August but not Autumn yet ...

More wordplay to amuse myself, as if there was a self to amuse! Of course the reason for living is to build a strong sense of self, strong enough to play the parts convincingly, authentically, and as previously explained, if you are miserable and in poor health mentally, escape may be found, temporarily, by choosing a role you prefer and playing that role as if it's real, and you are happier, for a while. The point being that the realisation of the fundamental absence of a small ego self, often drives humans into psychosis, especially, when one is attached to that small, needy self.

Anyway, none of this philosophical musing is new, and some context may improve the blog, so here goes ... and if any encounters described sound fantastic and beyond belief, then that's your business, not mine.

Take the day before yesterday, for example.  Since distribution of propaganda has been chosen as a good way to pass the time, given the shocking level of censorship all over the UK and other nations, a copy or three of The Light is always in the rucksack, just in case. After driving with Daisy Southward to Barnard Castle, to meet an old friend who has suffered a lot with his health since we were active in County Durham, doing our best to upset the powers that be running the County Council and other Authorities. .. same crew different names, but masonry seems to bind them together ... like a huge conspiracy, but not a theory. After leaving Joe with a few papers and a walk around Barney, including the perimeter of the large drug factory run by GSK, legally, they say. Possibly the venue for Dominic Cummings a while ago, whose dodgy trip broke some rules? The perimeter fence looked like a prison with razor wire to keep the inside safe from outsiders.

Back in Stanhope, a quick walk found six Indian people, which is unusual on the back lane by the Retreat House. Being interested in strangers, it seemed wise to enquire who they were and what they were doing and why. It soon became clear they were old friends from Calcutta, three families all working for the NHS in various capacities, including a GP and two hospital consultants and all interested to discuss spiritual questions from their tradition of Hinduism.

After supper, two new friends and fellow Resistance folks arrived to discuss political questions and philosophical ones too.

Yesterday morning, the last day of July, an early walk revealed a new friend called Dmitri or Dell, a Marine from South Africa, just moved to Stanhope, who turned out to be very kind, inclined towards a Buddhist perspective, and not keen on war any more. I left him with The Light and a promise of more dialogue.

After more conversations and some shopping, an old friend called Clem was busy making a small football pitch out of the bigger one, ready for the Annual 5 a side Tournament at 1pm. Leaving him after more conversation and a few copies of The Light, I finally arrived home to write at 10.30am.

In the afternoon an author aged 10 arrived with his Mum to sign a copy of his inspirational book on being colour blind, in his case regarding seeing red and green differently from most of his friends. After a fascinating discussion with both of them, they cycled home and it was time to prepare supper and reflection on the mystery of this wonderful life in Stanhope and around.

Now, it's Sunday the 1st of August, as summer continues awhile before becoming Autumn. This morning at 10, the fun continues over the fells in Hexham, where free-thinking women, men and children gather to discuss what freedom looks like and why governments try to resist it.

There appear to be many folks around the world asking similar questions and demanding their governments desist promoting the interests of dark forces and serve the people who mistakenly allowed them in power. That's the problem with politicians, basically they're not to be trusted, as most people know. The exceptions only go to prove the rule. Perhaps the solution is to abolish governments and assert autonomy? The details in a complex world need exploring, of course!

Wakey wakey! Sun is shining again and it's time to stretch the legs before breakfast and a drive with Daisy over to Tynedale again.

Futures unfolding

As observed before, the past has passed into history, her story and whatever story the writers of stories have decided, are deciding or will decide to create in the future. If this sounds farcical, don't worry, farce is a genre often employed to point out lessons from the past. The Whitehall Farces, for example, with Brian Rix plus a contemporary version, Yes Minister. As we laugh at the stories, the Mind relaxes, and obvious truths sneak under the wire, to remind us how power is shared as Governments so often become corrupt, through ambition.

On another level, it seems past and future are illusory, as is Time itself, expressed linearly only to stretch it out, whilst in a different reality, everything happens Now, as told in the story of Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now. If it appears that we've seen the past before, or deja vu, that may just be a crack in the space-time continuum, a reminder to focus on which world we wish to create in the future, already waiting for our attention. Awareness, therefore, is all around us, so we can see everything, but attention is energy and energy becomes material when the vibrational frequency slows down, and our consciousness creates our dream. Or nightmare, you choose!

