A rebel without a clue.

A hell of a lot of things are coming to a head. The end of something and the beginning of something. I know what is ending: dependancy on someone who hardly sees me as I am, but who I have been. Who misunderstands me completely, but who expects me to be at a beck and call without see I do shuttle back and forth for her needs. My mother. Let me tell you about my mother... I can't. I can't be bothered about her ways, her manipulations, her insults, her negativity. To have had an angry father and a manipulative mother...

Trying to get to the new beginning I am asking myself to start, as soon as I wake up to my self, why do I persist in putting it off until an obvious date? The moment is now. Now is all there is. Waiting for what ... a date; a line in the sand which, once stepped over, I can never return to? What has never worked and, although I push and push and push, never will. The mind keeps bringing me back to the stumble and I don't see it! The opportunity of being here and now up on Chestnut Avenue and not the sitting around waiting to not be on Chestnut Avenue, in another time and space, which I can never reach?

The length of the day shortens. As I rolled over in my sleep and decided that that was my sleep: a long one, I looked outside and thought five? The street lights are lit as dawn crawls. Meat free and wholesome Friday, but slightly low once more. A week since France and happy to return to 'all this' - my current situation as I have the longest way to go, around six months (at least) for the appeal process of PIP. The knock on effect is huge. No income and no ability to pay debts. There was no problem in June... Perhaps it's a good thing as I was becoming wreckless in my consideration. I wasn't on the right track in my consciousness. For what it's worth I listened to two chapters of ACIM, for it's soothing remedy. A timely reminder that I am not a body, I am free and I am I was initially created (spirit). At the flat I washed my walking shirts, the polyester ones, in an antibacterial solution, which is added to the draw of the washer, as the smell of BO comes back...

The long drawn out journey from a comfy bed in Amiens to another on the eleventh floor in Lovell Park Grange is done. A smashing night's sleep. Sans alcool... Coming back to the flat I washed everything and put fresh linen on the bed. Switched on the night time storage heater to have a warm bath come Saturday morning - those little things I don't see when my mind is somehow hampered by conflicting emotions, like a knotted ball of twine, I can never lay flat and untangled.  An hour to wake up, pack up an get into the post 7am bath - 11 until 7 nighttime cheap electricity... Now I've added my tent equipment to the 40litre bag I purchased last year at Intersport Beauvais, when all my own baggage disappeared into the ether of airside, and affixed the sleeping Thermarest mat to the bottom of the sack with the webbing there; it's going to be heavy! Now breakfast: porridge. Since yesterday I've become the healthier me once more. In the entirety of this trip to France, whic...

So now I wait for the flight outside the airport. Like a buffoon, misunderstanding the system, I went to the Gîtes d'Etape on Rue de Paris, thinking I would be OK to stay for a couple of hours: just to chill away for sore temptations I Beauvais. I arrived, showered, washed a t-shirt and the shorts I've had on all the way and lay down on the bed just as Bernard arrived. But, no, it's impossible to stay for two hours without paying the full whack for the evening! Only €15, but I only have €5 left since coffee and the bus ticket from Amiens. I think I upset him and I really didn't mean to. I know that the rules are one night and onwards, but I am exhausted from battling mosquito fatigue, the long haul yesterday.and being stupid drinking after the nice, but not massive, Cod and white rice repase in La Gargouille. But the good news is I managed forty winks, on my sleeping bag, on the floor in the departure lounge. I've done that in the past, but not for ages. I seemed to...

The final leg. The bus between Serqueux and Amiens, passing Forges-les-Eaux, and memories of June heading west towards Dieppe, Rouen, Arras and Amiens(twice). Domaine des Traverses and Feuquieres in Picardie, Quiberville and Fontaine Saint-Sulplice in Caux Normandy. Where next? To stay in Amiens, Compiegne or Beauvais. It's been a long morning with this being the forth leg of getting from Bayeux. The last of four. The longest. A bus through the same area I sweated in, during June's heatwave ... How different this July from 2022? Damp and not warmer than 20. Drizzle yesterday and this morning too. Now I wait to catch ligne 601 back to Beauvais. The next time I reach will be when? I guess some distance off? But I must, repeat must, come on a Chemin. A proper one! For the good of my sanity. Twice this time I drank. Last night with the guys running La Gargouille and back in Rouen. This morning I didn't think to concern myself with getting back to airport mid morning, but it see...

I seek it in this person, in a place, in a bar, in that beer, in that wine, in a cheese, in shirts, in sandals, in socks, in breasts, in a dog, everywhere and in everything, but there is nothing external. Before the next tiring stage of the journey east I stumbled into an overpriced and over glamorous coffee, patisserie which caters to all the image you dare to project in a material existence. I looked at the Hipsters around me and barged out and took up residence on the bar at the Café Metropole where I was reminded, and amused, that JP Satre and Simone de Beauvoir lingered contemplating their existence in the same cafe, but in another time and space before their atoms became, like all good relics, tied up with mine improving this vintage at the lowest/highest level of being. Oh the humanity!