Oh my lord - let there be light

He who would valiant be ’gainst all disaster,
Let him in constancy follow the Master.
There’s no discouragement shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent to be a pilgrim.

Who so beset him round with dismal stories
Do but themselves confound - his strength the more is.
No foes shall stay his might; though he with giants fight,
He will make good his right to be a pilgrim.

Since, Lord, Thou dost defend us with Thy Spirit,
We know we at the end, shall life inherit.
Then fancies flee away! I’ll fear not what men say,
I’ll labor night and day to be a pilgrim.

Got into a spot of black mist in the old head as Terry Wogan would say - vile spitting language of the devil came out of my decrepid little mouth all day - wash my mouth out with imperial leather. Petra took the brunt, and April fared little better, I could see no redeeming features in anyone let alone me. The clothes they wore were now filthy - we had been bumming around in the same gear for some time - we all needed a wash - Our personalities seemed retarded and incapable of flying above even the lowest of drizzly clouds. No jokes, no intellectual discussion on anything, no appreciation of the wonderful country we are in and the culture and art and people of this fine land that has brought us lambrettas, pasta the rennaissance, the mona lisa, Sophia Loren, Fellini, Pesto and Chianti Ahhhh Chianti, and Juventus football club. Also, not forgetting sociable types likes Francesco.

Of course I remain wholeheartedly and without doubt in my usual existential frame, but the universe does contain the John Bunyan Hymn He who would valiant be and it now contains it in a travellers blog, and I am sure John Bunyan dod not envisage that when he wrote it in 1684.

I like the tine, and in a way I am a pilgrim, following my twin masters, fate and chance. They have led me here to this lovely lake in winter with two females who I have foun very annoying today - Petra kept shaking her head and marching around saying she was bored which got extremely bad and April smoked 30 Benson.

Still there is always tomorrow.

Lago di Bracciano at last

Finally here we are at the lake - our thoughts take on peaceful manderings and the rippling waters soothe our tired feet and brains. The light is fantastic here in January - a real Mediterranean winter sun and the fog in my frontal lobes feels like it is lifting - no more Blue Jay Way - more like Good Day Sunshine. Petra has increased her self esteem and in the eyes of her travelling companions seems much more at one with her inner idiot. She has nurtured up some food - twice today - including tins of sardines and rustic loaves. April has sung us sweet melodies and played charades - again twice. We are now in a reverie - here in Bracciano - and luvkily technology exists here or I'd be done for. I have had a shave and eaten some biscuits - listened to The Sound Of Music (yuck) on a teenager's Ipod at a busstop - he was scared !

So little by little we are shedding the city blues and going rustic on ourselves - lie elves and pixies we have chased through fields and behaved quite mad really. Now to find a room and relax - I think we'll get a B&B or hotel room tonight and look at tomoorow with new rose tinted glasses. In the meantime here is to you and your friends - A big hearty slurp of Chianti - ahhh! dont you wish you were here ?

Au Revoir ...

April Fool in January

April is turning out to be a strange walking companion. We dossed in a cold B&B in a small village and April sleeps on the floor. She talks in her sleep - All "whattya and whyya and gettofff". When we get up she makes a big song and dance about brushing her teeth and in the end I let her use my Oral B. Then there is a bit of scene when we finally get on the road - the beautiful Petra is grouchy sombrero wearer today not chatty and snarling. April looks a bit goofy and her glasses are jet black and she often skips. The tarten skirt she is wearing gets seriously muddy and I laugh a lot when she goes a full spinnin top into a mega puddle. Petra snarls some more and tromps off offering no help. So that leaves me to help the poor April sod out of her mess.

Walking gets pretty boring along straight roads with traffic so we veer off into country where almost immediately we meet a man with no teeth who trys to tell us something but we cannot understand a word he is saying so we run off. I decide that here would be a nice place to own a Nano Ipod so I could dift off listening to Bernard Fanning or Amy Winehouse - you know what I mean - this deafening silence from Petra is getting to me. So at the next village the wine shop is most open thank god and we resort to Chianti and olives with bread rolls and goats cheese. The mood increases in the right direction towards something vaguely resembling happy and stays that way for a couple of hours, when we then romp in some hay and fall asleep. I am as lucky as a king - like Henry the Big 8th. Gor Blimey guvnor I am having a good walk in Italy ...