Anglo Alba Borders
A drive about through the Lake District and through Northumbria, then into the Borders of Alba during the winter months of 2017.
I travelled with my Dutch friend on this journey; she was awesome. We drove staight to the Lake District, arriving at around 3pm.
We stopped at Lake Windermere and brewed a cup of tea but was immediately swarmed by cranks with the look of malice within their eyes.
By the time we grounded and got our bearings the evening was pressing on, so we found budget hotel accomadation in Penrith. We was up early in the morning and decided to visit Long Meg stone circle.
As with Avebury there was a road built straight through this stone circle, shame.
After a pot of tea brew upon our gas burner we headed into the Lake District once more towards Keswick..
We came to Castlerigg Stone Circle at midday :)
I refuse to call the botched blunder below sellafield, because it was renamed to cover up an accident when it was named Windscale. The people in the surrounding area have suffered greatly for the effort to build nuclear weapons, before the "power station" became a nuclear dustbin for the world.
That evening we visited a friend of a friend's house, she had built a stone circle in her back garden. I don't think she liked me very much, my friend never heard from her again.
Rosie the doll was ready for adventure in the morning, raring to go see some sights. The Duddo stones were not what we were expecting, but they are unique…
Leaving the Duddo stones I noticed a hunts man had arrived, his blood thirsty activities between us and returning to our car, however we walked through unhindered, passing by I looked him in the eye. I thought I heard "fuck you I'll hunt anyway" from his strategic posturing.
This was a landing place of my Viking ancestors, such was the awe of the serenity of this ascetic, Holy Island had no if any meaning to me in a religious sense, neither was a religious meaning conveyed unto us.
I have to be careful about what I disclose about my ancestors, as the monsters will decimate, through hatred of my ancestors, anything I write about on this website. The emotional turmoil we feel from the moon is manfiested from predicament inflicted upon us to halt succession of our kindred spirit.
This isle was a sterile and impotent as everywhere else, I abhor the maggots that now reside here, tearing apart our dejected lives, spiting their own self-worth. Their only sanctity is worthless from imposed haplessness of others.
I took a picture of the border sign as we left England to arrive into Abla, our car was travelling at some speed, hence the blur...
Torness nuclear power station was disturbing, I always get the feeling I should not be near these places, a feeling of impending doom. What was most disturbing about this place was not the sea weed choking up the pipes of its reactor cooling system, but knowing of a coastline camp site buried underneath this power station's setting shadow.
I love the geographical volcanic formations of Holyrood park, but not care much about the history told to us today. The people who surrounded us on this journey were mostly repugnant, although there be some genuine smiles from greetings I felt this place conveyed a lengthening shadow, that dulled the brightest significance of the moment as much as ice hindered movement.
The wild life searched for a meal...
This castle was a nightmare for my people, so much misery and torture that the everyday tourist arrive in Edinburgh to revere, I never found the "royal mile" a humorous or laughing matter, but rather a road to collect thoughts, a moment that could not come to pass, where there was everything to be serious about. The fringe for me is cringe.
A tourist holds the all seeing eye at arms length...
Theres more to be seen on the next page...