Diary: May, 22

I used to celebrate this month, we all did, with a Beltaine fire, may pole, wells, handfastings and the honeymoon. May is also the month I was born, myself and others celebrated this day, my birthday when people cared whether I lived or died. Where did they all go beneath this apathetic pessimism, for an eternal optimist?

28th

Today I am pulling the IRC server and website chatroom, it's been up three months and nobody has bothered to use it; I am giving the forums another month, if they are still dormant I am pulling them also.

25th

I am now at a friend's house, I am going to be updating these pages and happy that I am in a safe environment for at least a few days; instead of being systematically surrounded by suppressive naysayers and vindictive haters who encroach, spitting their venom everywhere I go. Today, withdrawals began from a Vitamin B12 injection I received three months ago. I began vomiting and suffered a quick onset of anaemia until my friend handed me some B12 tincture, which got me back onto my feet within the hour. I can see this maybe a real problem for me in the future.

24th

Woken tent pitched in Charlton king's are of Cheltenham, rolling up the sleeping mat many black bugs appeared, so I scrabbled to pick them up and throw them out of my tent. Happy I am to have found my hat at the bottom of my sleeping bag. Packed up my things and walked the footpath to Leckhampton hill, Along the way I said hi to a man leaving his house but the Asian taxi driver picking him up gave me a seething look that arrived from the severest of malice but isn’t nature wonderful. The walk was shunted by a closed footpath, walkers here are overall friendly, a lady stopped to talk to me, she had settled in Cheltenham from London. The ascent was easy along a rocky road, a tree had fallen down blocking access to the hill.

Three-quarter up the hill, the vista opened up.

Joining the Cotswold Way, a rugged golden path became smooth.

The view of Cheltenham was quite something at the top.

Look how verdant these tree leaves are.

The plinth at the summit was painted in different colours.

It hailed when I arrived at the western face, there is a stack there made by workers at the quarry that was once operating here. The moody grey sky arriving from a south-western direction punched hail stones onto walkers faces.

Leaving the hill, there were many pretty flowers…

I entered Crickley hill. Hungry, I rested and had lunch at Crickley hill's Wildlife trust café; the food was delicious.

I knocked the milk jar over because often I miss coordinate my hands, due to suffering so much trauma.

Recent sightings = Adders :) and a cuckoo, :( how ironic. There was also an insect hotel they'd named Bugingham Palace, buging is what "strangers" do to distract and cripple your projections.

The view from Crickley hill is quite something.

And a view of Crickley hill…

The walk past the Air Balloon pub was chocking with heavy traffic, I'm surprised the business manages to remain open; if it were not for the cranky clientele that frequent it. I took the path along the hillside to avoid Barrow Wake viewpoint, subjected to anti-social use by doggers and other creepy perverts.

The Cotswold way became awesome once more as I entered some woodland.

Something shit was going on in Buckholt woodland, every time I go near this place they do shit things, out of sight, out of mind. But I found a pretty flower and took a photograph of it.

A few miles along the national footpath, I arrived at Painswick Beacon, which is the highest point in Gloucestershire; the Wysis Way crosses the Cotswold Way here also. Some person, probably local, had been severely offended by the dropping of litter.

Arriving onto the golf course, an elderly man with his wife approached. I felt him rub my ego as he approached me, in an exacting same manner a climber approached me on the way to Ben MacDui summit, just a few days ago. He wanted to take some walking poles he'd made out of hazel and offered a lift into Painswick; I declined.

After walking past a quarry my map application on my mobile phone failed to load the Cotswold way after the village of Painswick but I found my way through OK, because I have been to this place before.

As 5pm approached I'd walked over sixteen miles; my feet had become sore from wearing in my new walking boots; I messaged my friend and she came and picked me up in her car; a mere 30 or so yards from the village of Edge.

We went to Sainsbury's to shop for some supplies, moments after a "stranger" showed his face at the cash machine, then waited by the main entrance to the supermarket, observing the car park.

