rudimentaryrecollections

[rudimentaryrecollections]

Liverpool 27 November – 29 November

A week after the pantomime I began my journey to Australia. Not wanting to hang around the campsite, I go to Liverpool before my flight. I sleep at a downtown hostel overnight and it’s cold and ok. In the morning I eat the last of the wild mushrooms I picked.

I go to the TATE art gallery. I leave my bags in a locker then go to the exhibitions. I get agitated by some of the art and leave.

I wish I had company. I message nice things to Camilla and Lisa. I walk around Albert Dock. I get hungry.

I have Deja Vu ordering food in the TATE cafe. I want the meal deal with soup. The girl trips out and tells me the meal deal comes with soup. I can choose a sandwich/wrap from the fridge. I go get a falaffel and hummus wrap then order the meal deal. I sit outside. Some middle eastern guys talk on the table nearby. The parsnip and tomato soup comes in a colourful bowl.

I go to the library and read The Sandman comics by Neil Gaiman.

A retired couple sits near me. The bloke says it’s good to get out of the elements though it’s a pity it’s not a pub.keeps talking about the cuts from the council, how there’s not enough public spaces anymore. He keeps talking about the cuts from the council, how there’s not enough public spaces anymore. I could talk about Newcastle council but I’m not in the mood for politcal whingeing. They’re autistic nephew is looking for books he likes. They are happy to rest and wait for him. I talk about Australia and what I am doing. Soon he returns and they leave.

I am getting comfy and have my shoes off and my socked feet stretched out on the lounge. An old staff member comes to tell me I can’t get comfortable in here. I say ‘Nawwwwww!’ Like a child but get uncomfortable like he wanted me to. I’m glad I gave meaning to his day.

I get bored of the library and walk some more. I go sit in the Tate for a bit then get my bag from the locker. I walk aimlessly. I go to the pub for a beer. And then another. It feels nice. But I wish I had company. I go get a really spicy burritto. I walk down alleyways. Some homeless guys acknowledge me, ask if I’m alright on this cold night. I look homeless, long hair, long coat, scruffy beard, scruffy backpack.

I give some coins to a beggar. I talk to him a while. His name is James. He has a room in a boarding house but has a lot of issues from a troubled upbringing I think a psychologist could help him with. He’s not on the drugs at the least. A man pulls up in a car with his family. He asks if we want some food, hot mash and gravy. James says yes, I decline. His young son and daughter bring over a hot butter tub of the steaming food. They leave. I’m glad James gave meaning to their day.

I don’t know how to help him anymore, or perhaps I’m just bored and I leave. I go to an arthouse cinema and watch Shoplifters, a Japanese film. It is good. Then I get the bus to Manchester airport. I try to sleep in a corridor but struggle. I move to my terminal and gate when it is close to boarding time.

The trip to Australia, with an hour stop in Amsterdam, and seven hours in Guangzhou airports flows by as if it is all a dream. Perhaps because I am on and off sleeping through the whole thing… never getting deep sleep. Just intermittent light nappish sleep. It is pleasant really, because it is safe.

[rudimentaryrecollections]

Ullswater, The Quiet Site  22 July – 27 November 2018

My digital camera was full of dust after using it in Italy, and the lens will not extend. These were taken on my Motorolla Moto G3 smart phone except for the last photo, taken on a disposable camera

[rudimentaryrecollections]

The Quiet Site 22 July – 27 November 2018

I caught the bus to Penrith the next day. There were heaps of cool young looking people gathering at the train station there organising to go to Kendal Calling, a music festival nearby. I took a bus to the Brackenrigg Inn, overlooking Ullswater in Watermillock.

Peter, Emily’s boyfriend picked me up. He was  a mad redheaded dude with a bushy beard, more chilled out then even me. He was to train me in the coming weeks. He set me up in my caravan and showed me around, introducing me to the other staff and the owner of the campsite, Daniel.

We had some drinks at the campsite pub that evening. I was on form and charmed the other staff easily. But I was hungover when I started work the next day. The work was simple enough however, and despite my worries I quickly proved myself a hard and capable worker there. All were pleased, and I was offered ongoing employment.

It was cleaning work. The brunt of it was cleaning the glamping accommodation - Tipi tents, pods (wooden tents) and Hobbit Holes. That, and the toilet and shower block. And I worked the occasional bar shift at the Quiet Bar. I was nervous before my first bar shift, and gulped spiced rum before it started to try settle my nerves. My main anxiety was that I would be too quiet working at the Quiet Bar! That I would not have the charisma and personality I thought a bartender should have. I needn’t have worried. Just being polite and able to fill empty vessels with liquids was enough. And in time the rest came naturally.

In my time off I quickly explored the surrounding area. I explored the meadow paths and climbed Little Mell Fell, which our campsite sloped down from. I hiked to Aira Force waterfalls and got lost coming back, following sheep trails that wound through bracken ferns as tall as me. I cut over the Gowbarrow Park fells in the cloud, found the path again and drudged back to camp with sodden boots. A hot tea and shelter had never felt so nice.

I hiked the Ullswater Way, a path that went around the lake, and wild camped at Sandwick Bay.

I finally got a National Insurance number after an overnight trip to Newcastle, where I had to go to a government jobs centre to prove my identity.

I read a pocket-sized book, in the Collins Gems series ‘Kings and Queens.’ It detailed the known history of kings and queens of Scotland, Wales, Ireland and England. In doing so, it provided a brief history of these countries. I found it most fascinating, and ordered more books from the Gems collection. I bought books on trees, mushrooms, edible food, survival and the weather.