Exploring this theme, which sounds like science fiction, if we insist on a continuum to explain time or space-time, rather than circular, try spiralling, since as we see things re-occurring through history which is not real, the new versions seem subtly different, even though we've already seen them, deja vu. Spirals are sacred symbols, of course.

If it's true that the Worlds we live in are in fact not fictional, but a deeper Truth, words are the way the Worlds are created, through the stories we tell, be it heaven or hell,  why on Earth would we choose hell , when we've been there before? It makes no sense, does it?

Anyway, the Worlds keep turning and in Weardale kind people are found everywhere, as many visitors and locals agree. If any are found to be unkind, there's always a reason, though not excuses for bad behaviour. Summer helps bring people outdoors to mingle, which reminds us why we're humans being kind, not afraid of strangers or friends infecting us, or neighbours informing the police we went outside when we should have been in. The police by the way, say such bad behaviour is considered wasting police time, because any complaint has to be written up, before being dropped in the bin.

That's all for now, supper's calling, then bed, with a good book. The second Book of Dust in a trilogy by Philip Pullman, which is very entertaining and mystical in a Blakean Way. He is the President of the Blake Society, after all!

Emptiness

A blast from the past before the lung infection ...

This extended period of fine weather in Weardale and surrounding places, has been a blessing for tourists visiting and locals lucky enough to be on holiday here all year. Now, the term local requires definition, since in rural outposts like Dales, with hamlets, villages and small towns, folks who are able and willing to trace their ancestors more than one generation sometimes claim the moral high ground and refer to others as incomers. Language again!  An incomer, by this definition, may wish to be considered local, but as some philosophers say, that's madness, since wishing you were something you'll never be, even if you'd rather be local in Weardale, is simply impossible in this lifetime, so the best you can do is try not to upset the true locals, be grateful if they talk to you, and enjoy the scenery while you are able. Incomers breeding with true locals, by the way, is widely recognised as an excellent idea to keep the genes healthy, so they get a free pass and the offspring count as locals. Farmers hereabouts especially those owning or having long leases on the fields growing sheep, cows, alpacas, grass and accommodation for tourists, are keenly aware of diversification in different forms like business and breeding. Their problem is the low water table and lack of rain for the grass, though the Wear still flows for tourists to splash about in and even swim in some parts.

Today's topic of Emptiness, refers to the true nature of humans grateful for the huge potential in a life lived simply, without clutter, knowing enough is enough, and that what is called void is really energy vibrating awaiting our consciousness to create whatever we desire. The ancients spoke of Ether, Rumi of The Guest House, Buddha of Emptiness and Potential, David Bohm of Emergence and Implicate Order Unfolding, Enfolding and so on and on ... same message different messenger. The message of the mystics? By all means study books and films and other media. Maybe become a scholar of mystical mysteries, with PhDs to prove your knowledge and perhaps publish a book or two. Wisdom, however, comes not from reading wise words but living each moment, wisely. All the rest is context, entertainment and a place for insights to land. It's not the outer view, but the inner view that enlightens, after all. Instinct, insight, inspiration, the clue's right there.

This nonsense has been going on for far too long; worrying about other people's view of you, why? It's not their business and vice versa. Fear of failing? Why? How else can we learn except by daring to fail and learning to fail better each time we try? Fear of Death?  Why? The body dies, as everyone knows, what comes next we may not know, but to spend our whole lives taking no risks is not a life worth living, is it?

In the probability field at this critical time, humans have clear choices. Forget the fantasies in the field of almost impossibility and focus your attention, your energy, on peace on Earth and kindness, referred to in religious stories as heaven. If you prefer to live in hell, well, good luck and bon voyage!

Staycations

Language evolves along with humans who use it ... in different forms for different places, and exploring the languages evolving from grunts and groans to words expressed in speaking and writing, possibly categorised under the heading of General Semantics in the rather complex world created as English, which spread with the Great British Empire from hundreds of years ago and was adopted, not always voluntarily by those dominated by the Anglo-Saxon folks in charge.
Scholars may note at this point, that Saxons arrived in England from a nearby tribe invading Wessex or whatever King or Queendom evolved in those days. And the Saxe-Coburg folks played a major part later with Queen Victoria, also Empress of much of the World as Great Britain civilised other people, whether they liked it or not, thanks to superior weaponry and psychopathic officers reared in special schools, like Eton, separated from the love of their nannies or mothers, brutalised and buggered by kind teachers and prefects, so they could ensure free trade and large profits for the East India Company, where all the Corporate hegemony began.

