A rebel without a clue.

Hey, the weather has finally changed, but not the number of Mosquitos I'm being bitten by in Opatija. Going to hang about around here until Saturday and then shifty up to Trieste for the night. I'm trying to find a couch to sleep on. Um, sleeping on a tent floor is flawed. Facking knackered. Found a very cheap place to eat a shit load of tasty and fresh sardines. 8 kuna for 10 huge ones - £1 for my dinner. I might end up ponging of them though. Hope you're well? Daniel.

Forgetting all on Shad Thames one November morning. I stood stock still and had to let it flow over me. Memories returned. Today I can't remember how to turn a tap on/off or which is hot and which is cold. 

We'll take the boys in the morning to skip and splash the pools as we watch the sand blown by slight winds over dunes to the left and the blue sea pulls it's current away north to leave a vast shift of sands. By night we come home and we collect ice creams to gallop down our gullets while craftful sea birds aspire to more touristy fayre. As we weave our ways with melting summer ices there we spy thee and ponder your reason to hiss welcome to vulturous gulls. And halt to watch your tumbling and rousting of the grey and whites. I craven and dower am slightly emitting cider apple tones to variegate the dull holiday somnambulant you endear here. I looked at fat bellied and walrus faced holiday seekers who otherwise hide with index finger on channel up/down and already heading home without having left quiet yet.

I am sick of the rain. I've ducked into a Konoba, wine bar, for sardela, potatoes and salata. Better. Beans. Vino blanca. Nice variety. Looks like where the locals come. Success. All I need now is compagnia. Volosko. The fisherman village front has been absorbed in to clique restaurant. All overwhelming and over priced and the staff have an air of drifting far from reality while they daily set up for a million german and italian retirees. The village is quaint and strikes me like a Cornish village overtaken by art galleries and boutiques. But this venue offers sardela for cheap. German tourists descend just as I am finishing my fayre. But they have discovered what is worth knowing. I am feeling stuffed. Now I am needing to rest. I recommend this Konoba to any who come this way. Borlotti bean salad , potato salad, 10 sardines(large), bread and glass of vino = 47 kuna. Simply known as 'Ribarnica Volosko' I leave and the sun is shining. The cat is demanding. It ...

More green grapes and another Turkish style coffee. Will set off after 5 and wait the arrival of the ferry. Tomorrow is another day, but the weather looks better in Split. Will read and chill on journey. Still got vodka and a bottle of rouge from Vis. Set off amid mosquito and humidity. Blue skys and still waters. East gate. Need some voda for the trip. A litre or more. Bought a litre. Checked in for ferry. Now to wait to board from 7pm. The Dalmatian hills are stunning with the sunset into the sea. The ferry Dubrovnik pulls into port. Berth n°16. Lady sits on bench with a sharpei bred of dog. Got a can of coke zero from the old lady of Split and a kiss on the cheeks Marco polo pulling into Berth n° 28. Nearly on the last and most extreme journey yet. The sea is calm and I am going to sleep. Old crones line the dock waiting with laminated cards sebe, apartments. Direct marketing. Off come fresh arrivals for Split to consume in it's ceaseless money trapping. Got on ship and...

Hey mum it's raining like it's never rained before! I've now got a real idea what Spike Milligan felt like in Italy when everything was so wet. He went nuts in the rain and with the guns. Luckily there aren't any guns yet!!! On days like this I hope for you, Emma and 2 dogs to snuggle up close to and not the old lady of Split. Daniel

Tourists are akin to roaches and vendors are like parasites on the roaches. As soon as the rain passes the roaches come out of their coffee cup and scrambled egg domains. American, English, Spanish and walking tour operatives circulate. With fujifilm camera from Burnley Lancs looking for tourist info from counter clerks lacking a single emotion or creative nuance. Bloody tourists. Bloody peasants. Bloody vendors. Bloody cockroaches. The story told of Diocletian's palace in broken English to broken Spaniards by broken Croatians. What about this palace can you tell me that I haven't already read? Some ghosts perhaps roaming. Roman's roaming. There are always ghost walks for the gullible.