A rebel without a clue.

Lola, what a good girl! She stayed in her bed until at least 5, climbed in besides me until 6:30 and waited quite happily for me to prepare her breakfast at 7, once we decamped and meandered downstairs. That dog doesn't mind her own space for 7 hours as long as I am directly alongside her - within touching distance. Mum needs to purchase a futon bed, a 4 foot one, to put in that room so we can always be alongside each other, but she simply won't. *** Reading a fantastic, and fairly comprehensive, summary of Cornwall - Vanishing Cornwall by Daphne du Maurier - in the Mews last night I realized how busy it was in the bar area. At around four thirty I moved out of that space and continued reading further into the restaurant area. It seems that the same dozen or so faces that frequent here every day. These people are fine, but I need so much more! I really need my mother to get a new knee so soon so I can possibly pick up where I left off in February 2020?

Good morning... What am I thinking about? Being good at just one thing... With Lola, snuggled alongside me on the sofa, I know I've become good with her. A pureness reflects in our relationship. Although I don't know what Lola ever is thinking, if she operates like that, there are ways of knowing I am doing well by her. But I am also good at putting one foot in front of the other, but I am also great at pouring one pint after another down my throat without considering the long-term consequences of the dedication. Dedicating this one year, in its many moments, to not putting that erroneous being into action may help me escape the zombiefacation of my soul. But all I want to do now is go - move onwards (being held back for ten years by mental health issues is so futile). And the last two years of being told what to do, constantly, by everyone and everything has destroyed the momentum which was snowballing prior to Lockdown. Walking for charity has ceased. Walking for sanity has v...

I'm laying in a double bed as the day begins below: the bakery is there. Life is truly 24hrs in this auberge: I could smell the dough leavening. People depend on the auberge for miles around. Their bread is great. One day before Saint Jean Pied-de-Port. Breakfast is at 6:30. I'm away by daybreak: 7:18. Quite lovely Piperade last night: I'd forgotten how lovely that sauce can be. Suddenly English voices can be heard. I felt silent for so long. The merging of the paths. But now I feel alienated. So I stop with my nature. No need to struggle against what my head says no to. Saint Jean is where everyone heads to begin their disappearance into Spain. It's a bottleneck. For me it is a battle against apathy. Had some food in a very ostentatious and underwhelming environment. Only €14.50 though including a local Basque cidre. And now I am in the Refuge Municipal €10. Someone left some odour eaters which I find very useful indeed, the toe section of the sandles snapped yesterd...

The fun has vanished: Any joy has departed, But what is to say? Little mindful occurs! A gap grows between The substance and This dispossession. Feeling a barren drought Where sweet liquor poured Freely, refreshing thought, Which ran fathoms deep

It is really an addiction: Travel liberates me, But without it any Thoughts disintegrate Into a pit of despair Where they surrender Pitifully, falling flailing Losing touch. But now a station recedes A distance wakes Ripples dissolve Out of patterns The route is ridged Dividing infinity  Into suburbia.

It used to be gas masks. Now it's quite unreal, Without bombs asking Are you immaterial? So fat and disfigured You wobble in the breeze This sun melts tallow As you shit your sen! Always make the customer pay.

With only 15 passengers and 4 aircrew the sky was alive as the sun found its way to the borderlands and clouds patrolled north to south in waves breaking reds, oranges, indigos, purples and azure between ridges, in heightened shades of white, grey, charcoal and blue. The aircrew brought our disparate bodies onto the wing section as a motley crew and what could've been so much fun became a paranoid two hours hidden in our own capsule protected behind a face covering... What is time? What is the rush? Am I racing against something which has always dogged my heels? This need not be! The first morning of a different way, again! Heading north east out of Girona along the Camī Sant Jaime I stop for a final café solo before hitting the path I've so sought all summer, but rarely found!