April 2022

30th

After a night's rest, I examined my Sony Alpha DSLR camera and discovered that the focus, which is equipped with 52mm and 300mm lenses, is water-damaged and beyond repair.

Auto-focus is no longer functional, and the image above is as good as the camera can get. The camera is in a friend's airing cupboard.

29th

At 5 a.m., a security guard verbally attacked me. On the previous evening, I pitched by a skateboard park/BMX track in Memorial Park, Whaley Bridge, feeling both anxious and exhausted. A very alert security guard (who I have never met before) said I had abused him, which I denied by saying, "From inside my tent while I was sleeping?"

It seemed that they were monitoring a compound that had occupied a portion of the public park; the reason for this was unknown to me. After packing up, I descended into Whaley Bridge, walked along an abandoned railroad track, peed beneath a bridge, and then turned onto the road leading to Chapel-en-le-Firth.

I saw a bee on the road that looked like it had been away from its hive all night because it was so tired and moved so slowly. I reached into my rucksack and pulled out a spoonful of sugar. I placed it on the step and added a few drops of water before the bee took to it. He's fine; I completely understand what it's like to be outside, cold, and worn out. It is said that Chapel-en-le-Firth is the capital of the Peak District, but I couldn't find much proof of that.

I mostly went straight through the small town, only pausing at a café to ask for tap water. I took a picture of the double-glazed window that was reflecting light in the shape of an X. I've seen this strange phenomenon a lot before. Also, there was a Golden letter box, which, I think, was meant to commemorate something, but I'm not sure what. The way out went through an industrial park and then up a hill to the A6 in the direction of Buxton. I waited for thirty minutes before a Muslim taxi driver picked me up. I realized ten minutes later that he was taking me to Bakewell, even though he had stated he was heading to Matlock but could drop me off at Buxton. He drove me another eight miles away before he stopped and let me out when I asked him to. I stopped to look at a beautiful forest before trying to hitchhike another ride. The contrast was really striking—the Peak District is both soft and rough, but not as rough as Scotland.

The next lift came from a painter and decorator picking up his wages, he said at Chapel-en-le-Firth, but took me to Buxton anyhow. Buxton was lively, hungry I purchased a cheese and vegetable pasty from an incredibly grumpy local bakery. I was left wondering what the service would have been like if I had gone to Greg's because the woman behind the counter was so abrupt.

In the heart of Buxton town centre, there was a white male who was playing the trumpet with exquisite finesse. A few steps away, another individual was playing the guitar; both were exceedingly talented. I walked into a café with an Indian vibe called "Chakra" and was greeted by two women with happy faces who were wearing rainbow-print everything. In appearance and demeanour, they were not unlike Rod, Jane, and Freddie. As we talked, I guessed how crazy everything was while enjoying a Halloumi wrap and two lattes.⁺

Walked three miles out of town, uphill, to get a lift. At this point, a truck pulled over and offered to drive to Stoke-on-Trent. The driver offered to drive me farther after he tipped this load (sandstone), but he backed out when he noticed traffic on the road outside of town. He had driven past a 7.5-ton limit with a 44-ton load.

After waiting for two hours and seeing hundreds of cars, trucks, and other vehicles, I decided to walk along a path that led closer to the M6 intersection. The path turned into the A500 highway, which made it risky to walk for a while. Before reaching an Esso/Spar garage for refreshments, I strolled past the Stoke Football Ground, a BMW showroom, and the Harvester restaurant. I attempted to hitchhike at this roundabout, but was unsuccessful. After passing another Catholic Church and another sports complex, I arrived at the motorway intersection. I was transported to the doorstep of my faery friend in Stroud by a middle-aged woman operating a camper van. Subsequently, I received a shower. After showering, I spent the remainder of the evening watching television. I retired early and slept soundly on a comfortable bed.⁣

28th

At 1am, I was woken up by a badger who was upset that I was using a small area of his forest that was blocking his way. Drivers are strange about their routes and become very irate when you see them in the early morning.