Starting locally, the English language was imposed on the Welsh, Scots and Irish folks, who incorporated it into their own Gaelic forms, as well as hanging onto the old ones for historical purposes, including to upset the English. Needless to say, today we may hear many accents mangling the pure English language, not least the settlers from the USA, who somehow managed to supplant Great Britain as the successor Empire after the Second World War, due to their wealth stored up by trading with all sides of both world wars and picking the winners to claim the credit both times. Not to mention the stern warning to the rest of the world that they had not only superior weaponry, called nuclear bombs, but psychopathic leaders prepared to drop them on not just one but two Japanese cities, to test how many humans they could kill with one bomb, twice.

The folks running the no-longer Great British Empire, swiftly decided to align with the Yanks, which was handy because they also knew a simplified version of English, including their word for holiday, derived from holy day, which was vacation, maybe derived from vacancy, referring to Bed and Breakfasts and Hotels available for their holidays? Staycation, the clumsy word cobbled together by the smartasses of the Behavioural Insights Team, was invented by their experts in neuro-linguistic programming to encourage folks to stop travelling to other people's countries for holidays, though invasions to protect the interests of the decadent, declining Anglo-American Empire, continued. The Russian contestants to replace the Yanks had their own ambitions, but the ones with most of the money, the Chinese, spent it wisely buying up large parts of Africa for the minerals and places to grow food, having long ago invaded Tibet, where the sources of the great rivers of India and Pakistan began.

Anyway, that's enough on the Earthly issues of empires and who's next, when cosmic forces are at work, and issues of how all this mayhem of humans murdering each other for profits may be sorted during this current crisis, without recourse to violence this time. Theologians and sceptics may have observed that no mention was made of the role of Christians in enforcing the old empire and converting savages to the love of Jesus whether they liked it or not. Organised religions may indeed be part of the problem, which is not to say Atheists are any better, of course .

Meanwhile, the storytelling goes on, here on the blog, in The Light paper, on The BBC, newspapers with different lies for different readers, wandering around Weardale and Standing in the Park at Hexham yesterday, talking with all sorts of humans not of how to kill each other, or even how to kill the dark forces doing their best to extinguish the light. Once our own light is bright enough, and our shadows examined completely, then apparently a whole new world is created, beyond our imagination. Not to be mistaken for the New World Order, obviously! That's the poor old Luciferians, frightened of their own death and so much in love with money, they can't get enough.

As for summer holidays this year, Weardale and around is fine for now, and a wander over the border sometime is in the probability field, possibly with a tent ...

World Freedom Day in Weardale ...

After musing on the best role to play today, another Freedom Day as announced by Resistance folks internationally, seems to be heading not out of the Dale but inside, where the heart resides, and the preferred role of Peaceful Warrior starts here on the blog, after a brief skirmish on the addictive FB, where virtual friends and virtuous ones too, pop up from time to time. This includes Daniel, a French Canadian Daoist, with whom a few days passed on retreat at Cluny College, Forres, with contemporary guru Jeff Foster, who went on to teach internationally, his version of non-duality, quite successfully. Daniel has lived and worked in China and Taiwan ever since and this morning raised questions about freedom, including an unusual perspective on life in mainland China compared to neo-fascist states previously espousing democratic values.

Yesterday's trip to the edge of Weardale to a tiny house in a field off the A68 road to Scotland, led to a fascinating and uplifting day with an old friend who entered the spiritual path with the Brahma Kumaris some years ago and now lives in her heart, mostly minding her own business, and sharing stories on FB. A meeting of minds beyond words on a sunny day, a walk along tracks, some familiar, settled the question of where to spend World Freedom Day today. The choices, gradually revealed by friends and odd websites evading the censorship, were London, Glasgow, Cardiff, Scarborough, Leeds and others in UK, but not Newcastle, Durham or anywhere local to Weardale.

The depth of current crisis, or pandemic, was revealed in dialogue on the fells at a cosmic level, where optimism prevailed despite the awful fears all round the worlds of the minds imagining all sorts of dystopian delusions, promoted by the architects of The Great Reset including the usual suspects, the plutocrats, with their Luciferian lackeys, not to mention minor players, like prefects with clipboards and the authority they craved at school. Exploring the possibilities of escaping the Fears and the options for Nirvana, always available, universal love was seen clearly as the only choice in the end ... but when the end comes in eternity is a tricky question, of course!