I worked to improve my natural knowledge. Collecting plant and fungus specimens, and identifying them with the aid of my books, and further online reading where needed.

I added nettle to my curries, elder berries to my porridge. I feasted on blackberries, foraged for blueberries and collected crab apples. Wild comfrey replaced parsley from the shops. This fresh food supplemented what food I could get for free from the camp store, canned beans, rice, pasta, cheese and the likes – to a point where I was eating quite well for free.

I was being paid more money than I could spend so I started saving. Things were going quite well for me but I was missing some companionship. I booked flights back to Australia for a two month trip over December and January. There would not be much work at the campsite over winter, and I wanted to see friends and family.

Companionship

In the first few months I would occasionally have drinks with some of the staff, but this disappeared as the site got busy and our work schedules overlapped. I was enjoying hiking and animating and living on my own, but at times I was getting lonely.

I was messaging Kim a fair bit but she had no interest in visiting England, as she was saving for a trip to New Zealand. I was using tinder but the options were limited in my area. And I was unwilling to travel far to meet someone.

I met a woman, Lucy, five years older than me at Aira Force on one of my days off. I had made some hummus and brought some beers my boss had given to me (which had been left on-site by a guest). I basically counselled her for two hours as she figured out what to do with her life. She had been travelling and now was had the option to move to Italy or to London for teaching positions.

It wasn’t really the date I’d dreamed of, I guess I was hoping for a hookup like I’d had a few time when I was backpacking. When she decided to go home to Carlisle we said farewell and she thanked me… And I said, “You owe me…” Why did I say that? I knew she didn’t owe me a thing. I felt dark for having said it. Strange… I walked upstream, a way back I hadn’t been before. I was in a dream like state.

On the top of Gowbarrow Fell, I found magic mushrooms. I put them in a bag and examined them more closely when I got home, researching thoroughly online to ensure they were what I thought they were. I dried them out and stored them in a jar in my larder.

We had a good team at the campsite of about a dozen and I got along with everyone. One day, as I was cleaning, the owner’s son George came to me looking mortified. “I just went to clean the bell tents… but I forgot which ones needed cleaning. I went into thirteen, because there was no car out the front. And inside there was big fat bald guy fucking his wife. Both stark naked. I said sorry, sorry, and came straight here….” Young George went home early that day.

The Saucy Sausage

There was a catering van on site which did breakfast and dinner. It was called The Saucy Sausage. Staff ate free. It was owned by a middle-aged Geordie man named Nigel. He was very friendly but could be quite brash. In my early days at the campsite he was moving houses, and I helped him with some heavy catering fridges. He gave me his two cents on the campsite and the area. He said it was beautiful but not much of a party or social scene. I told him I was looking for this kind of place, I needed a break from drugs and alcohol. We kept talking and he told me about some big German guys he’s once hosted. They were known as journeymen. They were stonemasons, and came from a village where young men, after being apprentices were sent out into the world to be journeymen. They were to travel and work for nothing more than food and shelter and not use the internet or mobile phones, in order to learn how their craft is done in different places and to learn the value of their work.

We moved the fridges and I noticed he had a short temper – never aimed at me but just in general. Afterwards he gave me 30 quid, which I hadn’t expected… Not bad for two hours work. I couldn’t help feeling nervous around him from then on however, like I had to be on tippytoes around him. Meditation and alcohol alleviated these feelings however.

One evening when he saw me at the campsite he invited me to a reggae gig. An English band, Zion Train. In ten minutes I was in his car. We went to the pub for a few where I met his wife and their friends, a couple from Glasgow. We got rip roaring drunk and as Nigel drove us to the Art Gallery beneath a radio tower where they were playing we drank strong gin and tonic from a plastic bottle and I felt like I was a teenager again. When we got there they distracted the ticket collector and I snuck past them without needing to pay.

Needless to say I bought the first round. And when the band started I danced my pants off. Nigel kept bring me beers through the gig and when I went to get a round I was quiet sloshed and got bottles of San Miguel instead of the draught ale we’d been drinking and Nigel got upset and I told him to bloody cheer up it’s not worth getting upset about. After the gig we went back to Nigel’s and I sipped some whiskey and discussed current events and philosophy with him and then I slept on his couch. I had a splitting headache in the morning when he drove me and his daughter to the Quiet Site. They opened up The Saucy Sausage for breakfast and I lay down for an hour before my cleaning shift started.

Fantasies in the Dark

I set out late one afternoon with my camping gear. I ate some mushrooms and was intoxicated them as I made my way downstream at Aira Force in the dark. I was trying to meditate, and walk without a torch, and it was so very dark. I felt like the forest wanted me to fall and fertilise the soil for its roots. I stumbled across a circle of short wooden seats, about waist high. They looked like they were for elves. My mind went to imagining things. I set up my camp under a yew tree nearby. I’d had mushrooms before and enjoyed them, but I’d come to an unfamiliar environment, in the dark, under the influence of them which was unwise.

I imagined I had to appease the elves to stay a safe night here, so I went and left a boiled egg in the circle of chairs as an offering. As I lay in my camp, all sorts of delusions went through my head, fantasies of elf councils in the dark, of their malevolent attitude towards me. And I snapped out of it. Realised these were all fantasies I was creating, and felt silly for leaving the egg down there. But it was not just this fantasy I broke out of. But other fantasies, stories I told myself about myself and others in my day to day sober life, for as long as I could remember. I meditated and honed my mind. What you think is not real. What you believe is real to you, but you can choose what to believe. And what you believe is only real to someone else if they believe it to. So choose what you believe wisely, and manage your thoughts. I slept the mushrooms off, I was not enjoying them that night. I’d taken them hoping to have some spirtual epiphany.In the morning I went to the circle and ate my egg I’d left to the ‘elves’ for breakfast. And so I’d lost my superstitions. It was near the gardens and the bottom of Aira force where other wooden artworks were.