This morning's breakfast was my favourite Cullen Skink soup, which I bought in two tins yesterday!⁣

Strolled a short distance before heading back to the M74 intersection close to Lesmahagow. An old man with his daughter in a pushchair passed me, paused, and then walked back the way he had come after passing me in a very odd manner. I got hay fever when the work men arrived ten minutes after I got there, they mowed all the surrounding grass.

After waiting for a while, a lorry arrived and transported me across the Scottish/English border to the M6 Southwaite service station. I found the driver's presentation to be unprofessional and cumbersome during the two-hour wait for the motorway to be cleared of debris from an overturned sewage tanker.

Because the truck driver liked drag queens, I tried to tell him that they were bad and that drag queen's shouldn't read kids' books in libraries. I found it unsettling that he chose to discuss his retirement in Thailand rather than this viewpoint. Prior to my exiting his taxicab, he berated me as a "Nazi Bitch." The next ride came from a woman in Scotland who was taking her old father from her home. She was kind enough to give me two snack bars before trying to drop me off illegally on a motorway slip road. She apologised when I explained the possible situation with the police and exiting, I was dismayed at not being able to get back onto the M6 southbound. After checking my map app, I saw that I was a few miles north of a location where I had pitched a week prior, near Lancaster services. Hitchhiked with a man who was driving a Mercedes and bore a striking resemblance to the renowned footballer and England captain, Brian Robson. Additionally, the two were of the same age. Before departing the M6 to travel along the M56 into Wales, he transported me to Lymm Poplar 2000 Services. The first lift seemed to be a worker from a meat factory going to Manchester. I turned that lift down, and about an hour later, as the sun was going down, another one came.. My final lift of the day came from a man heading towards Whaley Bridge, who dropped me off at Tesco so I could use the restroom. It was erroneous, but I was determined to escape the shadows that were emerging from the submerging darkness of Lymm Service Station.

I set up my tent on a playing field after walking for an hour and a half. Every ten to twenty minutes, a very bright flashlight would shine right through my tent and wake me up. I contemplated that this is not an appropriate location for sleep shortly before succumbing to mental and physical exhaustion.

27th

Last night, I pitched my tent on inviting soft grass in a woodland located one mile east of Aviemore. However, I was abruptly awakened by obnoxious and impolite dog walkers. The tent is set up in the woods on the Rothiemurchus estate.

Refusing to let anxiety move me, I overslept before cooking some bean soup breakfast in my new cooking pot. The pot is of exceptional quality; however, I am uncertain whether the handle will sustain daily cooking. These items are utilized by weekend campers on a limited basis. That's all you're going to get because I don't do reviews for sponsors—not that anyone would want me to do that.

Upon reviewing my map application, I found that I had pitched a few yards away from the East Highland Way. Aviemore used to be a place I liked because I thought it was friendly and full of walkers, but now I don't think it's that great. I walked to the junction of the A9 south of the village and was given a ride by a Polish man who was en route to Perth. A retired university professor driving a red car, heading to Edinburgh, gave me a lift and asked if I wanted to stop at Kinross. Before I disembarked on the outer ring road, she recommended that I visit central Edinburgh. I don't want to go into the centre of Edinburgh because it's full of things that remind me of the trauma I went through while living on the streets of London for two years.

The Blair Athol woman was very snobbish and scoffed at nearly everything I said. I traversed the ring road and subsequently proceeded east along Glasgow Road for a few miles before being picked up by a Spanish individual who transported me to the heart of Falkirk. At a small park, I prepared soup and sipped coffee before departing to find another suitable location to hitch. I walked to Bonnybridge and waited at the M876 junction 1. I was picked up by a man who was en route to visit his girlfriend. He diverted his attention and delivered me to a deserted Road Chef Bothwell service station on the M74. The sun had gone down, but I couldn't find a safe place to set up my tent. After an additional hour of waiting, a man pulled over and led me fifty miles to a junction where Tesco's supermarket and a truck stop are located. I ate a £3.50 meal before setting up my tent in a nearby forest.