These naysayer clowns (and there are many of them, thousands) are completely compartmentalised, and so are bad luck on every instance that I am unfortunate enough to encounter them. But I was really glad to arrive at my friends house. The hot water of the shower running over my body calmed my quivering and a hot meal helped me rest for the night.

23rd

Last night was hot and muggy, I lay crippled with exhaustion, needing to raise my head and make a pillow but too tired to crunch up my clothes to raise my head. Messages started at 5am, soon as I opened my eyes, this morning I am very anxious. Packing away my tent, I noticed my hat was missing; I know I was wearing it when I put up my tent, but now I find it has completely disappeared this morning. I am suspecting the hat fell off my head as I was entering the tent, then it was taken during the night by the strangers. Strangers stole items of clothing from me in London when I was displaced on the streets; they also swapped new clothing I purchased for second hand clothing. I have worn the hat on my head for almost four years, perhaps they will be making the hat into bracelets, not that will save them.

The walk into Warwick by the canal was pretty…

I found a café where I purchased a substantial vegetarian breakfast for only £5, the owner talked about how him and his partner had invested everything they had into the business. A step into the unknown that had been successful for four years since opening, despite financial anxieties about an uncertain future. I sat at the window, and could not help strangers driving past. Furthermore, I left the café with a full stomach and walked towards the train station. I noticed the canal scorned by a concrete triangular fabrication.

I purchased a ticket at Warwick parkway to Birmingham Moor Street (trains did not go to New Street from this station) for a mere £8. Walking up the stairs onto the platform, a countryside view unfolded.

I caught the train at 9.16am.

Arriving at Moor street, a lanky male Rastafarian, gave me a filthy look whilst stood on the train walkway. He placed his bag to the right of me and, looked as though he was attempting to find a button from the outside of the black canvass bag, was really alarming. The first thing I did was find a “fat face” clothing shop to replace my hat, but being summer season there were not hats, just headbands, searching around I found a suitable headband for my hair at Claire's accessories shop. Still being early, I found a Witherspoon pub (the Square peg) and waited for my twitter friend to arrive.

Insane how many White males are homeless on the streets of Birmingham city centre, absolute disgrace. Most white males on the streets of Birmingham city centre are of white Norse origin; perhaps from Norman lineages ancestrally connected to the treaty of 911. Had a nice day with my Twitter friend Maria, we went to some pubs and experienced Norwegian teenagers enjoying playing a circular chase game outside law courts, their passage circulated my soul and I felt akin to meet them, my people. I searched Birmingham city centre for a camping shop, but could only find Millets. Entering an empty shop I was followed in by a guy, then another guy with a hidden hand, a member of my family came, then a black man appeared behind me. I called this rushing or swarming.

There were many walking boots for sale, after trying on a couple I settled for a brown pair of Berghuas at £135, that was reduced from £160. I also purchased two pairs of walking socks at £20. I left my old boots and socks in a bag, they smelled foul, the shop attendant offered to bin them for me. After exploring a charity shop, we walked down a flight of stairs into a bar. I ordered a larger, and she had a glass of fizzy mineral water. My eyes welled up with tears, listening to the passion and sincerity in her voice; I found her insight profound and was enamoured by her optimism for a better world for our people. I boarded the intercity train going to Plymouth at a busy Birmingham New Street station, I was surprised to find the ticket inspector still wearing a mask.

The train arrived in Cheltenham spa in no time at all… Being first and only the train made.

I popped into a shabby pub named “the Midland”; an Asian man walked in, nodded to an overweight (bruiser style) bar maid, then left through a door marked “private”. Here, as I was talking on my phone, the bar maid turned the music up loud when I was on the phone and began speaking in an Irish accent (changing from a thick Gloucestershire accent).

Our estranged people walk a hapless life as zombified strangers, despising each other's inherent worth.

The first song that played was an Irish folk song that began with the lyrics “We don't care where you have been or what you have done”. After five minutes I realised they were playing IRA songs, I finished my pint of Coors larger and upon leaving, exiting I was insulted by a publican at the door. Arriving in Montpellier, I found a restaurant (Cote) and enjoyed French onion soup (my favourite) and a fish / potato dish. The waiter held back letting me have a table when I entered, but warmed after knowing there was a table available.