What's sure is that the Sun rose earlier today, and is hiding behind thin cloud for a while. Legs are itching to walk and its warm enough outside to wander in shorts and sandals down the Dale with propaganda to share in the rucksack and random strangers to meet for a chat.

The old question of "who are they, if not us", which arose along the Way to Santiago de Compostela many years ago, still points back to us and our shadow side. But that's philosophy and not walking or blaming or shaming, just accepting responsibility to live simply, with compassion plus patience to relax and allow the truth to reveal itself ...

Freedom postponed. ..

Alert readers may have observed that the last post, on Monday 19th July, made no mention of the well advertised Freedom Day, announced by the Junta and its pompous leader, as if Freedom could be bestowed by the very fascists who removed it when they declared Martial Law in March 2019.

Now freedom may be defined in many different ways, and indeed is often limited, sometimes for valid reasons. For example, freedom for the BBC to tell the whole world where the landing place for the second invasion of France by the forces of the British Empire, plus allies like the USA, random Poles, free French from Britain, French Resistance already resident causing trouble behind the Nazi forces ... well, obviously the opposite was true, and the BBC radio told fibs to lead the Nazis up the Garden path, as poor old Adolf finally got his come uppance, when the long awaited Second Front joined the Soviet Union, which had lured Adolf into the trap of a winter in Russia. Some people never learn from history, do they?

Since Civil War has been undeclared in many nations this time, and no other nation has been identified clearly as the enemy, this leaves the poor old Beeb in a quandary ... which side should it support? The illegal Government? Or the people, locked down and their Freedom denied?

As the story develops, sabre rattling from Junta sources puts China and Russia in contention with each other and with NATO to see who could win WW3 if there should be one. Astute readers may see a tricky problem for bloggers and others calling Johnson, who thinks he's Winston, Mussolini, whom he most resembles. Freedom of expression in times of war again!

Conversations with random strangers with relevant information to build a narrative of peace and love, as opposed to the official narrative of The WEF led by the mad Professor Klaus Schwab, or Blofeld or whichever role you see best suits him, include a senior executive with a holiday mobile home on the usual early walk into the village and through the woods. His experience includes the local drugs factory at Barnard Castle and recent trips to China. As unlikely as that may sound, it happened, since the feet were on the ground, not still in the bed. The encounter roamed around the history of empires changing inevitably as decadence sets in and more robust ones replace the rusty ones like the U.S. plus NATO, still dangerous, not least to their own citizens.

Yesterday, a trip with Daisy to Gateshead to collect the latest edition of The Light no.11, uncovered a Nepali security guard who wanted to join the Gurkhas serving the U.K. plus a bloke from Octopus Energy from Cornwall, ex-army, who gratefully received a copy of the propaganda. And so on. All of which keeps an old age pensioner active and engaged in the outrage of The Great Reset, clearly a Eugenics Agenda, with the need to reduce the population starting with the oldest and most vulnerable, but not venerable, and moving on to the younger and infirm not required on the payroll, as the revered NHS betrays its promise again and again, by pushing dangerous drugs as if they were smarties.

There will be trials, folks. Make sure you're on the right side this time!

Sun is up early again, papers to post through some doors, then, let's see what happens next ...

Weird weekend as usual ...

Monday morning on the first day of the long school holidays for some in England, as a spell of hot sunny weather continues. Naturally, many normal human beings join the queues for the coast, the beach, the ice creams, the fish and chips, the sunburn and the joy of cooling off in the sea; before working out how to return home without too many queues on the roads. That's the life of slavery we may lead if our children go the schools and we go to work Monday to Friday nine to five. If this sounds like a negative view, it is, and obviously many folks love their lives, their wages, their cars, their spouses and children, if they have one or two or more, not to mention older relations with opinions to share.

The current view here at Wear and Dao is that Life is best led being grateful for what is now, not what was once, is still yearned for, or what could be in the future. This seems to make sense and definitely keeps the spirits high, or maybe we could say equanimous? Anyway, words are never the thing described, but the best we can do to create the worlds we wish to inhabit, aren't they? As it happens, words have the power to explain and constrain, and sometimes it's better to stay silent and listen rather than react to words which offend.