26th

Today, I set out on another journey north with a nervous start, clenching my teeth as I left the comfort of my friend's house. She deposited me at junction 13 of the M5. After waiting for twenty minutes, a woman came along and offered to give me a ride to the Tewksbury junction of the M5. A trade plater, who delivers cars, gave me the next lift and drove me up to the Charnock service station. The sign really disturbed me, but I guess it's required by law because the CCTV cameras are hidden.

The next lift came from a Northern Irish man who had resettled in Scotland. He had a strong alcohol odour, stated that he was returning by car from London after seeing his daughter; he took me to Gretna Green service station. My next lift came from a truck driver heading to Aberdeen, who drove me all the way to Perth. The final lift of the day was provided by an Economist who was travelling from London to visit his mother in the Black Isle. I was dropped off at the local BP garage in Aviemore, where I purchased some items before proceeding to the pub to commemorate the 381 miles (613.16 km) I had just travelled with a pint of Guinness.

25th

This morning, a friend and I drove to Cheltenham. Along the way, we stopped in the Montpellier area and had breakfast at Baker and Graze, which is currently Cheltenham's best artisan café. Subsequently, I visited my building society to obtain a debit card and withdraw funds. Purchased a new sleeping bag, tent pegs, and cooking pot from a camping store. Additionally, acquired two pairs of leggings and a new plug adapter.

My friend and I said goodbye at the Cheltenham train station. I walked north because train tickets were so expensive (£20 from Cheltenham to Evesham!), and I couldn't afford them. I proceeded eastward on a footpath, passing a leisure centre before turning north to walk through Pitville Park until I reached the pump rooms.

While walking north toward Bishop's Cleave from Cheltenham, I observed the Malvern hills to the west and Cleave hill to the east.

I paused for five minutes on a public bench to gather my thoughts before proceeding north. Along the way, I passed the renowned Gold Cup racecourse in Cheltenham and a steam railway station that advertised an event at the end of May. I walked three miles and reached the small town of Bishop's Cleave.

Before my friend arrived and transported me back to Nailsworth, I visited both of the two pubs that are situated along the main street. We ate grilled fish in the evening. The mushrooms and peppers that were cooked over an open wood fire and served were incredibly tasty.

Spending the past two days at the residence of a friend, I have endeavoured to complete my blog. I intend to fill the gaps between the dates with information about my experiences during my travels across the UK in the near future, once I have access to a desktop computer.

23rd-24th

Rested at a friends house and worked all day and night both Saturday and Sunday, updating my blog with descriptions and pictures of my travels.

22nd

Woke up inside my tent that was pitched on a bridleway half mile away from a cotswold village named Coates.

After a chat with my faery friend over the phone I returned to stay with her in Nailsworth for a few extra days.

21st

On Saturday and Sunday, I stayed at a friend's residence and worked throughout the day and night to update my blog with images and descriptions of my travels.

20th

I was awakened in my tent at the Nature Reserve's Scorton Picnic Site. I'd rather not be woken up by dog walkers; I'm sick of them.⁚

Having recently returned from the untamed highlands, I thought there wouldn't be much to see here, but the images below showed many breathtaking sights.

Road kill is always senseless.

I had one pound fifty pence left in my pocket and was wondering if this was enough money for a cup of tea until I found a snack van on a countryside lane facing the service station. A nice man and woman sold me a cup of tea for fifty pence. They not only gave me hot water and a tea bag, but they also added milk and stirred in sugar for me. I thought, "service these days." We talked for a while, I had three cups of tea, and they gave me a free egg buttie. Before getting a ride from a woman driving to Keele M6 Service Station, I used the station for a shit. The last lift of the day came from a professional photographer who was also an amateur boxer going toward Portsmouth. After a long conversation, he offered to take me into Stroud by rerouting slightly away from his original route.

19th

I continued my hitchhiking journey on the following day, having resolved to depart Scotland a few days prior. The first ride was very creepy, a guy returning to Perth after visiting his girlfriend in Blair Gowie.

