A rebel without a clue.

Inconsistency. Fluctuation between going forward and returning to what is keeping me limited. I am limiting myself. Is there any limit to me really... Other than the ones I create?

Every morning I walk through a canyon to catch my bus and like rock pigeons millions of slaves crawl onto their ledge. All these people heading to their assigned cells, wilting flowers in place. The effort of climbing down from my level in the hive and cutting through the world I ceased to touch so long since. I've a flask of coffee for the road ahead, but here I sit; mug in one hand and head in the other: oh the badness filling my waking hours. Music rings out the banality of it all and is perpetual in its stalking. My ears are never free of the fever and my eyes never rest on calmness. Oh a pretty face. It's another face in the meaningless crowd. It flows forever indented but vanishing vanquished out of sight and beyond redemption. To write I must. This I must not forget. All my venom is passing out, down and easily trodden, but I must keep conveying the horror, the horror. Then a song I recall from half a world away and am I subtly appeased. Are these few tracks the tracks...

I had dinner, a shower and then mosquitoes. Now I am watered and breakfasted ...it is dawn. Fantastic masala omelette for supper. I splattered a mosquito filled with my blood too angrily: mountains of regret. Getting out of Ghent was fluid. In a Priest's home. Thankfully. I was at the end of my day's endurance: I had no place to sleep. Everything seemed full or no one answered the phone. The one who did spoke no English: I'm not more than several words in Flemish so I hastily hung up. But here I am only five kilometres short of Oudenaarde: Welden. I shall never forget as it includes a dog and four year old Orval across the street. Tomorrow is Sunday. Half day closing. I grabbed two pears in a village before Lunch. I decided to keep away from the curvy river and follow farm tracks and minor roads as direct as possible. Today could have been nearly 40kms if meandering.

One hundred percent day. Zero percent sleep in the noisy hostel. But I was delivered to a pilgerherberge away from that other nonsense. Like a fool I wandered here and there knowing I couldn't walk on Saturday with the same set of circumstances as the Hostel on the bridge. Now I am up three flights of stairs away from fear. Fear never gripped me, but I wavered in that place unsure of tomorrow. I still have no destination tomorrow, but I have no worries: something will come along. Ulrich and Christena - a Camino couple have a perfect place for the Ghent etape: he's a German Physics teacher and she's a Flemish maths teacher. I returned my key to the damned hostel and returned to a very long siesta. Tomorrow I head to Oudenaarde.

The GP I saw, who I am now seeing regularly at the Light Surgery, thinks maybe the world is crazy and I am normal and that I will never fit it. I'm an outsider. I was inside for a while but feeling like I didn't belong or understand a thing. Now I'm always looking at this thing but it's as if I'm walking around an exhibition, or a zoo, where I can't grasp what the purpose of the merchandise is. I'm become an alien bemused or perplexed by something happening outside my experience: my reference point is now the Camino. Off I go again. Only back a couple of weeks. No where to move to in Wetherby do I'm stuck in Little London for the time being. Plenty of places are coming up in that area, but always if I'm 60+ or have a family. Flying to Brussels Charelroi and late bus to Ghent. An additional night in Ghent. Heading on the Via Scaldea six or seven days. Not got so long this time: Glenn joining me so we can visit some WW1 sites. Must be in Reims on 11th...

Already I feel attacked by the modern world. I told a group from England that they're carrying too much so one insulted me by calling me golden baldylocks and just now a man clearly pushed in to get on the train, even before everyone had got off and when I said you're being rude told me it was I being rude. People. And I should always keep my mouth shut. It's a world of attack I call upon myself. Those Brits need to learn their own lessons and who cares if someone appears to push in ... I'm on the train with plenty of time to kill. Rather than hang about all morning I decided to walk a little further on the GR65 just to observe all these hopeless newbies. So much blubber to use. So much conversation being ranted. Americans, Canadians etc. They don't like the noise of themselves or that of nature I am sure. Then I'm arrogant. It's a way, but you'll never see me wasting my life surrounded by more of the same. By eck I pong and am surrounded by flies. The ...

Mint by the roadside fills my mind with beautiful thoughts so refreshing. The sweat was so strong at the end of yesterday the salt stung my eyes until I was blind. Foot hills to the Pyrenees and now I know it. Amazing views all along the vale from the top where the GR65 and GR654 merge. But now I couldn't find any beds so I have a demi-pension €35 evening meal, bed and breakfast above the bar. I am grateful. I will have no money left by Saint Jean. Zero. But I know I'll be OK there.