So many words, opinions and discussions went on in and around Stanhope on Saturday, it's impossible to recall them all. An expert working as an advisor to the junta, for example, an economist from Birmingham on holiday nearby, defended the experts he liked and agreed with, and questioned the veracity of those he also knew and disagreed with, as he scanned the copy of The Light no.10 he accepted at the garden gate. Then there was a visitor from nearby Consett and his daughter, who agreed that the Tory MP we shared was as trustworthy as the fascist PM, and took a copy of The Light no.10 to share with friends back home. Before all that the family in the holiday home on the terrace, from Manchester, including a daughter with a first class on honours degree in Law, discussed issues and took several copies of The Light when they left. The son of a friend, working at the MoD in London, discussed the question of how much politicians could ever be trusted with power, while many others stopped to chat in the late afternoon sunshine about all sorts of issues. That's Stanhope for you!

Sunday was for Hexham and another Stand in the Park, always inspiring as new friends and old ones gather by the Bandstand. A Tribe is evolving from this group, which really helps crystallise the Resistance to tyranny, in a loving and peaceful way. A smaller section head off to the hills and The Garden Station for cool drinks and cool and warm discussions, which further enhanced the connections.

What on Earth will today bring? A visitor later for discussions and tea, plus other ways to pass the time weirdly in Weirdale. Who knows? And why? Let's see!  Time to walk ...

Scottish Borders ...

Wednesday's wander over to Belmont to pick up a large buggy, found Wendy waiting before 8am, to conclude the deal. Let's just say it took a while, exchanging views on causes of Autism, including injury by vaccines. The trip up the A1 was fast and meant Daisy and I nearly made the agreed time of arrival at 10am for coffee. Except the research was faulty, there was no Satnav, and a belated cry for help by mobile phone to the waiting daughter meant a very late arrival at 11.20 ... for coffee and a good walk before lunch.

As for the accident which had smashed the previous buggy, without injuring the elder daughter, or either of the other drivers involved, it turned out to have been a misjudgement by the daughter crossing the A1, hit in the side by the driver speeding South, which knocked her car into a car waiting to enter the A1. The elder daughter claimed responsibility since she told the police it was all her fault. The loss adjusters seeking to spread the blame and the costs of the claims, rang to see how her honesty might be mitigated. Since I know how good she is at driving, my question was how fast was the one who drove into her going, which the police usually estimate by measuring the skid marks on the road. The skid marks in the pants of the respective drivers are never measured, of course, but let's just say all three were in a state of shock, and leave it at that.

Meanwhile, in the delightful small terrace, tucked away in the countryside, a lovely day was spent with the family and a wonderful neighbour next door, and the drive home along the A68 on the scenic route was quiet and magical to end a perfect Wednesday.

As this part of the UK is enjoying a heatwave, the wanders around Stanhope are relaxing and take a while as humans are engaged in conversations on various topics, not least questioning matters philosophical, psychological and political as we all try to make sense of the nonsense emanating from the mouths of sophists determined to continue the Great Reset, to reduce the world population by billions, leaving the planet in the hands of the plutocrats and their slaves, as predicted by Huxley in his Brave New World. Of course, Aldous wrote other predictions in Island, his later work, and we always have choices which way to remake our worlds. Some say that the Age of Aquarius is in the process of birthing after its long dawning since 1968 or thereabouts. That was a great time to be a young person in London finding freedom in all sorts of ways.

Now it's Saturday in Stanhope, with the school holidays upon us and the Behavioural Insights Team advising a short break for the oppressed masses, in case they start revolting too much. Monday sees much revolting planned in Parliament Square, London, and protests all over the world as we slowly wake up to the shocking truth of the depopulation agenda, and the pressing need to remind the dark forces that Love always wins in the end. Of course.

All the World's a Stage

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Abridged, was very well played by the Castle Players, a long established local troupe of aspiring actors, musicians, writers, directors, who entertained a select audience outside Bowes Museum, Barnard Castle, County Durham. Sunday, in the light Sun and occasional light showers just perfect for a picnic, with folding chairs, lots of food and social distancing suggested but not enforced, of course. Two teenage nieces and their auntie were in the party of four, as the players kicked off with All the World's a Stage and in each life each gets to play many parts. Great metaphor Bill! As it happens, all the worlds are metaphor in reality. We create our stories with words; not to mention sentences of varying length, genres of different types (fiction -  science, factual, historical etcetera), tragedies, comedies, holy tomes, truth, lies, clever, wise ... who knows?