The walk south from Perth to the lay-by on the A9 took nearly two hours. A taxi driver finally stopped and took me all the way to Glasgow Airport, after many cars had gone by. To get to Hamilton, I hitched another ride. From here, I walked through Larkhall and onto the M74. The next ride got me to Carlisle, and then another to T-bay services from an old man with very long nails. As I put my backpack in the back of his van, I saw twenty dead pheasants. At Lancaster Service Station, the evening came to a close.

Before leaving the gas station, I did think about where I could sleep, but the nearby woods were full of noisy crows. Luckily for me, the service station had a foot bridge which was more surreal than creepy, thinking back and looking at the above picture, maybe both. After leaving the West side, I proceeded down a few lanes until I reached Hollins Lane, a village. I walked past the estate office for the Duchy of Lancaster, across a field, and onto the A6.

18th

Rhynie is the name of the village where my tent was pitched when I awoke.

There were sheep in the field next to where I was camping. It was a single man who gave me my first hitchhiking ride, and he dropped me off here.

After a long walk, a rat-faced Romanian drain cleaner who worked for Aberdeenshire Council gave me a lift. He talked about living in Italy before relocating to Scotland and stated that he wanted to live in China. When I asked him if he was bothered by state oppression, he said, "Don't believe everything you read in the papers," but I assumed that China owned that since it was all over TikTok.

As soon as the second lift dropped me off on the A97, I knew I was in for a very long day of walking. In fact, I had to walk eight more miles of road before I could flag down another lift.

Finally, after three hours, a woman who was visiting schools in the area picked me up and drove me to a small village called Dinnet. A police escort followed closely behind, almost tailgating, as I was passed by a silver Jaguar E-type (remake). Subsequently, a series of ranger rovers with passengers in suited and booted attire followed. I attempted to hitch for an additional hour before starting to walk once more. About three miles further down the road, a bus stopped and provided me with a complimentary ride to Ballater. The bus driver explained, "I stopped because no one in the vicinity would offer you a ride." Nearly immediately, I exited Ballater, passing by a small church where a kilted bagpiper was performing.

The next lift came when two roads met. The driver was a man who had just dropped off his family in Ballater and was on his way back to Braemar. He discussed the Royals and the local economy, including how companies were having trouble hiring people because there weren't enough places to stay. I always go to the river when I'm in Braemar.

There is also a beautiful burn that goes through the village.

An older woman in a camper van stopped and gave me a ride to Blair Gowrie. She talked to me for a while about something that happened at a campsite she had stayed at. We enjoyed fruit pastels while travelling.

It is unsettling to observe the same individuals in the same locations as I did over four years ago, as if nothing has changed in this town.

In Bluebell Woods, which is about a mile south of Blair Gowrie, I slept very well that night.

17th

I woke up in my tent, which is set up about three miles east of a town called Buckie.

The local police force visited me within ten minutes of arising from my sleeping bag. They said they had heard about a man yelling at the public and, with a bewildered expression, asked sheepishly if it had been me. I made a concerted effort not to laugh, believing that this is the best diversity training available! They left after I told them "No" straight out.

Furthermore, I packed away my equipment and walked down a long flight of steps, crossed a road and stumbled upon a beach. A person was there, her dog came to me, she said “she likes you, she likes you very much”, weird.

Further along the beach, there was a lot of granite rock. It made me think of Northwest Leicestershire, where I grew up.

About a mile later, I reached Findochty. I was thrilled to turn on the tap and find hot water when I arrived at the public restrooms. Right away I started to wash, feeling like I had found an oasis in the middle of a desert. The warm comfort of the water seemed like a dream come true.

Well, look at this coastal gorse! The yellow colour of the flower is so beautiful!⁣

A mere half mile eastward, I discovered myself in Portknockie. From this point forward, the coastline underwent a significant transformation, with the addition of caves and fallen rocks.