The rain hammered down as I left the restaurant, I walked along the park and entered a bar. The bar had a strange animosity present, and the whiskey (Dalmore) I usually order they claimed to no longer have stocked. Nearing ten o'clock, I exited and walked to Chalton Kings, I searched for a place to pitch my tent. Tired, I settled by the side of a cycleway, Although I can remember pitching my tent in the rain, I cannot remember going to sleep.

22nd

Woken at 6am, light rain moved over my tent, but I am dry. Last night, I pitched on Hartfell mountain because I desperately needed some undisturbed sleep to alleviate severe mental and physical exhaustion.

This morning I am rested, but my mind is disturbed, my life in ruin, grotesque sufferings poured into my hereafter in an attempt to deface me, in spite of my ancestral spirit.

The problem is White people being racist against themselves because it pleases the racists that hate us and all we have ever been.

As I anticipated, the dew soaked me feet, socks and walking boots… so need a new pair!

Took a few pictures of the countryside on my way through Moffat towards the M74.

Walked straight through Moffat, and onto the M74 junction. The first lift took me to Penrith and was given by an elderly couple visiting friends in the lake district, they made me a cheese sandwich and gave an orange before we parted company. The last lift dropped me on the outskirts of Warwick and was given by a middle-aged Ayrshire man heading to Banbury.

Purchased a huge box of chips at the chipshed, the chips seemed old, were hard to swallow and gave me stomach cramps a short while after. Returning to the Grand Union Canal, I stopped at a pub named the King's head. I was served a pint by an effeminate Spanish man with an English accent, finding a seat I met a bored couple sitting opposite. The man was from Nottingham, and he worked at the Brush factory the same year as my mother was pregnant with me, she also worked at the Brush.

20th

Woken up alert with anxiety, tent was pitched outside Hutchinsons memorial bothy, thought I'd smell the shit pits possibly burried underneath the green grass but nothing. Being the first to leave I moved on from this location quite quickly, heading west for Braemar.

19th

An adder moved through my tent at night; and some wild animals visited my locality in the night, however I was not afraid because I know of humans to be much more dangerous.

I felt a part of my soul die here in Pitlochry, so I took a picture of the grave.

Placed a stone that I had found on the beach at Largs (Ayrshire) and placed it on a verdant tree stump, then sprinkled some fairy dust to honour the healing I felt from the woodland; I also noticed a dragon's head formed from a fallen tree stump.

But I am OK, because I know I can pull my ancestral spirit through this haplessness void of forsaken ancestral projection. I believe our future incarnate lives brought forward into our inherent future. To be fleeced of our inherent worth as our destinies defaced from our ancestral spirit by envious, alienating replacements, from a different timeline. Cultured into a disparity that views everything we have been, everything we are as stolen from them.

Wasted no time in walking out of Pitlochry, the place is crazy with circus antics, a man working by the loch attempted to turn me back, but I claimed the right to roam. He replied it was not applicable to commercial land, but I walked on anyway. Walked up the A9 until I came to a parking lay by and hitched a lift from a father and son travelling up to Inverness for a building job. They dropped me in Tesco's car park. I got provisions from the supermarket and began my walk to the Ski centre. I got a lift from a young man in a pickup on his way to Costa del Morlich. Furthermore, I went to see the Sami reindeer museum because I feel at home with the Sami people. Here I learned all the reindeer had died, the atmosphere was sullen. Stopped at a bar by the camp site after being told the management was comically coherent, only to discover a pushy bar man touting tired customers to drink more. Disgusted, I left, walked another mile and thumbed another lift to the ski centre.

Visited the café for a cup of tea before setting off on my journey to the summit of Ben MacDui (Scotland’s second-highest mountain).

I saw a few people descend, but nobody followed me up into these mountains (not even the infamous grey man!); it was quite late in the afternoon, so I assumed this to be the reason.

A, grey haired tall man in his mid-fifties walking a brown and white collie dog stopped to talk to me, he rubbed my ego a little too much which heightened by suspicions rather than provoked conversation. He said my backpack appeared heavy, then when he felt the weight seemed shocked, stating it must weigh at least 17lbs.

