A rebel without a clue.

Returning to Wetherby and I've seen the gulf between it and me extend into new territory. Those faces I observe going through their routine of accommodating death and rarely pushing back against its seeming inflexibility ... But it's got to be in me to see it another way? That's always the case. It's a safe space in which to weed the garden. There is little chance that rockets are going to fall on our sleeping restless heads? Arrived an hour late to Santander as Ryanair had to change aircraft in Dublin. The Boeing was a newer 737 (Max 8200) with an additional two emergency exits and a different arrangement of toilets to the rear, indeed the plane seemed longer and narrower, but that's probably an illusion ... Dropped off my bag at Pension Anglines and went to get a late night dinner and then crashed out. A bit restless at first as I wasn't sure what to do this morning, after the BlaBlaCar host cancelled the direcft trip to León, so I put the alarm on for 6am and...

Saturday morning in Archie's front room and the day begins along North Street, as the cars head up or down, in the dawn fog. The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds and a crow cries outside the window. Time to make breakfast or to take Archie? An hour later, with an espresso in Caffe Nero and a loaf of sour dough bread from Baltzersen's, I've had my breakfast and so has Archie. Now time to get cleaned etc. Then at noon climbed aboard the number 7 to the Stray for a walk along it to Wear Park, a few halves then back on the supercharged X70 to meet Jason, pick up a Chicken Madras to help clear my bowels in a chilli assault; what was curry like prior to the Portuguese taking chillies to India? Sunday morning, the clocks have gone back, but the weather remains damp. The rain woke me during the night, as did the Madras as it worked it's way towards my bowels. It's Sunday and it will be a day of rest. Monday morning. Seems that Milk of Magnesia did the job? And a qui...

Day one. Monday morning. Up around 6. Finishing off the fully matured runner beans, which I blanched then pressure cooked last night, by reducing the liquor to a minimal. Will then turn them into good 'ole frioles refritos at my mum's... First proper tranquil afternoon/evening since I left for France/Spain, and that mad rush to get to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to walk towards Santiago. I made a fried rice dish with courgettes and yogurt and finally my stomach/intestinal, although feeling bruised, seemed not to be gurgling away all night. My dreams are still dense and complete narratives. I wake from one standalone to another, as I did at 3. Dreams which I must listen to. They are revealing truths about my interactions with people and my honesty of my dialogue to my actions. To be myself, truly. What is it that Camino, with it's marginalisation a 'being' does to reality, or the unreality, of other human pursuits. All weekend I've watched the nothing going about cha...

And so it's over. Another day dawns. Saturday 21st October. Back to England, back to Leeds, back to Lovell Park. I crawled into bed at 9 and was asleep. I called into 4 of the establishments I am associated with along the route back, as I left a bewildering confusion of bodies in Leeds City Station, and none of the folks in any of them could really recall where I had been and for why. It's because the world they inhabit is so small that they can't see beyond it... Bless them. They're young, and I was once, and my time returning there is waning. Usually I am kind of excited to step over the threshold, but nothing changes really... It is the same. Nothing in reality is ever the same. It's in my mind that it is the same. Forgive me for I have sinned! Too often have I stepped below the mark. The mark is easy to see, but equally easily to stumble over... Nothing changes. Down Albion Street the morning after the storm. Saturday begins. A lady, who has her space below a te...

Many many dreams of a kind of space travel and a kind of time travel. Leaving and returning to exactly the same moment in time and space is impossible, leaving the past exactly as it was found without any effects to ripple to the future. I think there were three attempts to not alter the time continuum... All unsuccessful and nothing is the same after the journey out on the thin strip of weed free Camino path and the return to neetles, thistles, cacti, blackthorn, acacia trees coiled by snakes waiting to bite. *** It rained heavily in the night. And a gale blows as I cross from the Pension to the train station. And the news headlines are bad once more. Together we stand, divided we fall. The more that humanity is divided up the more the war continues. I think I forgot to take my day pill to beat off the depression because I wasn't depressed on the Camino - tired and confused but not anxious. John mentioned 'an eye for an eye' and I had completely forgotten how some folk ope...

What have I learnt from the last ten years of the experiences on el Camino? So many ... A list? Determination Willingness Hopefulness Resilience Endurance Stamina Bloody mindedness Sufferance Happiness Joy Sadness Being Lonesomeness Tranquility Never knowing Going forward, never back Trying again Strength Tiredness Speaking tongues Smiling Laughing Incredulity Insanity Pain Stimulation Going without True necessity The Truth ... Glimpses Acceptance Trust It is just around the corner The answer is so elusive Life is immaterial Being alone is OK Prayer? Ask and it will be given Preferring watercourses The monotony of agriculture The multitude of deaths (large and small) taken by passing feet, wheels, tires No news is good news Not needing to know The dawn chorus The patter of gentle rain The chim of bells Going home is nice Planning another walk is obligatory... Too many photos can be taken It's easy to say the wrong thing when tired, frustrated, anxious or arrogant. The list is endle...

A peaceful slumber. And the food poisoning is past, but so too is el Camino de Santiago for this season - autumn is thoroughly here in northern Spain, with heavy rain this morning and gales yesterday, on Meseta Central. Coming out from the albergue municipal for a coffee in the corner café where the clientele is only locals. As the hostess gets her day ready, with tortilla on the bar, serving those clustered closer to the televisual quiz (where it looks like three dimwits are playing for pennies: the answer is coloso, a giant of an answer!) and considering my one night in Santander. There were flights last night to Stansted at €14.99, but now it's €120. Probably for the best as the journey from Stansted to Leeds in 2023 is too expensive and, although I love Cambridge, it's been seen too often. The BlaBlaCar host(€13) picked me up opposite the Iglesia de San Pedro, Frómista, where I was under the porch of a Caja Rural way from the deluge. Now we are an hour away from the airport...