A rebel without a clue.

Montpellier Pt.5. I detoured to the Gare Saint Roch to without France early Wednesday morning. I can hear manana shouting my name. Oh Girona! Legendary city. Never thought I would return that way again. From there there are a couple of options to move forward and bring the pilgrimage back within touching point. It will be much hotter walking across Spain so anything that can reduce the burden of the several hundred kilometres. The walking will need to begin earlier or be broken up regularly to keep my energy levels high and a lot of my stuff will need to return somewhere. I wonder whom I'll see in Puente? I haven't been inspired into the poetic moi since I degusted from Cahors via Ruth. I noticed my writing is a little laboured and contrite. Added to this dissatisfaction I can't seem to keep far from the toilet here in Montpellier and I also came back via that McDonald's on the Funny Place. You can tell you run out of options when a cheap burger joint becomes the onl...

Montpellier Pt.4. Montpellier has been a challenge really. I can feel nothing but relief when I catch the first cheap vehicle out of here. I'm sat beneath the opera house looking along the M square and it somehow feels dirty, messy or frantic. A lot of crazy drunken fools tumble passed absorbed groups of German tourists. Plug them in or wind their mechanism and see a merry mental dance. After a lentil salad, bananas and 75cl of eau naturale I'm thinking a return to the Majestic to shower and change and perhaps forget the forceful masses undone in Place de la Comedie. The price of everything skints and ain't no joke. The joke I suppose is on me for letting something meaningless pull my feet away from the solace and happiness of moving ever away from the pain such places as Montpellier represent. I returned to the Hotel realised Spain is only a couple of hours south. I'm sodding off to Girona. I return to sweet simple peaceful city. With sweat pouring down my brow I pla...

Montpellier Pt.3. Trust is a funny thing. I came to this city not for me, for Glenn, but also because I felt lonely and needed a good Yorkshire voice to help me on my Way. Nothing real came of Montpellier so I am quite smashed and wondering how I was brought here without self control. Some dangle of a nice rope played tricks around my face bringing me south east and never south west of France after Cahors. No matter. Wednesday I will head west away with the sunrise. Some options are Perpignan, Toulouse or Barcelona. Or further west Bayonne or Biarritz. I'm beginning to feel Perpignan as I really don't want to be in Barcelona or Toulouse, but it is a reasonable distance towards Pamplona. The old me maybe would let the negativity of yesterday play tricks with me today. But something great comes of flipping with the ready formed road west. Wow Glenn u needed to have a break for yourself? Instead you have a nightmare during the day. Wow another guy who I see as a mistake of beh...

Montpellier Pt.2. Monday morning torrential rain until 3am, binmen at 5am and street cleaners at 7am. Hi Montpellier I am awake and wondering what happened to nothing? Put on your morning shoes; dancing shoes, it's good for you. Good morning. In France there isn't any such thing as a good morning. Bon Matins is not a concept. The changing aspects are not reflected in the morning. Day break I have my fast of cafe, confiture and pain: the repeat of the everyday man. I am le chatty man. Not an Alan Carr twatty man syndrome merci! Third cup of cafe/choco and really I still feel a little indistinct. I'm pushing my self to fratenise but don't really have the feeling for it. A youngster with Nike Air Jordan's Marke trois hasn't the history of them in his stride. Is it a fault of the older generation's grinding teeth when they see the lack of a subculture that hasn't been assimilated into corporate face/off empty eyed mouthing? There is no struggle amongst t...

Montpellier Pt.1 Merry French revellers, Spanish bongo drummers p/assing the windows and such clacking thunder of snores: in Montpellier I sleep in an ancient pilgrimage halt for a night but most of the noises kept me alive in that dark. Even at six this morning people verily singing and shouting as they travel back to where-ever they live. But so inconsiderate at dawn to call so vigorously. The young do not know what happens around them; just between their ears and legs. I was never a carosering choruser. Oh snores of fin. The destraction to destruct all notions of sleep on this Sunday morning. I don't have to quit this donativo at all until ten. Back to struggle with sleep a while, I feel, now the partiers have vanished and the snorer will awake soon. I retired again but the death rattle of magpies kept this away. Eventually I turned over and all the beds were vacant and the sky shone through my unshuttered windows. Rise and attend to petit dejourner somewhere. I hung out for ...

On departing Cahors/Chemin de la Saint Jacques @ Cahors, Toulouse & Montpellier Why just retirees? Have the young forgotten their feet in a consumer dust? All teettoring on the gulf of cracked tooth and forked tongue wag. No matter what I say, and how close to pronouncement, I am sounding more like the French Policeman in Allo! Allo! Fucking dick Hank! Good riddence to appallingly arrogant man. Yet au revoir to Serge; a splendid homme! I spoke to my Irish cousins no more; carrying the hopes of disappointment on their furlocks and moist hiberian palms. Bought petit fraise, €2, figue and banane sans moisture, €8. The Moroccan crook wanted €10 for 100 grammes of dried banane and fig. C'est la swindler! With a change of pace becomes a change of place and change of pleasure: hello Edinburgh University persons! Bonjour pretty journey femme heading to teach in Italia. Rant to university boyo from Leicester via NUT and Edinburgh History degree over. Jump on another tr...

Pilgrimage decamp @ Cahors, Midi-Pyrénées. Pt.12. No no no. I am surrounded by Hank the ogre and an party of quite pointless hiberians. Why? I thought it was just me and my francophiles; not tedious dutchphon l am fobic of his gaping jaw arrogant loudness. Why did he need to sit next to me and why didn't I move even when he did. Retiring to bed after four courses of our host and his partners best fayre I can still two floors up still hear that monster's voice. La guerre du! He is an arrogant chin waiting for a blind darkness to be kicked in the fuckthathurts. Over. Nice meal and I love Serge and his honesty. He makes me feel at home even if I asked not to sit with my Celtic cousins and hoped to remain unhanked ... I didn't judge but retired as early as Serge wouldn't seem badly of baldy eye. To bed with BRA! To speak to my sister and be happier within and without.