So what's the point? Good question! What's the answer?  Slow Down, don't rush to find a simple answer to a shallow question; ask better and better questions until the answer appears.
That's philosophy, of course. Never mind the ever increasing subjects, objects, words that are called nouns, deceiving the reader into imagining matter is primary, when in reality it's merely energy condensed into a slow vibration, and the worlds we perceive illusory, maybe a 3D projection from the edge of the universe, which is binary, information, in 2D ... expanding due to ever increasing information ... just a theory about the Holographic Universe, nothing to worry about!

Meanwhile, equally exciting, and still with Sunday, football is being played by human men on a big stage, called Wembley, where thousands of humans are gathered, late at night, to watch 22 blokes divided into 2 different teams, one called Italy, the other England, kick a round ball around a rectangle of grass until somebody manages to kick the ball into a rectangular frame, with a net to stop the ball from hurting one or more of the humans watching the game. Anyway, enough of that nonsense, since most people were asleep well before the end, especially those without televisions, like many African humans, who feel lucky to have enough to eat, let alone electricity.

Monday was restful, more or less, though the daily wanders about continued. Today, it's Tuesday again and news arrives of a brand new issue of The Light, hopefully finding its way up North soon, a big demo in London on Saturday,  let's see about that one ... and elder daughter requests a second hand big buggy after being rear ended, with no human injuries and a squashed buggy. The buggy was found in Durham, so that's an exciting trip to Scotland tomorrow then, hooray!

Town Moor to Monument

Yesterday's short walk started where Daisy, the Chinese car, stopped, in the car park at Heaton Park, perfect for a decent wander up the Ouseburn talking to humans and their canine carers. This soon paid dividends as two Geordies and two small dogs were asked questions and offered a copy of The Light for information. After this a conversation developed with two more Geordies, one sporting a light blue top indicating his Italian heritage on his mother's side, which left this charming couple divided for the final today, but not leading to divorce since they found football a diversion rather than a cause for War to break out ...

At the top of the Burn, a left turn led towards the Town Moor and down towards the rallying point for the Resistance (Newcastle branch). This was open to all, including soft Southerners from Stanhope, not to mention Mackems from Sunderland. The only two I recognised from the small but growing crowd were Malcolm from Gateshead, who I met on Friday, and Will, from Hong Kong via some blood from Mongolia, actually reared, educated and expert in science of small diseases. He spoke at the last demo in Newcastle. New friends were quickly made, using the code words: I'm looking for trouble makers, are you one? If they scratched their heads and looked confused I tried the next one, until they said yes. Obviously, when talking to the two police officers watching the crowd, the question was different: What's going on here then, and what's your role? The two young men in uniform smiled and explained their job was to find where we were going, so they could help us to stay safe whilst crossing the roads. Which was kind.

Resistance leaders stepped forward with megaphone to excite the crowd and spread information about the vaccines, including how dangerous they were and designed to murder those daring to put their arms out for a needle. Which was worrying, especially for friends and relations having succumbed to the constant publicity from our NHS. The speaker then warned my police pals, who by now were wearing masks, that their job was to investigate the alleged criminal conspiracy of local authorities, like Gateshead, not stand about filming us. As we proceeded along to Exhibition Park, the line swept around the lake, making a great segment for a film. Of course, I suggested to my police pal with the movie camera that he might upload it to YouTube later, which amused both of them and was amusing to me too. On we went, mostly off road, chatting to various resisters and why they decided enough was enough, and when. Organisers urged the rabble to keep together so the police crossing patrol couldn't observe the little red man on the lights, and could help all of us across the busy road in one go, buses or no buses waiting for the rabble to cross. Nice work!

Along the pedestrianised precinct leading to Monument, shoppers were entertained in the Sun as the rabble shouted slogans and handed round propaganda to subvert more Geordies and other sorts of people. At the Monument more speeches were spoken to energise the resisters and then the leaders led some off to find their cars, while this resister found a number 62 bus and sat upstairs brazenly unmasked to enjoy the ride to Chillingham Road and a walk along Simonside Terrace, where he lived 30 years ago. Daisy was waiting patiently in the car park, and we left the city quickly, passing the route of Hadrian's Wall, rather more quickly than a few days ago, due to Daisy's absence in Stanhope, while I was walking further West for a few days.