I walked to Glenridding and boarded the steamer. I got off at Howtown and climbed up Hallin Fell. I got the steamer to Pooley Bridge and walked home.

Second Thoughts

In September I went down to London for a second screening with flucamp. They’d wanted me to participate in a clinical trial for months but the dates hadn’t worked for me to take time off. On the way down I visited Camilla in Manchester. I met her at a bar in the university area where she was photographing a psych-rock evening. I drank and met some of her friends and she wandered round, photographing and seeming to know everyone so I left her to it really. She introduced me at one point to Lucio, the monthly psyc-rock gig organiser from Sicily who was a bit standoffish when I told him I met Camilla through tinder. He liked her.

Camilla and I left to meet some of her other friends in a nightclub called Gas. It was a young gay couple Kurt and Mattias and their female Liverpudlian companion Jodie who was also somewhat standoffish with me. Her and Camilla got touchy and I got shy, but then Jodie called me good looking and Camilla put my hand on Jodie. So they were lovers. And it was strange… I was shy and a bit uncomfortable but I was consenting if Jodie was... But she was really drunk and must have remembered something that happened to her as she started saying how bad men were so I went to get another drink and sat across from them as Jodie seemed distress. Kurt and Mattias were fun gay guys and witty and cracked jokes to lighten the situation and secretly told Camilla and I that Jodie had been a handful tonight and was the drunkest they’d ever seen her.

So we went back to Camillas and drank red wine Jodie was really drunk and stood there swaying so I made room on the couch for her and she sat down and was being somewhat abrasive to everyone. Camilla rolled a joint and it was passed around and I said no the first time because I couldn’t have weed in my system for the flucamp screening and besides weed tends to disagree with me these days but there was a part of me that wanted to sabotage my chances of getting into the trial. So when it came back round I had a light puff on the joint and it was soothing.

Camilla made Jodie a grilled cheese sandwich and then she was sick so Kurt and Mattias took her home in a cab. Camilla and I hooked up for a bit but were exhausted and fell asleep. The next afternoon I caught the bus to London.

When we stopped at a service station I saw ten quid fall to the ground and a man walking away from it. “Excuse me!” I caught up to him, “you dropped this.” I gave him the tenner and he looked taken aback and as I walked away he checked his pocket and realised it had fallen and his face lit up with this random act of humanity and he gave me his thanks.

In London I checked into the hostel and had a quiet night. The next day I went to the screening which took about two hours. I struggled with the spirometer test technique but was signed off on.

I was paid 100 quid and reimbursed my travel expenses for this.

I bought a single malt whiskey and sipped it in my hostel room. I prepared some dinner and gulped some more whiskey. I made small talk with some people. An American girl was cooking kale with coconut oil and bragged about how healthy it was. I told her it’s full of saturated fats and they use it to induce obesity in lab rats. She got defensive and I told her to read the nutrition info but she was brainwashed and refused to believe me. I got really mad about it because she was friends with everyone there and I seemed like the bad guy. So I left and was mad in my room. Clearly I was caring too much about things. My head was spinning. I’d drank the whiskey to make myself chatty because I wanted to meet people… but it is silly to gulp whiskey. It’s a drink meant for sipping.

Sharp Edge

Time moved on at the campsite and the weather cooled as the winds from the Atlantic became more consistent. I worked and hiked and ate and slept and tried to meditate from time to time and work on my animation. On a clear day I asked Peter to drop me off at the bottom of Blencathra. I was to hike up along Sharp Edge, a steep ridge scramble.

I wasn’t the only one walking up the knife edge ascent. Many came up and down, some with sure-footed canine companions. And the views were awe inspiring. Why wasn’t I doing this more often?

Competent Crew

I took a week off to take a five day sailing course in south Scotland. In Largs I met the instructor, Alis, a Czech yacht master. The other crew were Rob, a retired farmer was doing mile-building in preparation for his yacht master testing. Chris, a middle-aged teacher from Elgin was there to complete his Day-Skipper course so he could skip for school trips. Matt, a 23 year old junior doctor, a prodigy was also doing his Day-Skipper. They all had experience sailing one man dinghys or crewing sea-going yachts. I was the only newby, doing my competent crew to learn the ropes.

I did my best to to try to learn but most of the attention was given to those doing their day-skipper course, so for a lot of it I just had to watch and learn and participate where I could. I was given the helm a couple of times each day and Alis guided me.

There was a lot to go through, a lot to learn. Too much information, but I’m sure a lot of it soaked through. How to moor the ship, how to shape the sails, right of way on water, Coriolis effect, knots,

At times I felt like deadweight, the others got to doing the things as they knew how to do them while I tried to stay out of the way. I was not often shown how to do things as they got to it and so I had to ask, yet I can be a slow learner for practical tasks and often there wasn’t time for me to practice so they just did it. And it is tight knit on a ship, I was always around other people, which wears me down, I need time alone. So I’m not sure if life at sea could be for me.

But it was a pleasant trip. A great way to travel, and see places you would never see otherwise. From Largs we sailed to the Isle of Bute, and harboured at Rothesay. From there we sailed to Tarbert. Chris informaed me there are many Tarberts around the British isles, all named by the Norse, to indicate a narrow piece of land where vikings would land their ships and roll them to the other side on logs  - to avoid treacherous water or reduce the time of their voyage.

