More Role Play

 Having settled back in Stanhope in a familiar and comfortable role in the Community Hub, it became apparent that attention needed paying to the gap between personal income and expenditure.

Whilst the Hub (as the Community Partnership and Community Transport seem to be commonly known in the Dale) is financially sound, thanks mostly to the contract work with the Ambulance Service, and the Wheels to Meals project has funds until November and an invitation for further support after that, the social entrepreneur role is really more “volunteer” than entrepreneur, so while the community energy project simmers, and the book lingers, some action was required to stave off the likely deficit in a month or two.

A colleague on the Wheels to Meals project introduced the possibility of a wonderful public subsidy for impecunious householders,called Housing Benefit. Unlike the out of work subsidies, there is no requirement to seek jobs, which would make the voluntary and project development work tricky.

Housing Benefit is administered by the Council, whereas the unemployment benefit is in the tender care of the national government, through the Department of Work and Pensions. Feedback from folks engaged with this Department suggests they are very keen to reduce the number of customers they have on the books. There are obvious reasons for this, of course, since long term unemployment can be very debilitating and benefit dependency an even worse form of contemporary slavery than paid but unrewarding work. Personal experience of this system is limited to a couple of brief encounters, before the heat was really on and they provided an insight into the role and the relationship with the role player on the other side of the desk as well as a welcome respite from wage slavery during a rather dark period following divorce and relocation.

The Council hearabouts is basically sympathetic to support for the impecunious, being an old fashioned Labour administration, with its power base still tied up with the coal miningindustry which dominated Durham for along time before its decimation 30 years ago.

The council officer was very well trained, and put me at ease, referring frequently to “entitlement” as he completed the application. Imagine my delight when he revealed that, all being well, what with the Housing Benefit and Council Tax reduction, an extra £400 a month was available, which added to the occupational pension will keep the show on the road (or more accurately, off the road) until the State Pension begins in November or other income arrives from seeds planted or who knows what.

So, how does this new role of Benefit Dependent feel?

It feels very good to be free of the slight anxiety which crept in as a spur to action and enables the continued attention to the important things in life!

And I am very grateful.

now what?

Two weeks on from returning to Stanhope, some very warm welcomes, very warm weather (since reverting to chilly and damp for a while), a walk in Jesmond Dene with three beautiful girls l-r in the first pic, Jess, Sophie, Emily (who triggered the return home after announcing she was off to Australia), a lovely trip to Scotland for a few days with friends and the cottage left in November for the adventure available to rent again from May . . . a synchronicity helping the decision to stay awhile and sign a six month lease with funds to cover a month or two . . . a new opportunity to trust the universe to provide, providing this really is the right place and the right time . . . and knowing that the modest monthly pension will be enough in other places if that's how it turns out . . .
. . . which sounds like doubt . . . though maybe just an alert to pay attention and do enough to help things along . . .
In the probability field, a few projects await . . . community energy ripening and a vehicle ticking over to take it forward . . . local social care and public health ideas . . . others not yet apparent . . .
Coming into focus today, after a good re-connection with Raul and previous feedback from friends who have followed the blog, including Frank, a retired journalist in the village - a book . . . its form to be discussed and maybe more than one . . . current thoughts lean towards an ebook, with lots of pictures (an expanded blog) . . . thinking also about a more collaborative platform so that readers and characters can contribute their perspective . . .
. . . which raises the question of motivation and money, since a writer is allowed to earn a living from their efforts . . . this writer wrote the blog mostly as a diary, a record of the adventure for later, when memory faded . . . then for family and friends following the trip, which appears to be more than first thought . . . never for financial gain, though the blog platform may be monetised even in its current form . . . to be honest I enjoyed writing it, valued the feedback as it developed and only considered making it a means of helping pay the bills at the suggestion of others . . .
So, some questions from this morning's meeting: to seek a publisher for a paper or ebook, along with an advance payment to sustain the work of the team; to crowdfund investments to enable the work, with a possible return based on sales; to seek donations, with a free book as a thank you . . . other suggestions welcome, though some readers report that the comment function on here is not easy to use . . .
All very energising and pleasant to imagine further research in the field to fill out the detail, recruit collaborators and sell advertising to some of the small businesses along the walking routes . . .
Is this what selling your soul feels like?
Hmmm, need to reflect on that one, though the line from the Koran resonates too: First tether your Camel, then trust the Lord.
Finishing with a photo and a reunion of pure love and affection from some the elders of Weardale, enjoying lunch at Parkhead Station, on a Wheels to Meals jaunt . . . with Edith in the foreground celebrating her 90th birthday.