What an exciting life, full of adventure, for an old blogger, long retired from the problem of working.

Today it's Shakespeare outdoors, with showers forecast.

Next week? Who knows? Let's see!

Hadrian's Wall

The Camino along The Great Wall of Hadrian began Tuesday, after a lift to Hexham and a train to Carlisle. Some say the route begins, or ends, further West at the Irish sea, but this Camino started where the train terminated, and headed East, along a well maintained and signed route along the Eden river and climbing steadily uphill.

On the train, conversation with a rail engineer heading for Haltwhistle, having left his home in Doncaster that morning, established that much of the track closed by Beeching 60 years or so ago was finding new purpose as the nation was building back better, as they say. The engineer wore a t-shirt under his Orange overalls advertising Combat Stress, a charity trying to repair the damage done by illegal wars and the lack of support for soldiers traumatised by their experiences.

Carlisle was swiftly left behind after a coffee and some banter and the well walked, marked and prepared Way along and over the Eden River was easy enough and dry enough in light rain, since rain gear and skin are waterproof and stayed together all day, which was quite long, given the late start after ten and arrival in Gilsland ten hours later, about eight. There were enough calories in the tank, including fluids, to mean a lunch from the pack was plenty, and energy was garnered from the many humans encountered, including a long stretch with Pippa and Fran, two young women carrying large packs including a tent and things needed when camping. Preferring a light pack and the mystery of finding a bed for the night, this pilgrim found the pack perfectly easy to carry, thanks to some of the contents being worn to stay dry.

Many other humans were found, pilgrims and locals, happy to share their energy and information about their lives, reasons for living and or walking, including in Gilsland, where Pippa and Fran were planning to camp, though they were lost behind at eight and after a drink in the Bridge Inn, a nearby B&B, being full, phoned a friend nearby up the hill, to book a bed for the night. At Brooklands, Andrea and Roger were welcoming and offered a free supper, since another guest, Maurizzio, staying longer for work, had made pasta bolognesa and there was some sauce leftover, which was just right with the baguette also leftover. The vegetarian vague'un enjoyed the meaty exception to the rule of not eating cows and went upstairs for a shower and a sleep, while Maurizzio stayed up very late watching Italy beat Spain after extra time plus penalties.

Next morning, Maurizzio looked tired and rather dour, whilst the pilgrim ate a Full English Breakfast (vegetarian) which was enough for lunch in the pack, plus snacks from Andrea to enable a well rested and fed walker to set off about 7.15 for the challenging central section of the walk up and down steeply to the peak to enjoy the views, with Sun on and off and no rain all day. Humans soon appeared for conversations from both directions, which was interesting as always, and thoughts of sleeping were far away, while at a farm outside Gilsland a tent was spotted and the Farmer said Pippa and Fran had arrived totally knackered at ten. I never saw them again.

After an inspirational day climbing and rather tired at Housesteads Roman Fort, a small bus offered a short rest on the road to Chollerford, where the walking continued. Thinking about a bed sometime, enquiries were made, including at the George Hotel, and later at Wall, where a light supper was found, but no bed, at The Hadrian Hotel. After a wander along the Wall of Hadrian, it seemed nearby Hexham offered the best options on a warm and sunny evening on a quiet road with wonderful skies as Sun thought about setting and traffic seemed to disappear even in Hexham, since Denmark was trying to beat England on television, to see who might meet Italy on Sunday, or Spain on Saturday. Hotel one, The Beaumont, was full; number two, The County, also; leaving number three The Station as the third option before a warm night on a bench in The Park.
Bingo! At The Station there was indeed a bed, and breakfast in the morning too. Drinking a pint of fluid to rehydrate, the football game was in extra time already, excitement was growing all over the place, a dodgy penalty was awarded, and Harry stepped forward, had his weak first effort saved and the follow up tucked in the net. The game was still going on, while a knackered pilgrim went for a shower and was tucked up in bed before the end, and fast asleep at the end of an epic day walking the Great Wall of Hadrian.

