A rebel without a clue.

Another morning and another Tartine - Tartin'Art near by Notre Dame. The Halle is closed this morning. Jeudi. It's the way. I'm going to walk the Chemin Saint Jacques towards Gevrey-Chambertin: just for the wine and plat-du-jour. I reek ... Borrowed the hosts parfume to hide a week plus in the same clothes. We always mask our true odour in essence of nature. The fall was not so graceful when ever aspect of the outward reality is a façade to the inner being. It's truly odd to see ourselves in a mirror and be unworthy of our natural self? There is always a gypsy woman loitering outside the main cathedral. Lyon and Dijon. Do they have begging rights. I cannot help feel it's all lies.

Dear John, happy birthday. 86 you'd have been ... What would the world be like now for you with all the problems of the world? They only began to appear on the 11th of September 2001 and you didn't live to see the awful aftermath. What would you make of Mr Trump who is seriously, not even in a pack of Super Trump cards of US presidents - you need a special edition to find his faux visage. Can't the US impeach the president for mental health issues or being quite literally insane? Fake tan, comb over, leggy young blonde on his arm, with more kids than Old Mother Hubbard. Dijon: was I really going to wake up with Florian's willy pointing in my general direction? Did I over react? No, I might have lost €55 but I found another Airbnb and had a solid night's sleep. Going to get a Tartine and then walk to Gevrey-Chambertin. Dijon? Did I just walk free and easy? Yes I did. The pain is gone. It's not in my derrière. It's not in my bones. Put it down to experience....

A different sort of fun when the bus doesn't arrive. Seven people are told it left without you. But either the bus was invisible or its a plain lie. It's the way. I'm now sat in Perrache charging this up. For about an hour or so I talked to a lovely girl called Cindy, so it wasn't wasted. This was my before sunrise moment, except it was only two hours and the sun has yet to set. Now to get to Dijon I only have two options: BlaBlaCar or SNCF. So far I've not been in a railway station in France this time. Today was a wonderful day. Lyon is a cool city and security minded. Does the world need Police Nationale or the army on ever street. It's a cause of panic. It is made up to keep the people in place. It's nothing real. Can I drink wine in a station. I asked the cops and he kindly said it's not the best idea! Missing buses? For €2.99 should I cry? Now I have to pay €32 for a train ... But it's faster. It's all a slow way back to the UK. I will leav...

Smoke gets in my eyes, throat and nose. French femme fatale pulls forever Canker sticks they stay pencil thin. Inside they drip with coal tar Nightmares. Between conversation, Ends, Thrown hastily, Guttering. While another match flares And a sun watches down The rue.

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 ...