On the ascent I swear I saw and said hi to Doctor Who actors (but no migrant Dr Who that has recently been wrongfully claiming to be Scottish on Television) who were walking past me, then to confirm this I seen a TV camera man descending behind them, weird. The snow seemed a bit of a novelty as it is summer, thus the reason why I enjoyed walking over it.

At the summit I was joined by three or four birds who were very friendly. The views were clearer than the first time I visited this summit, but the camera on my old phone, an Iphone 7+ took much better photographs (five years ago) than what my Vollaphone does today.

Interesting and questioning to see that Scotlands second heightest mountain, Ben MacDui summit information stone was made in the multicultural ghetto of Lambeth, South London.

In the distance there was a man dressed all in black roaming around the western footpath; to his east I spotted five people camped by the lake. These five men from London explained the man in black was their friend who they claimed "was going through a midlife crisis"; joking I asked if he had a box of "Milk Tray" chocolates, the oldest member of the group got the joke.

I decided to go check Hutchinsons Memorial Bothy out.

Nearing the bothy, I could see it was occupied, by two Germans (male and female) sleeping inside and two Scotsmen sleeping outside in tents; all four walkers were friendly. On arriving I found them using the burn by the bothy, so warned them of about how the shit pits ran into it, advising them to use the main burn 50 yards away.

The two Germans were accommodating and let us use the bothy until they wished to go to sleep. I cooked some soup and drank coffee whilst the two Scotsmen, from Glasgow, shared a pan full of rice and beef to themselves. Another lady arrived and pitched her tent later on, but said nothing, just smiled as if she were a subordinated victim of a Christian happy clap cult.

We spent the evening drinking wine, I gave the two Scotsman a Tarot reading. The Germans, although were civil, were not that associative, choosing to remain mostly outside until re-entering the bothy and demanding to use the space to go to bed. The Scotsmen departed saying “We've been told”. On the way out, the Scotsmen mocked the stone sculpture outside as Roland Rat; amused, I smirked to myself as I entered into my tent.

18th

My last lift was from a man going a few miles up the road to Pitlochry, he dropped me off by a car park. He then pointed out the footpath to the woodland where he said they used to camp out as kids. After half a mile walk, I found a safe place to pitch my tent.

Watched the sunset through the trees before turning in, zipping the door of my tent I felt the cold air attempting to creep inside.

17th

Had an extremely disturbed night due to safety issues regarding my presence where I had pitched my tent in Longmarsh area of Totnes. The morning was verdant and airy, there was a huge Oak tree situated only yards from where I camped by the river Dart.

Made breakfast on a picnic bench before leaving the area, my favourite French Onion soup!

Took some pictures of the River Dart on my way back into Totnes.

Totnes was a circus of antics, but what most stuck out was a woman with a shaved head, walking up to the top of the hill towards the Black Bull inn. She seemed way out of her mind as she sorted the attention of passers-by.

For an uneventful town, Totnes certainly appeared eventful with entertainment.

Back down the hill and over the river Dart, at around midday I hitched a lift to Newton Abbot from a woman driving a taxi. In the van was an Irish punk rocker, a drummer who had taken a stroke and had mobility issues; there was another guy, both of them were going for hydrotherapy I believe the woman driver said. All three were very positive and friendly, I enjoyed the short journey which dropped me off on the North side of Newton Abbot.I walked about three miles north before I thumbed another lift taking me to the A377/A30 Exeter roundabout, here I was quickly picked up by a female youth worker who dropped me off at Moto Exeter M5 services. I turned down two lifts, the first a creepy guy wearing a black panther tee shirt, he was going to Yeovil. The second was a woman who wanted me to wear a mask with her whilst in her car, she was only going a few miles up the motorway. The third car that stopped took me to Tiverton junction of the M5; from here I got a lift from an ecologist who dropped me off at Gordano Service station. The next lift took me a few miles to Filton Junction. The last lift was from a psychotic who was going to Cheltenham, he dropped me off at Junction 13, my friend arrived twenty minutes later, I washed and had a meal before ending my day at her house.

