A rebel without a clue.

Lyon. Hurdles to find a bed. Not happening with the Accueil Jacquaire, but that was yesterday. So now you'll find me at the end of the bar with La'Chouffe and a veggie burger. And I've a room on the top floor of a rough around the edges Auberge de Jeunesse. I got trapped between the entrance to the North Face of the Cathedral and a huge iron gate topped by a barbed welcome. I screamed and screamed at a man enclosed in his iPod world, but no matter how loud I shouted there was no response. I was trapped between Freedom on Rue St. Etienne and the Grande Eglise with no possible way of escape. Such a strange moment and quite symbolic. I'll never dare enter a church again: they are truly barriers to life.

A great breakfast: from afar I spotted oats!!! Martine is the boss here, her husband rarely looked my direction - probably loathes us English. Actually I am back in the land of the living. Porridge. I've 36kms to go. But it's the final etape ... Last Way this way. I know I'll never stop walking. The path is my destination. Am I happy? I'm sardonic! We had a better time this morning when she didn't need to play up to the crowd. Le Puy en Velay. I'm here. Managed to shave a little off the distance, but probably just 3kms, by following other routes and turning to the IGN app I'd not used yet. The last two hours were relentless, but I managed. Twice I forgot I'd left overs from the evening so I've just polished them off and am sitting in Brasserie Le Palais with a Fischer Doreleï (demi). So many people. I forgot the earth was inhabited by many of us. It's Dimanche and it's closed for business: I may just tuck into a pizza for my meal: have to b...

Sunday. Cockerel crows again because to him it is another morning and he sings before the sun makes its first appearance forever, but it's passed six anyway and there are no dogs howling at the moon. Strange scenes inside the gold mine: it is so long since I've stayed in a Chambre d'hôtes that I was truly surprised by what can only be called inauthenticity. When I went down from the Pelerin Gîte, which is the usual simple affair, the hostess and husband and three other higher ranking guests were arranged about the fireplace drinking aperitif with various fruit flovoured syrup. Once we finally sat down to eat I was very flakey: on the very edge of sleep. So phoney I had trouble at first not to feel in conflict with my being. So different from Accueil Jacquaire in an entirely pretentious manner. Totally unnecessary affectation. Not every meal in France is surely like this? More a means of chin wag not a means of sustenance. No wonder they've all bellies where they could ...

Don't tanneries use urine to nap or cure leather ..  it seems pissing on my size 10.5s is a good thing to do to the material, but the metal does not like this form of abuse. During this sleet I'm going to keep it up and sort out the rust a little later. Like when there isn't gusts, rain and snow flying into my face? Mad weather to remind me where I am: Auvergne, no room at the various Inns(Accueil Jacquaire) for the penultimate night's rest & tomorrow the same. The lady of this Gîte d'Etape is drying my jacket and boots ready for tomorrow. Currently I only have €9 left so I'll have to send her €26 in the morning. My budget is €40 per day and any I have left I've sent straight back to Mum and Glenn. Mum's cleared but I'll still owe Glenn some, however he's OK to wait until the dog sitting weekend. As long as I get to Le Puy tomorrow: a 36kms day I am assured a bed in the same place this bonkers idea of mine began in May 2013. If I make it tomo...

Both of you have Parkinson's disease? Oh the humanity. The body or mind. Which one rules within and without. The body is powerless and the mind is relentlessly all conquering. Another woodpecker and a stiff corpse of a cat, then up into the woods for a last trepidicous climb to the high point on the Via Geb before straight ahead to Le Puy. Eating must surely be a question of trial and error. The minimum error is sustenance and the maximum is death. Mushrooms ... There is not much room for a mistake there? Is knowledge of danger an inheritance in our genes? But if one individual died as a result of ingesting the wrong grub how would the collect organism know this? Is heredity fully aware? I've read certain lichen is very good eating but, even though I'm sure what I see up here is Icelandic moss or something used in beer preparation and mead construction, I dare not try incase the ergot is present and I'm sent tripping onto another plane of existence? A drippy nose, ti...

The dogs have begun barking. Earlier the hounds were howling. You never need an alarm clock in rural France. When I went out to sit with them they all sniffed me again, one licked my hands, but mainly they wanted to keep warm in the sun. A garçon, of about 7, who came passed early yesterday evening, told me the one who didn't move had a problem with its breathing and was sure to die - 'mort' he spake - I continued to stroke it behind the ears a little tearful. He passed this comment with little emotion, although I could see something was working deeper inside. When I asked what the dog was called he said it had no name. Nothing has a name it is always just itself without an appellation - indeed a dog is not a dog really. Sometimes I see dogs as an extension of me, the ones who grasp my baby talk and Yorkshire tongue as never a threat. It is 5:52am on Saturday the sixth of April 2019 and I have more than 30kms ahead of me, to reach Le Puy for Sunday evening, today. Bloody do...

Another pilgrim. I saw him ahead and thought he was the guy who comes from Prague who has walked out of Copenhagen, when I caught him up he's another German Swiss, but not as dark or as glum as the one I saw in Beaumont. It was interesting to walk with someone who could keep up with me. He's sixty six this year and was in the army as part of the Swiss system of national service until he was 42 which means he's also really used to carrying a pack and yomping. Bernard has being paying quite a lot for his quarters on a night but has had the occasional massage to compensate the out lay: I've just got sore shoulders. Today was the main climb of the route: from Bourg-Argental to Coirolles over the border into Auvergne from Rhônes-de-Alpes at around 1300 metres, where snow lied heavy on the track side. It was up all the way until a lumber yard, with trees felled to be taken away at some point, then a down hiccup to be followed by a final up to the Gîte. At the top I stopped f...