We sailed to the Isle of Arran, stayed again in Largs to fuel the engine and went back to Bute, spending our last night at Port Bannatyne.

We drank beer and played pool and darts celebrate the end. Alis met us for pub dinner. I had halloumi battered like fish and served with chips, and we stayed on for dessert. Everyone had passed their course. Chris and Matt would receive RYA certification as day-skippers, allowing them to charter yachts in coastal waters. Rob had miles added to his logbook, needed to be certified as a yacht master. And I would get a piece of paper saying I completed the competent crew course. My first taste of sailing. I drank up.

A group of locals cleared the dining room as we finished our meal and started setting up their instruments. They met here every Thursday to play Scottish folk tunes. A dozen of them started up with all sorts of instruments and voices. And onoxious drunk man with his guitar often interrupted, strumming out of time or trying to shout the song over the singing. The village idiot. Matt and I wondered if he was autistic. But talking to the locals we just learned he was an arsehole. At the bar Rob had a word to him and he left, and the music was better for it. A short man in his sixties drank stout from a bottle next to us. He’d lived in Rothesay all his life and worked as a steward on the ferry to the mainland.

He got up to dance and sing one song. Everyone began stomping their feet and singing the chorus and for a moment I felt blissfully jovial and at home. The song was ‘Doon in the Wee Room’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-uQat7OodE The room reverberated with the merriment of the singers and audience. I was down in that wee room in my mind, drinking and laughing life away.

We were up early with headaches. All but Alis, never drinking on the job. We returned to Largs, doing a man overboard exercise with a floating buoy on the way. We parted ways on the dock.

I was in two minds about the trip. For one, it was a brand new experience, I’d seen some great new places. On the other, while I’d learned a lot, I felt far from competent as a crew member, alongside four experienced sailors. If anything, I left knowing how incompetent a sailor I was. C’est la vie.

Lisa

I’d matched with Lisa on tinder in Cumbria, but she lived in Galloway, on the other side of the border. We texted for a while and eventually met up in Carlisle. She was Dutch, but spoke English with a Scottish accent. She loved Scotland, and wanted to live there for the rest of her life.

We met at the train station and walked over to Carlisle castle. We climbed a maintenance man’s ladder onto the castle walls and walked along them, watching the city go by. A ladybird strolled along the walls where we stood for a while. A grim place, we decided.

We had to climb down as the ladder had gone when we came back. We explored some more then went for a pint. We walked to the train station in a hurry. She bumped into a guy she knew who was with a girl and they chatted for a bit and then her train was leaving so she left in a rush and I didn’t think it went so well, but she texted me saying otherwise the next day.

A couple of weeks later I met Lisa again and had a great day. We met at Annan, near the Scottish border. There we followed the Annandale Way, a river path, to Hodom Castle. Well, Hodom Castle caravan park. The castle grounds were a campsite. The castle was in disrepair and entrance was blocked. We climbed into the castle yard, used for caravan storage, and had a picnic there. A ladybird rested on a blade of grass nearby.

When we were done we kissed but I had a runny nose so I stopped it. We walked back to Annan as the sun fell, hoping to hitch a lift but being unsuccessful. We held hands and trod on and it was alright. In Annan I had a pint and she a whiskey, at two different pubs. I really started to like her. She lived in her broken down van at an outdoor activity centre on Loch Ken, where she also worked. A similar situation to me, so we understood each other. We understood the great beauty of living on natures doorstep, and yet the isolation that came with it.

We had a proper kiss on the station platform, and with warm hearts caught trains headed in opposite directions. The last bus from Penrith had long gone when I got there, so I trekked home in the dark, and the warmth in my heart remained.

Wandering what to do

I had four weeks before my trip to Australia and was counting the days. I was lacking variety in my work, and longed for warmer weather. Lisa would be too busy to meet again before my trip. So on my next day off I hiked away with my goretex coat full of food, water, a torch, a map and a knife. I was hoping to reach Helvellyn, the highest peak in the area, but the days were getting very short. I hiked past Aira Force toward Glenridding. I had mushroom tea in a jar and I drank it when I turned off the Ullswater Way and followed a sign post that pointed toward ‘Seldom Seen.’ It was there I saw red squirrels for the first time in England. Seldom Seen indeed. I continued up and up and the weather was good and I reached a pass and could see Helvellyn. But it was late so I turned in the direction of Sheffield Pike and reached the summit. And it was magic. The future the present and the past swirled around in my mind and my thoughts were turbulent.

I found my way down to Glenridding and bought some beers and waited for the bus. The moon was high and full and bright and reflected off the lake as I walked back to the Quiet Site. When I got back to my van I felt great and alive and wanted to do something fun but it was the quiet site so I quietly listened to music and went to bed.

Winter Droving, Camilla’s Birthday

The next day I got up late and had a beer. I knew it was Camilla’s birthday so I messaged her wishing her a happy one and she invited me to her party that night.

I caught the bus to Penrith where the Winter Droving festival was being celebrated. Once it was a harvest style festival where the farmers drove their livestock through the village. There were people in fairy tale costumes and troll outfits roaming around town and the whole thing had a very paganistic vibe. There were market stalls and I drank mulled wine and Irish cream and roved around. There were two stages with great local bands, reggae, dub, psych-rock, alt-rock, celtic folk, ska. When it was dark the parade started. Giant animal shaped lanterns were paraded by different crews of masqueraded men and women who had competed in various competitions throughout the day – such as the pint carrying competition. I drank bitter from a can and when it was over I caught the train to Manchester. At the station there was a woman with her friends ready for a night. Fake tan, short skirt, singlet. I had three layers, a shawl and an overcoat on. She was visibly shaking from the cold. I almost offered her my shawl, but the train came. I would lose my shawl later.

