A rebel without a clue.

Final whole day of this mixed up two weeks in France and Spain. It's too damn hot for September/October. Spain is becoming more and more impossible to cope with, personally, as overheating isn't the ideal condition for an Englishman who considers 20°C perfect - especially when the bag I am carrying is 11.5kg too heavy! And in the last two days I've heard numerous complaints from locals who are also infuriated by non stop baking sun. The final morning is tomorrow, but this morning I walked back the way I went yesterday, along the coastline from the campsite (Trillas, Tamarit €33 for a cabin), to return to Tarragona to give it a second chance. On Wednesday I had one too many Vermuts, wines and beers and then slept, fitfully, in a busy, overheating cramped hostel (Hotel Tarragona €18 dorm/€45 private). With a heavy heart I have decided to give backpackers a final goodbye as I have developed a real hatred of these establishments which are aimed at the ...

Glancing at the routes away from here and destinations I have trouble pronouncing. Dra gon ya Por to rož Po reč (this could be the Porridge I heard a couple mention in Piran) Krun či či Opcinà Limski kanal Eating out last night our host in Galeb - Salvo - reminds me of Enoch Powell ... but served lovely soup. It seems to me that Japanese tourists are stereotypical. We arrive at a shocking shocking bus station in Poreč and there is a reason to take a photo? Getaway! Maybe they are seeing something worthy of megabits and mega-pixels? On the campsite trail. I come upon my first naturist camp. 3km from Poreč. Rotel tours - www.rotel.de - arrived alongside me in Rovinj. With great advice I arrive at Porton Biondi How many days shall I stay here. I have to chill out tomorrow and stuff. Then perhaps move on by third night. It needs to be value for money. Maybe move the tent to a less bumpy plot or get a better under roll. Actually I feel better already. The facilities ar...

I think that I might actually be right and absolutely not alone; oh joy to feel that I am not alone; thank you LP. The capitalist world is lost on a journey of self destruction. Some of us look around and wonder why the majority are greedy, selfish and barbaric. Closed in by the tyranny and violence of a small section of the populace. Open to businesses greedy single erect purpose while government bends to become an anal love child of fawning condescension. Where armies destroy thousands of helpless people for the security of the earth’s limited finite resources, picking on the unfortunate individuals repressed in the backwaters where we find most of the fundamentally precious minerals they need to keep the wheels in motion. Those who allow for no separate plan of humanity except short term financial vying – balance of trade, trade deficit and boom and bust. Men and Women sit on their banks of cushioned thrones and decide divisions of labour in far away lands to present the the more ...

What might've been? Victoria Street. The house @ £41,000 in 1995. Almost £29,000 above the candy shop. Simon Gordon and I. Stability and possibilities. No real risk when looking back. I was working at ROCOM. I was banking with Barclays. I had a PEP. No chance with Victoria Street. Not enough space in the second room to rent out. Large enough for a baby, bairn or child. But Crossley Street was a blank canvas. Was an office. 4 large rooms on 2 floors. It's now 2 flats. Shit we missed our chance there didn't we Muller? Why would a young mum of chav nature feed her child crisps: Wotsits to keep it quiet? Manufactured horrible. What will that young body do with all that hydrogenated fat and processed food? Why are you so oblivious? This journey to and fro proves to me there isn't any hope for England. As Daniel, Megan and I set off for Cable Beach, Broome we were coming towards a road kill with 2 birds picking at the leftovers on the Tarmac. Only as we got close enou...

If only I knew how to break out of this persona I have become. I know it follows some very repetitively bland pulses and rhythms. Everyday seems to be about getting up just to get back into bed again that same day or even in a wider scope just like living each day just towards some final longed for moment. This isn’t good I can see that, but why can’t I shrug off that feeling and the demented persistent bashing of my head I currently maintain? I follow the same never ending paths that actually lead me nowhere. I will get up tomorrow walk the dog, get on the bus, get to the flat in Leeds, change clothes, take my pills, look at the mess in the living room, feel the coldness of the emptiness of the flat, smell the fetid and rank stale odours, etc. To find there aren’t any jobs but there is yet more manufactured bad news; then I'll haul back to Wetherby, along the same bus route I have been using since 1983, after no one has spoken to me all day, while trying not to spend any money w...

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...