Return to the Wear . . .

Stanhope looks much the same . . . time collapses somehow . . . synchronicities seem to suggest staying awhile is right . . . lovely welcomes from friends . . . some feedback on the blog and maybe a book from it . . . let's see . . . meanwhile these lines from TS Eliot express something about this 5 month experiment in freedom better than this apprentice writer, sometime pilgrim and returning social entrepreneur could aspire to do . . .

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started,
And know the place for the first time."

Little Gidding (excerpt)

Is the blog done now? Maybe, though some editing, research and filling out are possible. Meanwhile, thanks for reading!

Brockwood again . . .

Traveline offered an easy 24 minute walk to the train, which goes to Petersfield and the Winchester bus to Brockwood . . . well, easy if the boat had arrived on time . . . as it happened there were 20 minutes available for a very brisk walk along the dual carriageway and down the unlovely pedestrianised high street . . . a free ticket office and helpful bloke "plenty of time, you've got 4 minutes yet" . . .

. . . and so to Brockwood in Spring . . . daffodils and primroses, birds singing and accommodation perfectly simple and not at all basic . . . having stayed in albergues, youth hostels, cabins and caravans, three star hotels and no star hotels, this has it right for me . . .

Supper is convivial with  another guest and a guest helper: Claire and Chantal from France, plus James and Wilfred from the centre. It's quiet until Friday, then full for an organised retreat.

Wednesday and Thursday pass with a perfect mixture of quiet, woodland walks, delicious food and some very interesting company . . . which extends the stay another day, and delays today's hitch-hiking . . . a half hour of which is enough and it's on the bus to Winchester Railway Station where a Newcastle bound train is due in ten minutes.

Research on travel options offered coach, rail, lift-share and flight possibilities . . . none of which stood out ahead of time . . . meaning full price for the train, but it will take me to Darlington in time for a bus to Crook and on to Stanhope . . . which is feeling increasingly the place to be . . . for now . . .

This morning's information from Charles, who left Doncaster by car at 2.30 am is of roadworks and long delays on the M1, which makes the bus, hitch-hike and lift-share options less desirable. The plane is quick, of course, but means getting to and from the airports . . . and something says that since this trip has so far not taken off from earth or sea, why start now . . .

Train is my favoured mode after walking . . . something about the pace of it . . . this route avoids London too, which suits . . . time to sit back, read a little, write a little, look at middle England go by . . .

The thing with Brockwood is that it embodies K's teaching, as well as holding the complete works. It is a beautiful space in which to combine study, reflection, discourse and meditation. There are no icons or ornate decorations, no graven images of K or anyone to distract from the core teaching: each takes responsibility for their own path.

This time, after all the lone walking (always vaguely aware of never being alone out there), the conversations are to the fore . . . philosophy . . . and tempering a temptation to talk too much, active listening opens the way for interesting information from Claire, Chantal, James, Helena, Gordon, Charles, Chi, Dipti and Sunni . . . mostly about energy and some heartfelt connections, which will surely lead to future meetings.

All this easing me into the next phase, returning to social projects in Stanhope, being true to my self (whatever that is).

Bay of Biscay to Portsmouth

The skies are clear and the sea is smooth, so a simple sundrop over the western horizon last night, an austere, short sleep on the carpeted floor, a simple sunrise in the east - now forward view, since the course is north-east after rounding Cape Finisterre before dawn.

Lots of other Brits returning from winter dodging in the south . . . lots of campers and Dennis and partner, who live year round in a caravan . . . a butcher by trade, never ventured north of Watford or abroad until a few years ago . . . enjoying the freedom and intrigued by the freedom without the car and caravan . . . though this footloose freedom loving pilgrim/writer/philosopher is maybe settling for summer, since the social activist role also calls and perhaps projects to pursue in Weardale . . .