16th

Pitched my tent near Coronation Park in Helston, after a night of rain I got woken early by dog walkers.

Early morning walk through Coronation Park...

And around Helston town…

The first lift took me to the outskirts of Helston, the driver was going to Screwfix. Next came a lift from a female driver to Falmouth, then another lift took me to the A30. On the A30, I was picked up by a late 50s man who had the same character and demeanour as Mike from 80s hit TV comedy “The Young Ones”. He stopped at a garage (full of cranks) and purchased some fizzy drinks.

During the lift, he told about loosing his wife and bankruptcy, then described a homeless prostitute addicted to crack cocaine who he had been dating and supporting (ekk!). He dropped me at the A377/A30 roundabout at Exeter. Next lift came from a traveller in an old Range Rover, he took me south then east up to the summit of a hill; which I later discovered was on the way to Dawlish. He gave me a £5 note and said “get some fish and chips, I bet you like them don't you”.

Walked around the woodland for a while and thought about pitching my tent there, until I realised that the area was full of weirdos. Some places in the countryside are used for “dogging” so you must be really careful where you camp sometimes. I decided not to camp in the woodland, and not to head towards Dawlish either, instead I walked west to get back onto the A38. A woman passing by in a car noticed how stressed I looked and stopped to ask if I was OK, if I needed a lift. She took me down to the A38 services, then went out her way to drop me off in Totnes. I had an optimistic feeling about this town which evaporated during the evening; most notably after I talked to a smoking man outside the King William IV pub.

A head popped over a wall walking past St Mary's Church, he seemed friendly, so I walked around to take a closer looked. Here there were four men drinking and talking, they offered me a beer, and so I sat with them for an hour or two. One of the men was dressed as the fool, he appeared oriental / Asian in origin but spoke with an America accent. He had a seashell hat with two wings from a bird he found dead by a roadside in Ireland. He was well liked in the town and invited me along with the group. A man with a Bluetooth speaker joined the group a while later; said he had come from Hackney, whilst playing annoying reggae music; he was a very confused person. I parted company with them an hour or so later, walked down to the river to find a place to pitch my tent.

I noticed two people by the river stood watching me erect my tent. My torch revealed two race mixers whose darkness because angry when light was shined at them. When I asked for what reason they were stood watching me, they made an escape the way they had come from. I slept with one eye open.

15th

A sound of a lorry air horn woken me at 4:45am, last night I had pitched behind a petrol station at Bothwell services. Walking into Costa I was swarmed by "strangers".

A friendly Albanian man with his British girlfriend stopped in a white van and gave me a lift to Birmingham. I sat in the back of the van on a leather sofa by a plaster fire place the Albanian man was delivering to his girlfriends mother.

14th

Woke up with my tent pitched on a golf course two miles south of Saltcoats.

I was near a lake for the reflection, but a footpath was less than a hundred yards away.

This is my death of my birthday grave, the final hour of my 47th died here…

People do shit things around me when I am collapsed exhausted, usually in the day / evening when my head is rolling over my shoulders with tiredness.

Heading north returning through Saltcoats I took some pictures of the eerie harbour and deserted beach before I arrived in Ardrossan.

I walked through to the quay, then the rest of the way to West Kilbride. Whilst in the town I saw a reaper car from terror division of the "strangers".

My next lift came two miles north from a South African man, he took me into Largs. This place was amazing, I could feel my Viking ancestors everywhere here, and spied strangers attempting to chase them down for their incarnate souls.

I rested an hour or two in Largs, then walked north again, stopping to revive an exhausted bee with a drink of sugar water.

I thumbed myself a lift from a lay by opposite Knock Castle, a couple picked me up and took me to Ardgowan roundabout on the A78.

The next lift came from a female nurse returning from dropping her kids off at a party, she took me to a railway station in the town of Greenock.

After another lift I found myself south of Glasgow, I thumbed a guy over who took me to a junction of the M73. From here I walked four miles to Bothwell Service station.