A rebel without a clue.

Short one. Broke all the rules. Shot along the closed route. Bugger it. Clambered over felled trees most of the way. Became fearful that the bridge over Autoroute de Gascogne was going to be absolutely out of bounds or missing - maybe this is why the route is out of bounds? It wasn't missing and neither were the midges! None of the road building operatives challenged me. One shock my hand ... Respect, you are walking all the way to there? Rare spectacle a male donkey, ass, mule galloping over the fields to stand braying at me. Guess that stallion didn't like me breaking the rules. This is my way. Faced him off. Said hello and he just snarled! 

To approach walking as an occupation. Walking Monday til Saturday, with one day to stop and collect oneself. Is this fair? A lot of pilgrims walk every day - with some shorter ones thrown in (technically not proper walking, I think, if it's over by noon). It's not a race; who am I to judge? Even though I demanded better of myself today ... Guilt for some perceived fault. Drinking tea. I've six eggs(boiled), Baguette, fig biscuits, lemon water. I bought Penne pasta to eat tonight, with the remainder of the pesto I carried for several days. I've one bullet-like avocado ... It's not getting ripe: picked too early. Avocado usually breaks down soon. It's food. The Avocado was ripe! Unusually thick skin. Woody. That would have hurt falling on an unsuspecting perambulator. So two eggs, one avocado, some pesto makes a nice sandwich filler. A snack. Had enough at déjeuner. Second day of steak. Set menu - €17. Same steak as last night in a simpler set up. The sun is sc...

A day off. So many days of hardly any sleep. Too many mosquitoes in the rooms. From Château to Gîte they're always here. Yesterday was hot ... The room stayed hot. It's a tight spot. Two bunks for four. I wonder who will join me today. One raft of pilgrims left: some Dutch and some French. I'm on a top bunk. I snore, oh well. I have groceries for dinner. This is Dimanche and nothing goes on after lunch. C'est soir? Zero. Hand washed some smalls. Ineffectually. Being a pilgrim is quite boring. Being a tourist is intensely boring. Being a servant is totally boring. It's a dull day, but it won't last. Tomorrow is a short day: 17 kms. Counting bites is absolutely a waste of time. It's inevitable. My eyes are quite tired.  165 kms in six days is not a problem. The world I see is exactly the same: a different accent but the same sense of boredom. Waiting for something to happen. Yesterday morning walking out of Le Réole was a moment. The sunrise behind me and the...

Good morning world. No bites. Blue skies and a freshness which was not felt yesterday. Time for coffee. The couple don't drink it. I can understand why not. Not ripe apples: which look like cider apples.

Have I seen all this before? Or have I only thought this before? Looking at anything is dependant on some prior knowledge. Otherwise it is not in focus, has no prospective. These shapes would mean nothing. Who am I? This is as deep a question as it is possible to ask one self? My feelings of loathing or loving are only mine. They are not anything beyond. Hearing a voice. It means nothing unless in give it my attention and some "meaning". This means I really have a choice. It's always a choice. I think I finally understand. This voice inside. The one dictating to the page. Hello. Who is in control of that hello? Why do I need a word of greeting to me? Beyond my simple self I am sure I need no words. Words are abstract labels. I think that's the correct term. That chair is not simply a chair. At it's core it is mostly empty space. Physics holds it as seeming substantial matter. And this physical world seems so inescapably real. But only from my limited knowledge...

I've been there. And I was possessed by my venom, and time. Now I'm full of a poison which it seems impossible to cure. Taken to a sagging rest, and my back curves truly. I don't choke on this toxic breath. Puking in the whimsy. And numerous gasp. I don't believe in me. So the sputum is dribbling my nose, burning a hole in a grave I've devoured. Oh the loam is thrown to finish this body off.

So here's I am. King's Cross. Time till departure 35 minutes. There is a persistently heavy rain falling on Old London Town. But I didn't let it get me down. This morning I woke close to 6:30 and was gone from St Aphelge CSF by just after eight. I followed the railway bridge and was shortly deposited by the Tate Modern. It is a lot closer to Borough Market than my perambulations would suggest when I returned at 6:30 on Sunday night. It might have been my imagination, but the frown Sister Joyce gave me when I arrived at the door might've been reserved for anyone late arriving to the establishment? So I ate the cold shoulder of mutton I was provided and went to bed intent on being gone before any more frowns. Last voucher given to homeless person. I've eaten quite enough this morning so it seems only fair I give what I can. The young white gentleman looked quite shocked as did the young Middle Eastern lady I saw sat in the cold outside Southwark Cathedral. Actually I...