A rebel without a clue.

There is something of the world I just can't get my head around. I stare at it uncomprehending... But expecting to understand the inane, meaningless triviality is impossible... Why do I try? How can anyone know the unfathomable? Last night I returned to my breath to concentrate away from the clutter/cluster of images which make me question my sanity. The never ending line of thoughts about the future or past. Hopes, fears, disappointments and regrets. But I do know these images are not real. They are weighs I carry which close my eyes to the present moment. Lola lays asleep in her usual position, between my legs, we're warm before breakfast. Looking outside I can see breaks in the cloud cover and potentially a moment of sunshine prior to her need for sustenance? She appears to have accepted the run up to seven, with me, as there hasn't been a peep from her in the hour we've dwelt here. Yesterday we walked along the Old Railway to the Thorp Arch Trading Estat...

Is it really that hard to see that the problem in The Ukraine has been caused, in some degree, by Western attitudes to Russia for centuries? I am guessing it springs out of cultural, social and religious opposition which has always seen the Orient, the Russ, Orthodox, The Tatars, etc, as not as morally 'good', or righteous, as the West, with it's Papal, Romance/Anglo-Saxon, Protestant/Catholic dichotomy sees itself. Why is it impossible for humanity to see that we're not all the same and we can be different? Russia's history of itself is no different from England's history of itself: they are both incorrect. Seeing yourself as others see you is a very difficult skill. Perhaps no human can directly see his or her faults all that well? *** I slept badly. The floor is not my friend! And the sofa downstairs is simply too short for me. I have to lay somewhat fetal on the settee which I find very uncomfortable and there is no give on the floor so my bones feel ill pos...

The birds in the world frame the way, but grey clouds sit heavy below the sky. The stillness is broken by the drone of traffic along Spofforth Hill reminding me that what I see outside the patio door isn't reality. It's a human construct on every level. The dog by my side, and she decided to be by my side all night in bed (can such a small thing hog so much space)? She sees a pigeon alight on a distant chair. As she goes closer it has already gone to other bounty. The clouds hold the promise of much needed rain. It's been dry since I left France to return to the UK. What change is around the corner? The one which devastates with a monsoon like deluge. I remember last April being one of sunshine and heavy showers; almost regular as my morning bowel movements! Soon it will be time to collect Lola to take her and Ruby for another adventure. Ruby ate a fraction of her breakfast and will come back to the majority a little later. I intend to walk to Thorp Arch Trading Estate and ...

After a frenzy of activities I am sat on the sofa in the lounge. The clocks tick and Ruby breaths deeply on the edge of my awareness. Suddenly she decides to sort her bed out and pulls the throw around her. It's her way of getting comfortable: she circles into a nest and gathers the bedding around her. Maureen and Tony left me a huge portion of Moroccan Lamb Pie (a Börek I think) which fit so perfectly with the butter beans and tomatoes, I'd baked a couple of days ago, that I could burst: this morning I weighed in at 12st but it'll be a lot grosser by Thursday teatime. The French dry white wine has washed all its goodness into me and I feel I am drifting towards an early slumber. Lola is at my sister's tonight which is a relief as I'm pretty exhausted from all the doggy activities, plus doing several things for my mother this morning. Last year's Travellers have returned to the Wetherby Ings and I ponder if they ever would if it was still the mosquito marsh it o...

She's such a good girl! Our Lola laid by my side, in the strange house, all night. Ruby likes to sleep on mummy's bed so no problem with them both wanting to be with me. We got up at 5:30 and I'm waiting for Lola to begin buzzing for her food shortly. She's getting closer to 7 with me. Giving too much attention to Ruby first thing does make her a little unhappy and she clearly got between me and her just now to tell me she is the most important dog in my life. *** How to live the good life? Do I live an authentic existence doing what makes me feel whole? Or is there a hole there waiting to be filled by a truer existence than I have in Wetherby? The journey which Michael and I will undertake, the first I've ever had to step back from, and not alone to dominate, will be a possible way into authenticity? It's important to shine through this opportunity of sharing The Way - Pilgrimage. I've heard some positive news from Dulwich Parish as there will hopefully be ...

Lucozade and grapes is what we gave the infirm... To see a grey horse fall on a racecourse and to be trampled underfoot... These two are wonderful. This morning we were together all the way. Lola has taken Ruby's space and Ruby is wrapped in Lola's throw. I've come upstairs and neither can be bothered to move from their particular righteous spots, apart from one another: there is a small chance they could cuddle up to each other and sleep not so solitary! Another couple of chapters and I am done. They're still downstairs, apart and serene, soon they will both bother me to belong alongside once more?

First morning of three with Ruby and Lola. I was going to collect Ruby and bring her back here, but that would be stupid with my poor left foot. A combination of things mean I was walking barefoot in the park yesterday. So once Lola arrives we'll go up to Chestnut Avenue. The allotment will need to go to the back of the queue for the remainder of the week, until at least Friday, but I did quite a lot yesterday. Yesterday afternoon I found myself skipping through The Moon and Six Pence , which is a delightful novel, but I thought it was a story based on Paul Cezanne which is not the case. It's a narrative based on the life of Paul Gauguin... Both important Postimpressionist artists. It doesn't matter which of these two giants of the painting landscape it is a tale told about as it's nothing other than a novel by Somerset Maugham... Mother is suffering from old age: is this what happens to us all? In the end we dissolve back into the dust we came? Obviously it is! Mike su...