The sometimes forgetful, neglectful father role wants picking up too . . . elder daughter setting out on exciting new venture in Northumberland, younger heading off for adventure in Oz . . . one way ticket, working visa . . .

Terry, 62, from Stockton, turns up, half unexpectedly . . . he has a place in Portugal, near Graca . . . we met a few times when I was there . . .

Santander to the Bay of Biscay

The hospitaleira at the basic albergue turns the lights on at 6.45 am and wants everyone out by 8 . . . which is fine, since there is no common area for conviviality . . . Rudolf has met a camino veteran and part-time hospitaleiro, who speaks fluent Dutch and Spanish . . . just the kind of coincidence camino life produces . . . his pack is heavy and this first walking day is going to see him ditching the camping gear or the rather heavy book . . . maybe both by the end of the week . . .

Part-time hospitaleiro is a job that appeals . . .

After an early coffee and wifi, a walk along the bay in warm sunshine and over to a view of the sea . . . with equanimity on leaving Spain, what's next and whether there is a spare berth on the boat . . . everything is possible early on when the sun is shining!

Musing on language learning and the blessing and curse that is the lot of the native English speaker . . . it is becoming the universal language so enables some kind of communication medium through which to misunderstand other people; the language we think in structures the brain, which interprets the incoming signals of sight, sound, smell, touch, so only one language is limiting; motivation is vital - in Portugal, English is spoken by almost every young person (and French by many elders), in Northern Spain, not so much, which means practice every day, just to get food and shelter . . .

The ticket is bought, €89 for the crossing and a reclining seat . . . now plotting a sign to display to find a lift to Petersfield . . .

The last lunch in Spain, served by Andres, who speaks excellent English, will see me through to Brockwood and its version of food . . . fresh fruit and vegetables, beautifully prepared . . . flesh free, alcohol free, wifi free . . . which in this case means free from wifi, not free wifi . . . perhaps a public health issue waiting to emerge . . .

On the Pont Aven, this feels like a cruise, dolphins and whales to watch out for, the first newspaper since November, and another sunny day . . . not sure if it has been a dry winter in Iberia or if the rain has been elsewhere . . .

Santander is a place to visit again - long shore line with bay and coast, train, bus and maritime stations all close to city centre, sculpture, pedestrianised streets . . .

Santillana to Santander

Sitting in the sun, a view of snow covered mountains to the South, waiting for a bus . . . Santander is only 30km away and tempting to walk . . . the ankle is healing, but wants more time . . . other signs that a break is due: trousers worn through, seams coming apart on the shoes . . . this Camino del Norte wants walking though . . . from Irun next year maybe?

Meanwhile, musing on what's next . . . family and friends to see, before that, Krishnamurti, whose philosophy inspired the trip, who is known to many of the folks along the caminos . . . a chance to relax and review the adventure where it started last November - beautiful Brockwood in Bramdean, near Petersfield. K passed in 1985; his works are held at Brockwood and since the trip has been almost book-free, a welcome chance to study.

Stanhope calls . . . I felt at home there the first time I went . . . back to the fells having dodged the snow, though walking the fells with sun reflecting off snow is blissful too.

As for Santillana, if you want to see an example of a restored mediaeval village, with 5 star hotels tucked in ancient buildings and an amazing museum of pre-history, this is the place. No sea though.

The bus goes to Torrelevega, where a friendly Chinese bloke replaces the glasses left in San Vicente . . . then the train into Santander, which is a good way to arrive . . . with Claus, 52, retired further education teacher, from Frankfurt, now retired from the Camino del Norte, due to injury . . .

Santander looks fine in the sunshine, though the ferry port is closed. Strolling along the bay, Rudolf, 58, from Michigan, via Rotterdam, early retired facilities manager, due to early onset dementia, about to start the Camino . . . strangely he never once forgets my name in the hour or two we share over lunch . . . where Carol and Peter, Irish pilgrims, are off to join Ryanair's Dublin flight . . . Carol has been walking the Northern Route in instalments, Peter has cycled from Biarritz along the French Way to Santiago and back to Santander along the coast . . . epic trip!

The last albergue is simple (Carol said basic), tomorrow's bed will be on the boat, as long as they have a spare berth when the ticket office opens in the morning . . . for now there is cafe internet and a glass of wine . . .