On the train I ate a lot of cheese and bread and nut and a wrap and some fruit and drank beer. Then I opened a mindfulness app and meditated for an hour. If I was to party, then I ought to prepare my body and my mind.

When I got off the train my mind was in the right place. This is the place it should be before any recreation. I’m here to have a good time. I walked to her neighbourhood and called her as I did not know her exact address as she’d moved. I waited in a bar with free wifi and drank soft drink for the sugar kick and hydration. Eventually she messaged me back and I walked to her house. Inside I met her house mates and her friends and some familiar faces from last time. I put a case of beer in the fridge and started on the separate six pack to bring me up to their level.

It was fun. Everything seemed fluid. I drank and ate tapas and talked with Kurt and Mattias and newcomers. A guy wandered around with a wig and a silk dressing gown. I sat with Andy for a while, a local who lived in the flat and watched the madness go by. People carried on. A racist neighbour yelled at complaining about the Spanish at the party. I talked and talked and everyone was sloshed.

Camilla offered me some MDMA she’d been given as a birthday present. It looked clear to me so I had a bump. The euphoria and love came. And the time jumps. I’m sitting chatting. I’m on the balcony with Kurt and Mattias, my arms around Camilla, her touchy as a joint is passed around. I’m with Liz, the half-American half-English with a shaved head and wig. There’s no beer left. I get out my bottle of emergency port. There’s another gay couple there with ket and I have a bump. And I was in that dream like universal connectedness state where everything felt alright and everything happens was happening and will happen for a reason it’s nature feel the comfort and relax and enjoy this moment. A group of us sit passing the bottle of port talking all sorts. We all love and appreciate each other even though most of us are relative strangers to one another. There’s pockets of Spanish speaking Spanish, Galicians speaking Galician, and English speaking English. And everyone speaking English.

It’s a small apartment. I’m tired. Everyone is gone but Liz and I and Camilla. Liz goes to sleep in Camillas room. Camilla is all but asleep on the couch trying to roll a joint. I tell her not to bother we’re both practically asleep as it is. I put my shawl over her and I join her on the couch, using my coat as a blanket. It is broad daylight when I wake. I stumble outside to find a toilet, delirious, and remember I’m in Manchester so I wander up the stairs to the bathroom then collapse back on the couch.

I wake and drink two litres of water and plug my phone in to charge with the help of a Galician man. When I wake again I am well rested and feeling surprisingly well. Still dreamy but very content and not feeling ill at all. I gather my things and when I go to leave Camilla is on the couch so I kiss her farewell on the head and she looks like she’s seen much better days and I know she must know where my shawl is which I can’t find but I’m happy for her to have it, may it serve her as well as it’s served me.

I get to the train station and sit on the platform while I wait for the train. A worker comes up and asks me if– “Are you ok man?” I say, “Yes, I am going to Penrith.” He tells me when the train is expected and says I just wanted to make sure you’re ok. I reassure him I’m fine. And I was. I’ve never felt this content with everything the day after a party. I guess I achieved my goal, to have a good time. It was nice of him to ask though, I’m glad there’s guys like him working at train stations.

In Penrith, I missed the last bus home, and trudged contentedly home for 3 hours. I was at peace as I walked over fields and through forests in the fading light, listening to ambient music.

Four weeks pass by peacefully. I go to the local pantomime, an English Christmas time tradition. Owen, the bar manager at The Quiet Site wrote and directed it. The play fit with Owen’s character, being a gay conservative man. In pantomine tradition is was full of double etendre, quirky costumes, lewd jokes, audience interaction and musical numbers. The play was set in Roman Britain and compared the resistance to Roman rule in with Brexit.

[rudimentaryrecollections]

Manchester 20-22 July 2018

I had two nights to kill before I was due at the Quiet Site, so I returned to Manchester, in a hope to go on a date with Camilla. I’d chatted to her on tinder last time I was there, but she was busy and could not meet for a date. But this time she assured me she could. She was a videographer.

This time I stayed at a YHA in Castlefield. I walked down to the entrance past a gym, eating French brie and a baguette. There was a gym guy at the stairs in the public square on the canal. He was walking down stairs hands first. I sat and watched him and thought, ‘I’ll take my cheese and bread.’ Over that.

I thought back to my time in Grange-Over-Sands, and the Dordogne. Meaningful labour will always beat the gym for me. At the hostel I made hummus and chilled. There was a drunk, middle aged Spanish guy in my room in Manchester for a loose few days. He worked elsewhere in construction in England and was friendly and I wished him well and would have hung out with him if it weren’t for my date.

I met Camilla at a pub she suggested. We hit it off. We really hit it off. She had similar interests and was not looking for anything serious. She was from Galicia in Spain. She took me back to hers. We climbed out onto the roof of her apartment and smoked cigarettes and watched the trains go by. \

The next day she had to go off to her videography job at a fashion firm which she hated because she had socialist ideals and detested fast fashion and capitalism. She was hoping to break into freelance videography and event planning soon which she did and was very busy with.

But I stayed at hers again the next night. During the day I saw the Hitchcock film.

