Diary: March, 22

I was not going to write a post this month but with circumstances as they are, becoming homeless on the 14th of March 2022, I am going to continue to blog throughout this month. I am planning a return journey, via national footpath, relocating to Scotland after eighteen months of living in Truro, Cornwall.

31st

I woke pitched upon a grassy parking area near Winnats pass, nr Castleton.

The view looking east towards Castleton was equally awesome…

Cars pulled in a lay-by close to the car park all night, disturbing me slightly. Packing my tent away, I fell onto the main tent pole and broke it, I also left my USB cable behind. After a short time walking through thick snow, the cloud broke and the morning became sunny once more.

I enjoyed breakfast in a small café near the castle, my debit card defaulted at the counter, but my friend wired some money, saving me from offering to do their washing up, ho-hum. I left the town for Mam Tor, walking up a busy road, side lining Winnats pass and past Treak Cavern along the way.

The broken road and an ego problem..

The weather changes quickly here..

The Blue John Cavern was dumb struck, and occupied by walkers frightened of the snow; on sale was “blue john soap”, how ridiculous I thought, really don't know why I waste ten minutes of my time walking to it.

I did not walk the full length of these mountains towards Hope, instead leaving at Hollins cross to walk towards Edale. The weather changed immediately, visibility became very limited, as wind blew huge chunks of falling snow, leaving the North Western side of this mountain looking very different.

Once the freezing wind had ceases to squint my eyes the beautiful whiteness of the snow appeared everywhere, I felt spiritual cleansed from the suppressive darkness imposed upon me, I am saved; I thought! A mere mile down a quiet lane the weather had not changed the landscape, I walked past a farm and took these pictures.

As I approached the village of Edale I had a craving for snickers bars, then entering the visitor's centre I found the only chocolate bar they sold were snickers bars, this was uncanny. I drank in both pubs, the Rambler Inn and in the evening the Old Nags Head. I searched around Edale for a place to pitch my tent, the only place I found was on the Transpenine way towards Kinder Scout, half a mile away from the village.

30th

Camped by the river Derwent, three miles north of Matlock.

After packing everything up I walked north, it wasn't long till I ran into the Kalergi Plan Patrol…

Walked past some interesting locomotives, then realised I had stumbled upon Peak Rail Heritage Railway.

Shortly after, I found a bus stop and caught the local bus three miles into Bakewell. Arriving, I entered a bakery to eat a Bakewell Tart. Whilst arranging my belongings, I broke a 300 mm lens hood for my DSLR camera… I was pissed off by this.

I walked further into Bakewell and noticed the padlocks still on the bridge, again, I have been here before, twice, but where are the bolt cutters?

After acquiring walking route advice from a camping shop, I walked north out of Bakewell…

And onto the Monsal Trail…

A mile down this trail I realised I caught stomach flu (Gastroenteritis), and threw up all over the path, it felt so good to finally eject the copious amount of bacteria from my tummy…

29th

Guess where I am starting my journey from today?

Stopped in a bar, had a wee dram of Whiskey before going to have a look at my old basement flat, I lived here in the 90s.

My local was a pub named the Beehive, at the time ran by an Irish manager named Kelly..

I left Cheltenham by train, purchasing a train ticket to Derby. I was happy to leave the old memories of the town behind whilst trying to imagine a future ahead of me..

Imagining a happening life with inherent worth, a valid life without naysaying enablers devouring my existence everywhere I go. Not being reset into worthlessness over and over again, day after day, month upon month, year after year. Two idiots still wearing face nappies seated themselves opposite me.

But the strangers had occupied the this train to Derby and exited with the ticket inspector, I exited the train at Derby station and purchased a through ticket to Belper but slept through to the last stop, which was Matlock. Stressed I walked a few miles north, past a cricket ground, camping in a field next to the River Derwent.

28th

Today I had a walk around Nailsworth, I visited the Canteen café and enjoyed some good food and drink.

I could not help notice the Non Licence Restaurant in Nailsworth, I remember they got caught with illegal immigrant workers who were living above the premises. They lost their licence but locals, as a protest, kept them afloat, to this day.

Of course, a lefty town such as this would not be without a Communist themed shop.

Any white person still chewing on this Communist bullshit, by now, has to be completely deranged.

27th

It's been a while since I have made a post as I have not had computer access to upgrade this blog, over the next few hours I hope to blog about my journey across the England over the last fortnight.

In hindsight, since leaving my accommodation in Truro I was not prepared for the journey ahead of me, physically I am not as robust as I was two years ago (since I stopped travelling).

