A rebel without a clue.

Day Five is here and it's raining outside. I am exceptionally tired this morning. The stiff jaw which developed after the turbulence in the air going back to England at the end of November is still aching, although it is feeling less painful, and the ear is still aching. Sleeping on my right side is difficult. I'm trying not to eat anything which requires too much chewing! It's twenty days since Alicante ... *** It was quite a day! But I feel Ávila is worth the drenching I got coming over one monster climb: and I thought today would be simple. It's actually freezing outside - which might be positive as I love the crunch of frozen puddles and it's a million times better than the rain. Finally a proper day off tomorrow because I need it. Sierra de Gredos was tough - three days to cross with a lot of ups and downs. The Amigos of the local association are letting me stay two nights and it seems they've a fiesta planned for tomorrow evening. Six days to Salamanca on ...

So begins day four: with a night of indigestion which woke me at two am until the gases subsided and I managed a few more hours away from my own fears: I should not have eaten the Cornetto I saw in the freezer? The Albergue here in Cadalso de los Vidrios is well appointed: the número una as It was rebuilt with American Pilgrims money when it was falling to bits, but it was pretty cold in there this morning as I struggled back to sleep. Today is a fairly long etapa, without a break in a village along the way so I must await the opening of the supermercado to get some combustibles for the journey: and it's up further into the mountains, but I hope free of asphalt? How many days since Alicante? 19? Well finally got to the Camino which is more like those in France on Chemin St Jacques. *** There is no chance I could've managed to walk the extra 19kms through these mountains. As the sun was setting I found myself exhausted, but back on the road. And I thought better I wait to thumb ...

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...