A rebel without a clue.

Some Huguenots came from this part of France and they were persecuted for their beliefs. Why did those Catholic kings, queens and clergy feel so threatened by another voice? They felt they were unstoppable and supreme and were clearly willing to kill Christians in the name of Christ: such hypocrisy seems rife in France, Spain and Catholicism. No one really knows the true message Jesus was trying to preach. From the point of an Atheist, Agonistic, Deist, etc, it's all convoluted? Except perhaps the sermon on the mount. He was inspired to denegeate those who claim superiority through power, etc. Yet this "church" thing is obviously a fake in the sense of rituals, laws, constructs as a church exists within and not outside. A body holds it all because it's the mind which is the root. The stone buildings and the reliquaries are faux on every level. They won't let you in if you don't bend low and in a sinister way you are not worthy. Except I bet mosquitoes still bi...

A good night's sleep in this accueil pèlerin, on my own, with silence after eight: I was out in seconds, woke up around 2 with that nattering noise, but it wasn't a mosquito for a change, and headed back to lala land until 6. Fine breakfast, but only a small portion of coffee alloted. I've nowhere to stop at all before Mas d-Azil so I had to locate the well hidden grounds! This morning I left a Donativo, which means that's all the money I've got on me. The destination has all services so I'll start on the daily allowance again there - €35. Sunrise at 7:47 and the nights are drawing in: maybe the weather will cool a little in the middle of the day so I don't feel so bound to collapse? Cloudy as I leave the acceuil pèlerin up either side of the valley stags are groaning and braying. In the valley the sheep bleet, and one clearly coughs like she's on sixty a day. This morning I'm following the way exactly. Another 20 kilometres until I reach Mas d'...

While I am blowing bubbles out my nose, I need to blow (into the ether goes this slime as I shake it into the wind) it's Friday! No forgetting today! That'd be insane! That was a tough stretch from Pamier. Intense at first up to Saint Victor. Just up into the hills. A halt then up on a forestry road to the top before a huge descent into Montégut Plantaurel. The couple looking out for pilgrims are on holiday - fuck. I'm taken in by a "wine" maker who I think makes herb wines, etc. They've had to nip out and I need to rest! Rest I did until mosquitoes came to rest on me like U2 spy planes. The acceuil pèlerin across the street is open, but vacant. Where am I to stay away from the evil bastards who operate over enemy territory during the day! If they are away does it mean I'll have hang about in this "Breuvages de Pyréne" Cave where I think the kids have been left to devastate the habitation while their parents are away? Bloody tiger mosquitoes: a...

Fresh underwear is a revelation, but the time had surely come? A decent night's sleep with some intense dreaming. Feature length dreams fueled by the cheese course at each French meal. Last night's acceuil du pèlerin was a disused railway station. For the remoteness of place it was massive. Look at the Pyrenees to the south: mighty, yet serene. Unhurried they are still moving pushing up the land behind: a force in nature beyond our wildest misunderstanding. Now I head due west on the disused railway line in Pamier for around nine? Tragedy has befallen me! The ever reliable fork, knife and spoon set I was presented with in HMP Wealston are now two or three days behind me. Now I've no cutlery to eat this tin of lentils I've been carrying since then! Oh the humanity.

Laundry done. No more body odour driving folks away: as though I meet anyone while I am pouring with sweat! The main reason I walk is for the solitude which brings back to me a feeling of gentleness and warmth. Dwelling on the past or worrying about what's next vanish for a few moments and I don't know what the problem is. Occasionally I reach a plateau of calm and all tension dissipates, being in the moment is something satisfying but very hard to convey. This is perhaps because any words used to describe it aren't it. The times I meditate at home or at my mum's are the same. For a few minutes, perhaps a couple of hours, nothing is distressing me. The voice of doubt is silent. On a couple of occasions I've forgotten everything; however this becomes a little startling and panic settles in quickly. Only once did I reject the panic and let anything vanish; it seemed that this was the end of it all, yet something dragged me back. Repase smells wonderful and last nigh...

At 15 kilometres it's a little longer to Vals, along the minor routes either side of the main road to Pamiers, and quite boring, but not those hills. Tomorrow it's quite a different story with no option to miss out fairly steep hills. I'm not a coward I just have limits to my energy with this sack! Thierry has connections with the French foreign legion because he was a soldier in the Alpine division and they had an "exchange" programme. He stopped for a beer and I've stopped for lunch. That was a very tough morning and my boots are still wet! Did I mention it was a bit damp yesterday? On the eighth day Daniel wondered how Leeds Mind help publicize my erstwhile endeavour? Do they? Can they? Why aren't they? I'm not sure I can answer that one, but it feels I am trying to help without help! Except for the obvious help from mosquitoes? It's one o'clock so why move? It's shady and I couldn't care less for mosquitoes in the daytime. I disl...

Is there a shorter route today rather that 36 kilometres over three 500 metre hills?Not constantly on tarmac, not on the main roads and pleasant enough. Most of "modern" interpretations the Way of Saint James visit every church, chapel and cross on the road side which means that the route can often go backwards a while before the destination is back ahead of you! Today it does that too - definitely after Vals. It's a bit later start for me this morning and the shorter means of arriving in Pamier is calling me: voie verte : an old railway route. No hills, not backwards to go forwards: Saint Jean Pied-de-Port is far away enough! So I'm late? Well I've bread, cheese, olives and tomatoes. As it passes nine, and I'm behind my usual departure time (I don't like walking after midday!) I will use the disused railway track. My belly is distended with Andouillette : bizarre but pleasant French only style sausage which even includes the oink I'm sure! A coffee ...