24th

There were clowns in and out of the allotment all night, then heard the gate go to the allotment perimeter facing where my tent was pitched. As I rose from my tent to observe a noisy, blue and orange sunrise, I felt running along the hillside and the heard doors shut from a car speeding off into the distance.

I began packing up my tent before I could bury my poo, and thus ended up throwing my belongings onto where I had defecated. I used the last of my wet wipes trying to clean my rucksack before burying what I could. I walked through Upper Slaughter, through Lower Swell and then into Stow on the Wold. I rested briefly on a bench decorated with Daffodils.

The hill into Stow on the Wold was steep and took half an hour to ascend. This Cotswold town was friendly, and less dreamy than the previous town of Borton in the Water. After walking halfway down a hill, through an arcade and along a short road, I arrived at a bench near the local town stocks. I sat beside myself, from the pungent smell of my soiled clothes.

Over the last few days I had asked the ether for help with alleviating me of the musky fox's urine smell lingering from my clothes; that had begun to disturb not only myself but also of customers in cafés I was frequenting to purchase and consume much needed food and drink.

23rd

I was awake most of the night, the frost was staunch hard in this field. In the middle of the night I required the toilet, unzipping my tent I noticed a foul chemical smell which I presumed came from the air traffic flying in and out of RAF Brize Norton. The morning was a hard pack away, I was also mindful of nearby houses being aware of where my tent was pitched; not wanting to return here this evening.

It's so easy to get one over on somebody the following morning after spending a night freezing in these sleepless conditions. I cannot stress the importance of keeping yourself warm and comfortable.

As I leap over the fence the overbearing weight from my rucksack almost dislocated my shoulder, further down the road I picked up rubbish from the street in hope that my luck would get better in this town. First I stopped at an artisan bakery for breakfast but was too early, I then made my way to the Cooperative Supermarket (Co-op) to find a laundrette to wash my heavily soiled clothes. After being followed in the Co-op I returned to the bakery and met the lovely business owner, I made an effort to display to her a warming smile.

After spending a night pitched on a freezing, frosty field in Borton on the Water.

I spent a lot of time in the pub charging my phone.

During the sunset I ascended a hill via a footpath, watched the sun go down before entering into a village named Upper Slaughter.

I hung around the centre of the village for almost two hours wondering where I recognised the blonde woman who lived in the village, and recognised her camper van. But recognition is not enough to melt the frosted ice of alienation. I watched her chimney burn out of smoke, then departed to find a safe place to pitch my tent. The surrounding hillside was covered in sheep poo, so I pitched by the side of an allotment.

22nd

I decided to leave Clanfield today, I walked north west along a footpath through Broadwell.

21st

It's very rare that I return to the same pitch, but I walked around Clanfield all night searching for an alternative place. Last night was much colder, but I had put on extra layers, so at least I was warmer.

After what happened in the Clanfield tavern the day before, I chose not to remain in Clanfield any longer. I walked west at the northern end of the village to link up with the D'arcy Dalton Way. The lane to the footpath seemed longer walking than it appeared on the map, such was the earnest state of my anxious mind to leave Clanfield.

I had not managed to eat before leaving Clanfield, so shortly along the D'arcy Dalton Way I decided to take some rest. My face swollen and chapped with the frost burned with the sun, I don't usually look this wrinkled…

20th

19th

I awakened at sunrise, on a windy hillside above Farringdon, behind my tent was a folly erected to commemorate the evil antichrist tyrant Oliver Cromwell.

I'd pitched just inside a copse of pine…

Very soon dog walkers came, a man and a woman became very rude, the woman said “you know you should not be here don't you”; angered I replied “How many times have I heard that, how many times did Jesus here that”, “no need to get like that” she replied. I pushed the issue further asking her just how long the “no room at the inn” had been going on for, again she failed to comprehend but the man accompanying her looked horrified suggesting I was “out of order”. He became obsessed with getting the last word in before I told him to take his narcissism some place else. I left the hillside and headed off towards Waitrose supermarket to purchase some essentials.

Reluctantly, I followed in the same direction but took a right to head north, consuming everything I had purchased pretty much there and then. I felt weak and tired, but persisted with my journey, desperately wanting to disembark from short-tempered Farringdon.

The Swan Inn was located by the side of a bridge crossing over the River Thames, I found the establishment to be a popular haunt for a mixture of people that providing good service and tasty food. I sat outside with a pint, by a blustery Thames path, and enjoyed a pint.

I walked to Clanfield and finished the evening with a sunset.