhere) and where a heart can be broken by so someone so effortless and quiet. The longest road though has to be the enormous effort to get to and from Falmouth without mindless and gormless ranters and to trundle along in a happy shopper bus through one too many Trelistlessnessesevenlevonpoollooe only to arrive in Falmouth and discover the set of keys that Globe gobshite backpackers of Exeter will no doubt want their £10 of flesh for. Then to stay in The Ladder where the locals are listless and eyeless zombies drivelling one too many Grandma Weapon Grade and Old Rosie and where DJ's play lotus spread and aren't eclecti...

After a fantastic trip to Italy, Slovenia and Croatia, with its accompanying ups and downs, I returned to Wetherby to search for another catering related role. I insinuated myself to Jason and Kate's on Saturday night one week and one day after stepping from the plane at Birmingham International Airport. It always feels nice to be the oulde towne  after long self imposed exile - 5 months. I went out on Friday in the decreasingly unimportant pub-life of Wetherby (The town lost its monthly cattle market long ago and Thursday Market hasn't any greengrocers, but numerous clothing vendors); the night left me still in high spirits. On Saturday night I saw both  Richard and Jason, and went back to Jason and Katherine 's to watch the Rugby, drink wine (a  Cono Sur Pinot Noir  and a  Wolf Blass Yellow Label Shiraz ) and consume cheese (boring Morrison's Gruyere and lovely creamy Saint Agur ) It doesn't surprise me at all that I had another dreadful han...