Vertigo at an arthouse cinema -HOME – which she recommended. Good, weird flick. Shows the attitudes towards women and other things were very different in those times.

I made hummus in the evening again for Camilla . We were both very hungover from our indulgences the night before and drank more to ease the pain and feel closer to each other because we were both of the type that feels easier sharing true feelings and affection under the influence of some substance or another.

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Liverpool 18 - 20  July 2018

I drank strong beer on the bus and when I got off at Liverpool uni. I walked to Everton hostel. In my room a guy was watching It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. He apologised for having the room blacked out. I said it was a funny show. He started chatting to me like a guy on speed would. He reminded me of Evan, but with a madness less controlled or self aware. He said he had just got a job at a call centre for Northern Rails. He was living in the hostel in his interim between moving from Chester to Liverpool. He had studied Law and stressed at uni and in the end he was working a minimum wage job in a call centre. I felt bad for him. He seemed like he deserved better. He was friendly. He offered to find me work at the call centre. They need people. He could get me a job. I said maybe. He wanted to help me. He dreamed of travelling to Australia and picking fruit for a living. I told him to go for it. He needed to save money first. Good fortune to him.

I turned my mind to self-reflection, self-improvement, self-esteem.

I rested. I had an email from The Quiet Site, a campsite in the Lake District I had applied for a workaway at. It was a new listing, offering payment. Emily, the manager there, wanted to call me the next day. I said go for it.

The next day I went to the massive cathedral. I bought a steamed bean bun from a Vietnamese bakery on my way to Albert Dock. I talked to Emily. She wanted to skype when I had the capacity. I had some beer for confidence and made my way back to the hostel. She saw my face on skype but the internet was crap. She called me and said I could have a one week trial. If it went well they could give me a months work after. I’d have free accommodation in a caravan on site, and could help myself to the basic food in the small on-site store. I was over the moon.

I’d been floating around England confused, now I had more direction, I could prioritise my goals.

I drank beer on my own in a park to celebrate the job trial. I did this to warm up to chatting to people at the hostel.

I chatted with some people at the hostel that night but wasn’t vibing heaps. I expected more when I drank in the park. The next morning I went on a tour of the Williamson Tunnels.

From the Williamson Tunnels website:

The Williamson Tunnels are a labyrinth of tunnels and underground caverns under the Edge Hill district of Liverpool in north-west England.

They were built in the first few decades of the 1800s under the control of a retired tobacco merchant called Joseph Williamson.

The purpose of their construction is not known with any certainty. Theories range from pure philanthropy, offering work to the unemployed of the district, to religous extremism, the tunnels being an underground haven from a predicted Armageddon.

Further reading: https://williamsontunnels.com/history-2/

The story of the tunnels was interesting. And I’m fascinated by labyrinths. However I was hoping there would be more to explore at the site. It was limited because over the years since Williamson’s death the tunnels were used as a rubbish dump by residents of the surrounding area. The excavations are ongoing.

Later in the day. I bought some secondhand boots from a charity store. Panama Jacks brand. They were made in Spain and of high quality.

Back in the city, a man walked out from a pub with a pint of lager, and asked me for spare change.

I went to a phone repair shop to buy a USB cable for my camera. The Polish guys who owned the shop for it wanted eight pounds. An extortionate price. I offered them four pounds, they asked for six. No good for, I decided to leave. As I walked away they said fine fine, four pounds. They looked saddened and defeated. I was happy, and confused to have had this bartering experience in a shop in England.

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Sheffield 17 – 18 July 2018

I met up with Nicola for dinner and a beer. She gave me my mail. It was nice. The next day was not my day. The hostel was fully booked so I decided to head to Liverpool, to stay in a cheap hostel there.

Now I had my NI application forms, I went to fill them out. They said they had to be returned by 23/03/18. Ok. So I called the NI office up. No I could not still use the same forms. What is the address that I live at? I need an address to apply for an NI number. No I cannot use a friend’s address I have to live at the address. Call back when you have an address. Ok, I will find a Workaway to do and use that address. It will take up to two months to wait for the forms and then have them processed. C’est la vie.

Later I missed my bus and had to pay fifteen quid for a new ticket. C’est la vie. I enjoyed a pint to commiserate.

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Manchester 13 – 17 July 2018

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Manchester 13 – 17 July 2018

Grimey, dirty, post-industrial. The locals were friendly and I liked their accent. Many homeless and beggars. I went to the John Reynolds library. Reminisicient of scenes from Harry Potter. I walked along the canals. At the Piccadilly Lock there was a large tunnel section. There were packets of condoms and lube scattered around, unopen. A big sign said it was forbidden to have public sex in the area. Strange men stood in the darkest section of the tunnel. The next day when I passed again all the packets were gone. After the Picadilly Lock is the large gay village. There is a memorial of Alan Turing, a WW2 mathematician who cracked the German enigma codes. After the war he was arrested for being gay. Instead of going to prison, he opted for a chemical castration program. The hormonal treatment made him mentally ill, and he committed suicide by eating an apple coated in cyanide. Further on, two canals meet at Castlefield, where a Roman fort once stood. Now instead, industrial buildings and rail bridges loom tall, with castle parapets on top for decoration.

There was a strange guy at the hostel. Middle aged. Had a stutter and long, straight blonde hair. I talked to him on occasion out of politeness. One morning I saw him in the kitchen. He said he had been out all night at a cabaret and had not slept. He seemed to want to talk about anything to keep talking for talkings sake. I suggested he needed some sleep, then excused myself. Later I returned to the hostel to rest. When I entered my room I saw a fat German girl in just her bra and pink knickers resting one of the bunks. Or at least that’s what I thought. It was the guy. The room stunk of vomit. He asked me if I had a towel. “No.” I lied. I was shocked. I was overwhelmed by the desire to get a away. So I went to the pub and watched the Football World Cup final.