Plenty of people were looking at a rock called Bow Fiddle Rock, which seemed to be drawing many seabirds. I decided to take a five-minute break after dropping my backpack on the clifftop overlook and taking some pictures. Some people sung the well-known song and brought a blue birthday cake down. After turning away from the sea to wish the child a happy birthday, they gave me a piece of cake five minutes later, which was delicious and much needed for my energy boost.

The fishing community of Cullen, which is well-known for its Cullen Skink soup, was the next stop along this route.

Can you imagine our displaced highlanders sleeping here, driven to the cold North Sea winds of the East Coast by the Highland Clearances, only to be pushed into compact cities; subjected to depravities until they succumb to the alienations of the workhouses? People were uprooted and forced into colonisation, few wanted to leave their homeland, most suffered and many died along the way doing so.

Nature is also not without its casualties, the seemingly endless cycles of life, death, and rebirth go off, and yet on.

A little fish merged into the rock?

Cullen harbour was a lively place, much more people active here than in Findochty and Port Knockie.

There were numerous collectors' shops in Cullen. As I climbed a hill, I encountered this individual. They generate items such as this to occupy our thoughts. They acculturated our people to appreciate being placed beside themselves in order to dislodge them enough to appreciate it. Art is merely perceived from a perspective, correct?

I visited a nearby supermarket and purchased tinned Mackrell in tomato sauce. This small fish is nutritious and can be consumed from an opened tin. I visited a café on my way out to purchase a bacon roll. I have resumed consuming meat (pig) in an effort to prevent my upcoming B12 injection in May. After a mile of walking up a steep hill and another mile to a parking lot, I took a lift from Cullen to Banff, a seaside town. The driver directed me to a location on the beach where he assured me that it would be safe to pitch my tent for the night. I was approached by a seated elderly man who offered me money in exchange for sexual favors in a car park adjacent to the beach. It was evident that this was not a secure location. The walk back to the road to hitchhike again was long. After another ride, I got to Huntly early or late that evening. I chose to visit the castle, Clan Gordon's ancestral home, after arriving in Huntly early or late in the evening. There was a group of kids dressed in gothic clothes 100 yards (91.44 m) ahead of me. Behind them was a family who worked hard to get into the castle grounds before me, while I waited and took pictures.

One of the kids, who was Asian or Indian, desecrated the Clan Gordon heritage by drawing reverse Swastikas into the castle's gravel after climbing all over it while I was there. The illustration appeared to be engraved with a heel. I tried my best to hide this shame before leaving the castle by using my foot to wipe it off.

I left the Castle grounds and walked south through Huntly centre. After hitchhiking for thirty minutes, a woman working during lambing season gave me a ride to Rhynie.

I was told that she and her husband worked so many hours that they forgot when they were sleeping. She also described having seven dogs and living in a caravan! She elaborated that few individuals are aware of the hardships of farm life in the area when they observe the newborn lambs. I was shown a small wild park where I could camp, but the water table was too high. After I was dropped off, I picked a field with a view of the village and waited until nightfall to set up my tent.

16th

Last night, after midnight, I sought refuge on a playing field due to the persistent odour of sheep faeces. The night was cold, after all this is Thurso right? I hurriedly packed my belongings, distracted by the sound of cars tearing through the empty, chilly streets surrounding the playing field all night long with their loud exhaust pipes.

After crossing the bridge and walking to the water, I found a café van on the corner of a building that didn't seem to be being used any more and bought breakfast from two nice local women.

I sat down on a bench by a moment that looked like it was built to honour Atlantis as I walked east along the beach. I asked people walking their dogs about it, but no one seemed to know anything about it.

In the bitter cold of a windy morning, I had burgers and veggie bean soup for breakfast.

I hitched a ride from a University Professor (accountancy) and walked through and out of Wick, passing a football game. I got dropped off at a roundabout on the way to Inverness, where I caught two more rides (via Elgin) and got to a coastal town called Buckie just before sunset.

During the evening, I was troubled by persistent anxiety, which necessitated a considerable amount of walking to locate a secure location to pitch my tent.