A rebel without a clue.

Give myself permission to like myself or things which make me 'me' and which I like. I like waking up early: just around 5am to catch the sunrise. Listening to the birds. Helping a bumble bee to go back outside. Drinking a coffee. Finished the remainder of the yogurt. Relax. I've some great memories! Why do I react so negatively to things? How can I either neither or positively react? Am I too emotional? Why do I hate almost everyone? Everyone is my enemy. I am in direct competition with them. Even in a queue for the bus ... Isolated. Lonely.

Yes! I am here. Good morning Limoges. What an awful experience from the moment of stepping into the airport until the plane vanished into leaden skies above Yorkshire... The things I do to myself to get some mental solitude? Forgetting to book in online(there is always a first time), which cost a mind altering £55 for a couple of stripes of paper, and the place was rammed with the drunkest rottenest Leeds United kit wearing yobs - some being carted away by the police presence. LBA, or should I say England the nation over, is a dirty, squabbling and overpriced hell hole. And the flight was delayed almost an hour. It was standing room only in that tight squeeze of an airport: there is nothing fun about airports (no romance whatsoever) where even loin cloths are overpriced! But, gratefully, I am in Limoges. Sadly there was no way I could be awake to catch the 5:35am Flixbus to Cahors, but there are plenty of BlaBlaCar options going south this Monday morning and I spotted one is going to A...

My tongue has shriveled up. I've forgotten what to say. My mind is now blank Yet, I am not free? There is no solution;  It has been my fallacy - Supposing my grasp was near Am I not free? Have I run out of things to say? My observations seems to be drawing a blank. I've not put pen to paper since Sunday. Is this the end of me? I am finding In Our Time banal too. A pigeon makes it's usual noise. A clock ticks it's usual seconds, chopping off my seconds. 

Perfume on the air  But cold. July. Chilly. Gloves on. Costa, not Caffé Nero Cheaper Less expensive. A strange night's sleep. Dreams. My father was alive once more in on of them. He comes back for forgiveness or to haunt me some more? Tuesday begins grey. It rained most of the afternoon and early evening. I turned in around 7pm. After the mishap with NikWax, which has left a sticky residue inside the washing machine, I again tried to clean it off... Slowly the drum looks shiny once more... I collected some produce from my allotment yesterday, and caught the bus from up on Deerstone Ridge around 12:30om. Raspberries, strawberries, gooseberries, broad beans and peas. I made a pasta sauce with all the broad beans, peas and a handful of the gooseberries, which gave the sauce a sweet and sour edge. Running a bath. Am not needed in Wetherby this morning, mum's taking Lola up to see Auntie Wendy, but I need to do some weeding on the allotment so will catch the X98 regardless of the sc...

Blue skies on a Monday morning. Looking out towards the giant sycamore which has sat, sentinel like, since I can recall, on the embankment next to the original marshalling yard of the Engine Shed, the original railway station, the crows caw, but now amongst full foliage. June 24th. Going to collect Lola at 8am. It's around 6am and I am listening to the butt end of a Forum on the BBC World Service. The crows are chatting before they take to the skies; what are they discussing? Yesterday I walked to Wetherby. At around 15 miles it was a good, if slightly boring (because I walked for a long way on either suburban paths or greenbelt lanes - minding the traffic). At the final gate, nestled in uni the corner of the Wetherby Ings Playing Fields, I saw Lola with Emma and Finley. Serendipity. Finley, Lola and I waded through the edge water of the Wharfe for one landing spot and to four of the beaches. Lola loved it. Finley loved it. Emma was ott about how muddy Finley was going to get as he...

It's too cold in the room without more than a sheet for protection, but I am awake anyway at 5:30am. I really want to be walking away from Palma de Mallorca early. Before the early summer sunshine makes it painful walking into the sun. No power cuts during the night. But deep dreams. Yesterday was too warm to linger out of the shade... So I walked to Ca'n Pastilla in three hours. And found it's one saving grace: I can see the airport from the roof terrace... In truth it was the genuine café, comida mallorquín, next to the Iglesia. And I think I will be walking once more on the morrow so I will probably go back there for an evening meal. But now I am heading first into Reginald Perrin: I know exactly where he is coming from... *** BOC beach hostel. It's too warm in the coffin which is the stupid capsule of a bunk bed. The stupid lights go on all the time so it's impossible to sleep unless cocooned in this trap with the heavy curtains pulled across the gap. And the sp...

A new day dawns. Sunday. A second day of rest and reset? And I am heading to the beach... After another coffee, croissant, orange juice. His grace is given me now and forever. In every way. Always and in all ways. As always, the three gentlemen and the one lady are very calm. They definitely engender a calmness. No hurry. Only patience. It easy like a Sunday morning. *** The fuente up above the town, Son Trias, has a flexible pipe running from it too, so the water goes somewhere, but the guys in Café Passeig  thinks it goes to the sea... I don't think it does. Someone in the town gets that water. Perhaps it is pooled and collected as it was being the day I walked to Banyalbufar? There are a lot of water tankers about so I think it's very precious so must go somewhere, not the sea? *** I walked into Palma from Esporles, via Establíment - where I stopped for a coffee and banana break. Actually I walked to Santa Catalina, not Palma, to We Hostel! As it was the cheapest option. I...