France won. Many French were out in Piccadilly Gardens, dancing and singing French songs in the fountains. They went parading off down the street and drank ten pints each on average.

The night life seemed good but I did not go out. I was meant to meet a Spanish girl from tinder for a drink on Monday night. But in the end she had to work. Oh well. She suggested I visit Manchester again. As I was looking at workaways that night on my laptop, a German girl started talking to me. She was also looking for ones to do in Scotland. She gave me her contact details. I like her.

There seemed to be some support for communism in Manchester. I saw a guy wearing hammer and sickle shoes, a ‘communism is for the kids’ slogan graffitied on a bridge, and an art exhibition with a strong communism agenda. Outside the gallery, the artist had installed a statue of Fredrick Engels (Karl Marx’s shadow man) from Ukraine.

Engels was a German who took over his family’s mills and factories in Manchester when he was 22.  He fell in love with a factory worker, Mary Burns, who showed him how the working class lived, and their poor conditions. This no doubt influenced him to develop the ideas of communism.

It got me thinking. Things don’t seem so bad. I don’t think communism could work better than what we have, the soviet union, Russia, China, all seem to be examples of this. The idea is good, all people are equal, everything is owned by the state. But the reality, when it is put into practice, is that the idea becomes corrupt.

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London 12- 13 July 2018

I was happy to be on my own again. I checked into my favourite haunt in Greenwich, had a shower and did my laundry. I was content. Flu camp called me and told me they had a study I was eligible for. They would give me a dose of the flu and I would have to wear a small device on my chest that monitored the effects it had on the respiratory system. It would pay 2500 pounds. I was getting excited but that stopped short when they found I had no NI number yet. They told me to contact them once I did. I contacted Nicola, who had my NI number application forms, which had been mailed to her address in March. She would be in Leeds over the weekend, and the form were in Sheffield where she was studying at that time. Not desiring to remain in London, I chose to go to Manchester the next day.

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Florence 9 – 12 July 2018

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Florence 9 – 12 July 2018

This place was also flooded by tourists, and trinket stores. I was tired of it all, and I longed again for the quiet of the baita. The hostel was nice at least. The room was large, with only three beds, two on an upper loft, with an ensuite. Victor, our roomate, was friendly.

The detail in the buildings was too much for me. With the noise and crowds and hustle and bustle, I found it all very tiring. Florence Cathedral had an insane design on the outside. The line to go inside was hundreds of metres long, a two hour wait. Tour guides tried to sell skip the line tickets outside for exorbitant prices. The line was worse at the Uffizi Gallery, where the statue of David lives. But there were many things to enjoy for free. Cathedrals with no lines, and interesting art inside. A bridge with fancy jewellery stores on it. Statues of Greek mythology outside the old palace, including the striking figure of Hermes holding the head of a decapitated siren in one hand, and his sword in the other. The Piazza di Michelangelo at sunset, commanding a view over the whole city. Plenty to see. But I would truly recommend seeing any city like this in the off season. I would have too, but for the sake of doing it with a friend.

On the final day, Skye went to the Uffizi galler early in the morning. She had to wait an hour to get in. I did not want to see David. Sp we agreed to meet later and go to an Italian restaurant for dinner.

I did my own thing that day, calmly walking around the city. I wondered, why do people want to see David so much? Because they have been told it is one of the greatest pieces of art in the world? Because they have seen photos of it and want their own? So they can say they did? I was becoming disillusioned with all this tourism. I longed to be back in the baita, or some other place surrounded by nature, experiencing something unique and raw.

When I got back we had a new roomate, an Aussie guy, Kieran, who had been living in London for the last year. He joined us for dinner. He was charming, good looking and intelligent. I felt uncomfortable, I could feel where this was leading. After dinner, we watched England lose to Croatia in the football world cup at an Irish pub.

We’d had a fair bit of wine and beer, which I had quite a tolerance of in those days. As we talked to the others at the pub, I noticed Skye rubbing Kieran’s neck, which was really awkward for me. I had sort of felt like her chaperone. Kieran and I discovered as we walked back she was really drunk. We took her back to the hostel and she was sick in the toilet. Kieran got in there first to clean it up. Fine by me. We chatted for a while about our own experiences of being wasted then slept. Skye was terribly embarrassed in the morning. We told her not to worry about it. I said my farewells in the stairwell. The Italian woman  who ran the hostel came out and asked if we were having breakfast in Italian. I explained I had to go, and she quickly fetched me a croissant for the road and kindly asked me to come back if I’m ever in Florence. She was really nice, when you made an effort to speak Italian to her.

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Venice 7 – 9 July 2018

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Venice 7 – 9 July 2018

I caught the train back to Milan with Luca, who lived in Milan. My train from Milan to Verona was late, so I missed the connection to Venice. I slept in a carpark behind the station, waking occasionally to scare away a curious rodent, who sometimes scuttled nearby. In the morning I got the first train to Venice.

It was swarmed by tourists, as I’d expected it to be. But it was beautiful nonetheless. It was special to walk around an old town with no cars. You could lose yourself for hours, wandering through the narrow lanes of the various islands. It was like a labyrinth. The wealth that must of once been in this city, to look such a way… And yet the wealth still there, it was interesting to see how crazy the tourist scene was.