Next morning, Thursday, Sun was already awake and breakfast was eaten quite late, as mind moved, not North back up to the Wall and East to Wallsend, but South, Stanhope, where a bed, breakfast and all the rest was waiting, not to mention a full weekend with a small protest in Newcastle this afternoon, and a picnic and outdoor play at Bowes Museum in Barney tomorrow, weather permitting. Breakfast at The Station was taken in the company of two brothers, retired, both fishing. Gregor, the elder, had spent his career as a Foreign Correspondent with the BBC, married a Serb woman, Mira, and had found themselves locked in their Belgrade Flat by the Authorities, for six months, before being allowed to fly home to their house in England.

Meanwhile, in Hexham, Amy, a midwife from Blackpool, had become addicted to codeine, available over the counter, and was spending time with the folks at the Community Church to break the habit. Nearby, at Bunters, where Joao from Madeira was serving coffee, a chance meeting with Neil Mac Neil, who had escaped from Scotland on holiday, established that he was a scholar of The Dao, which seemed a fitting end to a short walk along the Way, though there was still another bus, plus a two hour walk from Allenheads over the watershed to Rookhope and the bus to Stanhope, plus the fifteen minute wander home to the Retreat House on Railway Terrace.

As for the other humans and their short stories, well, let's say there may be an anthology in it!

And the Walk itself? Well, walking is always good ...

July 2021

Nature bursting out all over, with small garden at the front and pots at the back providing food every day, with friend and keen gardener doing the work, and blogger and keen forager foraging from the woods, the front garden, and pots at the back. Mutuality and sharing always seems to work best. Synchronicity replaces sheer coincidence daily and life continues to get weirder ... in a good way. Today is the third, tomorrow the 4th, which is Independence Day in the BSA and a window of opportunity for opponents of fascism to stand up and be counted.

Yesterday, the 2nd, an outing was arranged with the friend and keen gardener. Since Wallington Hall is close by and has plenty of gardens to admire, Daisy the Chinese MG was deployed, since it was a little to far to walk there and back in the day. Since both humans are members of the National Trust, giving unlimited visits all round the country, entry was free, and the same kind staff member as last time, relaxed the attempt to enforce a booking time this time, which seemed like progress. Probably more than one or two members expressed their views about the rules being created for no good reason except to remind us that an illegal regime seized power last year and has been playing games with the populace ever since.

Minor inconveniences occurred in the toilets, with a urinal or two taped off with green tape, which replaced the previous red tape. Subliminal messaging? After wandering the gardens and along the river, a drink and scone was required at the cafe, indoors to avoid the light rain. The gardening friend went up to order and collect the tray with the order and was ordered by a School Prefect to put a mask on her face, even though she has difficulties breathing, especially if breathing in CO2, which is designed for plant respiration but not humans who breathe better with oxygen. In order to avoid a situation she tried it out but soon said if she kept the mask on she was likely to fall over, causing a problem for the Prefect, not to mention the old blogger waiting for the coffee and scone.
Things improved at the House, where the mask situation was swiftly resolved with no reason required, with the two kind staff, neither appearing to have the need to feel important like the Prefect, showing us a short film about the history of Wallington, which is fascinating since Sir Charles was a socialist as well as a toff, MP in Newcastle, and supporting the National Trust as it started by offering the whole estate the nation in lieu of death duties as long as he and his family could live there until they expired. More mutual benefit! The question of the heir of Sir Charles finding himself without the estate was also of interest, since Sir George was influential at the Findhorn Foundation in Scotland, and had designs on making Wallington a place for spiritual enquiry.

Anyway, suffice to say, one of the staff was a Druid, which is nice. And Wallington still has the House and gardens and woods and ponds open to the public, for any reasonable reason, with or without membership or Prefects, since a Right of Way runs through the grounds. Hooray for Sir Charles, the red aristocrat, showing the world they're not all t***s, even if they went to Eton.

None of which covers the events of previous days or the mounting excitement in England and Ukraine, who go into battle this evening in Rome, to find out who goes on to battle in the semi-finals Tuesday and Wednesday next week. All of which leads to more confusion on the televisions as Scottish fans cheer for Ukraine, English fans cheer for England, lots of normal people are not interested in any team game, being either tennis fans, rugby fans or none of the above, thank you, are televisions safe at all?

As for next week, after planning to Stand in the Park in Hexham tomorrow, infiltrating a junior school to check mask wearing on Monday, before maybe heading for Bowness on Solway on Tuesday, and walking East along the Great Wall of Hadrian towards Wallsend, in time for an event a week tomorrow, in the Park at Bowes Museum, a posh house in Barnard Castle, not Bowes.

Weather permitting ...