A rebel without a clue.

Tired, but not hungover. Many many strange dreams which woke me with a start throughout the night. Here I am at the Churrería around eight thirty and there is a dubbed Game of Thrones playing in the corner. The voices just sound wrong, aka funny. There are a few late night locals heading home in here and a handful of hunters about to head on another morning of killing. From a distance I heard the ricochet and the barking as I, finally, left the asphalt and farm track behind. It was still a well worn track, with bicycle treads everywhere, but finally I was alone and happy. Without a hangover. The last five kilometres to this short day was on another road, but as I saw brambles and juniper I was transported to northern climes, looking everywhere for nettles, and a reminder of Lola and home. My tiredness becomes frustration at what I misperceive which blinds me to what is really outside - like a child who moans when they fight sleep I did so again yesterday and found it necessary to attac...

Ghost villages on the edge of town. Bricked up windows and plots with little more than a suggestion homes were going to be built here. A lady sweeps outside her gate and a dog barks at me passing the final empty abode before Val de Santo Domingo. Must stop as my guts are rotten. *** The sun is shining and it's suddenly away from the asphalt on a true grass track where there are puddles to negotiate and there is the accompaniment of bird song. Stopping for a little Tapas in Maquenta rescued me and now I'm in a more pleasant environment as I think Castilla-La Mancha is tappering out.  Coming down a shandy track I reached a brook and a ford which was too deep to wade through so I removed boots and socks and gave my feet a pleasant. Back up the path I heard, then saw, some hunters out gathering up their dogs, about to head away with their trophies, loading their vehicles. I stopped round about there to clean off my feet and restore socks and boots: it was roughly half way between M...

And there we have it: a Conservative landslide. I'm not there. And I'm not here this morning. How is it I always back the losers? I always have. There seems a bad vibe spreading through the world to me. How will the rest of Europe react ... Does it really matter? It's Friday the 13th, the moon is swollen in the sky and I'm heading away from all this again. The booze will not touch me again in the same way. I must walk safe and enthusiastic. Indeed I am excited again. Coffee and Churros this morning next to the Mercado and before the Cathedral. This time, up to Feliz Navidad I will reflect more about what this time of year should mean. Merry Christmas to all, regardless of any perceived difference. *** That was an obligatory wake up call! My whole body was refusing, and 99% of my mind was too. 26 kilometres before I could stop, being prodded on by thoughts of Boris and his elite. The local brewery in Toledo does a fantastic smoked Porter, but it is a little heavy in alco...

Feeling sick because of the awful smell produced from some incense stick. It was so artificial and woke me too often with this overwhelming odour! Hostel X. Young lovers in the room: ear plugs at the ready. She's hot, and German, he's annoying and Cayman ... They were quiet and slept separately: I think it was a little snog. Ate late, but was asleep by midnight. Awaiting the doors to open for a coffee and I'm not far from where my lift collects me at seven. But I was shattered. Arriving at the hostel around ten thirty I was driven to find a small "ración" or simply flake out: the belly won and I ate a confit of lamb and some fishy thing called Pericana, which was simply too salty for me! I polished off the first copa vino in moments and, with the assistance of the second copa, managed this Alicante speciality. *** Here we are, three Spaniards and I, heading to Madrid on the A-3. We just stopped half way for a coffee. This was so so necessary: 5 hours broken sleep ...

Time to unwind on the sofa, comfortable with our lass, before another journey to Leeds/Bradford airport! Ever since I returned from Toledo I've felt more misshapen in England than I usually am. This material way is truly redundant for me - as another British catastrophe unfolds (Christmas Election) and overwhelmingly commercial Christmas revves up - I feel insanity all around me! And I'm bound to fall foul of it again and again if I stay here! Since I walked through Leeds City Station on the 23rd November nothing seems to be heading in a wholesome direction. The crowds of "revellers" falling drunk, like a modern equivalent of the Gin Lane etching by Hogarth, welcomed me back to West Yorkshire with a shock so frigid I thought someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water over me? Then by the following day I was stumbling along like one of the buffoons merrily staggering on ale. It just doesn't help me in anyway! Now two weeks have flashed by and I'm looking dow...

Bookies: Paddy Power, William Hill(now closed), Admiral Casino Slots, tobacconists, The Three Legs, Barclay's bank, The Money Shop and this is The Headrow. Further down, on eastgate Victoria Gate and it's a temple to nothing. Further up and it's cheap £1 pasties. This is the left side of The Headrow. Climbed onto the 52, but it must've moved 20 metres before grinding to a full stop. All up the Headrow it was buses wedged together going nowhere. Climbing back off the bus I headed home: Alfred can wait until another night. *** Remember you must be a different person. The person who you were didn't work out.  Stop trying to return up the old roads. They don't lead you anywhere good And you know this! Listen to the other voice as it is the only way you'll ever find Peace of mind. It's all up to me. It's always been up to me. *** But it happened yet again. I drive myself crazy. Another day where I've had to hide from the world which works black magic ...

The rain is falling. It's perpetual. The fields are waterlogged and everything smells of damp corruption. So Autumn is in fifth gear. Soon the season should switch into winter mode and things should be stiller, but frigid and settled. Most of the trees have reduced to leafless shadows of their former majesty. There will be no variant to the bus journey from Leeds and back again until Emma sorts out the situation with the new house: it's two weeks overdue her moving in and things are a little tense at 42. Mum went to Harrogate for a change of pattern, even on a very wet day! Emma was about to go into bitching mode about living with mother. Finley was off school with a cold and said nothing to me as he passed the time on his iPad. Lola and I picked up Dan's Lola and had a good two hours threading through the margins of the ploughed up fields, stubble and fallow. Yesterday after the way I felt coming into 42, with its attitude problems, and the on going issue at The Mews, wher...