I checked into the hostel. Later, I met with Skye, an Australian friend. She was the girlfriend of one my best mates, Truman, who I used to live with. But I had found out from Rick that they had split up since I had left Australia. So it was a bit weird for me at first. But it was good to have the company. And interesting to hear of her concerns as a solo female traveller. We explored the city and ate lots of gelato. We drank wine and ate goof cheese, olives and bread on the terrace of the hostel, which overlooked a small canal. We caught the waterbus to various sites, and looked in many churches. At the main duomo, Skye had to buy a cheap polyester gown to enter, because her skirt was considered to short to be ‘respectful.’ I was to see it at other cathedrals, women had to cover their bare shoulders or legs to enter.

When we left, we had ran to our bus to Florence with all of our bags. We had misjudged how slow the water bus would be in the morning, as it was fully loaded with tourists.  We made it in the kRick of time. Melting from the sun, bones creaking from our packs. “Corriamo,” - ‘we run,’ I said to the bus driver, who chuckled, having seen us coming.

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Baita Pigolza – 21 June – 6 July 2018

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Baita Pigolza – 21 June – 6 July 2018

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Baita Pigolza – 21 June – 6 July 2018

I caught a train into Morbegno. There I met Yvenne, another volunteer from Latvia at the station. Giacomo, our talkative host, picked us up, and drove us into the mountains.

The mountain hut, or ‘baita,’ was owned by a group of five friends from the Milan area. They had all met doing scouts when they were young. Their project was to renovate the property and use it as an escape from the city. They were quite happy for it to be a never-ending project. But the work we were to do was to prevent disaster. The large stone retaining wall beneath the baita, was slowly cracking and pushing out. In time it would fall down the hill.

Many people came and went. The Italian friends and relatives of the owners, and a number of other workaway volunteers. The weekends were busiest. During the week, when many had to work, it was mainly workawayers on the job. The main job was to get a couple of tonnes of gravel and cement from the road, one hundred metres above the baita, down to the wall. I was impressed by the craftiness of these friends. Like true scouts and mountaineers, they constructed platforms, ziplines and other devices to help us with the task.

I was later to be explained each of their roles in the group. Giacomo was the ideas man, the one who’s suggestions on how to do things most often got picked up. Tommy and Pierre were the brawn, they would work and work and work to deliver the results, but were perhaps not the most logical thinkers. They would work twice as hard to get one job done, rather than stop to design a quicker solution. Luca was the brains, he was the logical thinker and manager, who kept things realistic and within their budget. And Carolina was the mediator, the one who heard each person out and stopped them all from getting at each other’s necks.

We tried to use a long pipe to funnel the gravel down the hill through, but it would not work. So in the end we had to shovel it into sacks and send it down on the zipline, a tedious task. The work was physically demanding, but rewarding. Hard work, good food, clean air, nice company. We all slept on mats in the top level of the baita. The bottom level was a kitchen. We ate outdoors, and drank fresh stream water. The loo was composting, the shower was heated by fire and on a platform outside. We were surrounded by trees and mountains.

On the middle weekend, I hiked to the top of Mt Pissello with four Irish guys, also volunteers. At the top we met a retired German / English couple, who were hiking all the way to Trieste. Apparently ‘Pissello’ meant to piss, or could also be used as a word for dick in Italian. The names of the surrounding mountains could be translated to mount arse, mount spit and the illustrious mount shit.

We got plenty of grog too. One night, Liam and Niall, two of the Irish guys egged me on to make a move on Rosemary, and American actress in front of her, and she gave me some enticing looks. But I don’t like being put on the spot like that. I drank a lot of grappa, feeling flustered.

The day after Giacomo suggested I should pursue Yvenne. But I decided I didn’t want to.

It was Barbara I was interested in. An Italian volunteer, who lived near Lake Como. Her and her friend Irene left the day I went hiking. She was sad when she told me she could not join us on the hike. I put a friendly hand on her shoulder, just to comfort her. She softened and turned and she said, “Hey you.” In hindsight I could have kissed her then. But I shied away, I had not expected that response. Perhaps we will meet again, in the mountains.

All this was bizarre to me, because I wasn’t looking for romance. Sometimes it seems the less I want it, the more access I have to it.

In the second week, Aliyosha, an Italian stonemason, came to start bulding the wall. We were still bringing the gravel down the hill in the zipline, which had become slow and monotonous work. But we kept our spirits up and the comradery was strong.

In the last few days it rained at night. One evening we had a loud thunderstorm. The mountain shook. Lying in bed, I scared myself of thinking of the half destroyed wall beneath the Baita. Every time the thunder struck, I worried about landslides, something Giacomo had said was his biggest fear here. It would certainly make getting up in the morning harder, if the Baita slid down the hill. And it was getting really hard to get up. My body was so heavy, this is the hardest I had worked, day in, day out. It was nice to feel my hands growing tough, my muscles grow. But it was harder than ever to get them started in the morning. The Italian breakfast was lots of coffee and biscuits. It was good to jet start the engines, but my body would burn through the simple sugars and carbs in no time. By lunch, everyone would be famished. We’d devour large amounts of pasta, cheese and bread, then rest and sip coffee for an hour after. Then we would get back at it. We were told we only had to work twenty five hours each week, as was the workaway limit. But with nothing better to do, most of us worked the full day.

I went there with the intention to live simply. Work, eat and sleep. And I did. It was nice to be somewhere that I couldn’t spend money either. My bank balance did not change for two weeks.

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Somemernachtztraum 15 – 17 June 2018