March 2022

18th

I woke up pitched a few yards from the Ridgeway national footpath.

Just outside the embankment of Uffington Hillfort.

And fifty yards from the Ridgeway.

Before the dense fog arrived, I was able to capture a photograph of the hilltop.

I was unable to capture any images of the White Horse that I encountered today.

This amused me as I was travelling through the three-mile-distance village of Uffington.

Upon noticing the door of the Fox & Hounds public house opening, I decided to order a cup of tea because I was thirsty.

I must have walked another two miles.

I was thirsty when I arrived at The Woodman Inn in Fernham, another pub. I entered as the pub cook was departing. There were a few people eating at tables nearby when it was quiet, and I walked up to the bar to order a half-pint of Guinness. I was served by a barmaid, and after finishing my drink, I ordered another. This time, I was served by a French man who appeared to be disinterested in my presence.

While I was walking to Farringdon, I called a doctor's office and asked for some medicine. A few minutes later, I got a call back, and the person asked what medicine I needed. My doctor agreed to give me antibiotics, but despite my protests, no HRT. I received another call a few minutes later, informing me that a prescription had been faxed to Farringdon Chemist and would be ready for me to retrieve upon my arrival.

I packed my medication away on a bench after leaving the chemist, then I crossed the street and went into the "crown" pub. I was glad to find that the locals were friendly at first, but again, bad people came in within an hour. After a pint, I tried to pick up my bag but fell down from exhaustion. I tried again an hour later after drinking another pint and was able to do it. I walked for about thirty minutes before I found a place to set up my tent.

17th

Set up my tent next to the Ridgeway between Marlborough and Swindon. This historic road has been used for almost 5,000 years. When I camp here, I have spectacular dreams in which I see different times in our history, go back in time, and meet people from those times. It's a truly remarkable path.

The morning was bright and sunny, a welcome sight after the relentless downpour of yesterday, and I did not waste much time packing up.

Because distances are not always what they seem, Ridgeway can be elusive.

Despite my expectation to arrive at Wayland Smithy long barrow much earlier, my feet were in excruciating pain as I captured these images of our ancient ancestral heritage.

I didn't stay long at Wayland Smithy because it was getting dark quickly. My body hurt and burned from being tired, and my mind was foggy, so I stomped my feet to Uffington Hillfort and set up my tent for the night.

16th

Set up my tent next to Avebury's East Avenue.⁣

I entered into the Stone Circle and began to rise.

I wandered around the village for an hour then decided I'd go to the National Trust cafe for some breakfast. As I waited outside I was joined by an old man who sat opposite me; he was insane with conspiracy theories ho hum. I was also accompained by a Robin.

The glaring customers singing "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I" over and over again in Avebury's Red Lion pub made me feel bad, so I left Avebury right away and walked quickly east towards the Ridgeway. When we got there, the Ridgeway was completely flooded, and I quickly fell into it.

One of my walking boots filled with icy water, I slipped over at Overton Castle once more. It was my first long walk, and it turned out to be a terrible one. I got lost and ended up 1.5 miles off the Ridgeway path. It would have been easy for me to walk off a cliff in the Cairngorms, I told myself. It was time to toughen up, girl!

15th

I am excited to be leaving Cornwall today. This page will not be updated for an extended period of time, as I have not yet been able to acquire a portable computer to perform website editing. I will provide updates on my journey on my Twitter account until I have acquired a mobile device that is suitable for writing HTML, editing, and uploading images from my DSLR camera.

The manager of the lodging I was leaving paid for my ticket to Chippenham, Wiltshire, and gave me a lift to the station. This was where I chose to connect to get to Calne, where I planned to begin my walk at a White Horse on Cher Hill and then join the Ridgeway national footpath.

Before arriving at Cher Hill, I visited a public house and acquired a packet of crisps and a Guinness. I was quite hopeful about my new adventure. I had lived in Cornwall for eighteen months, essentially lifeless, and thought that someday I would be given some intrinsic value.

It was night when I got to Cher Hill. I traversed the hill and descended to the White Horse. I ascended once more and entered Avebury via the footpath.

When I visited the Red Lion three years ago, the bar staff was the same. I was informed that there was a change in the décor because the pub had been closed for renovations during the lockdown.

This time, the tee hee antics were held inside a house just east of the pub. The clientele, which I honestly view as both whacky and cultic, had not changed. I don't care for their antics any more. Had planned to sleep by the roots, which are a group of beach trees to the east, but changed my mind and slept outside the circle, just from Eastern Avenue and a half mile from Silbury Hill. The rest of the night was peaceful; I don't think I was harassed or followed.

13th

My BMX ride to Ideless Woods was my final one; I won't be buying another one or going back to Cornwall. Today, I am publishing only one image: a magnolia tree in bloom.

I attempted to sell my BMX and computer on the Facebook marketplace, but it was a complete sham; not a single inquiry was received. I genuinely think this dark city is cursed. Yesterday, I was in Saint Austell, and on my way back to Truro, I felt sick to my stomach from the haphazard ebb of the surrounding darkness.

10th

All day, I've been reducing the size of my things to make room in my backpack. Having thrown out so much, there are still possessions that need to be moved and sold; ho hum.

It's been over two years since I lived out of a bag, in February 2020. I anticipate that this relocation will be both taxing and stressful; however, I intend to derive as much pleasure from the process as possible; it is not solely about the destination, you know!⁣

1st

This day marked the beginning of a month that I had anticipated would be distinct for me. Today, I had the opportunity to interact with individuals who are preoccupied with an endless stream of narratives. I believed that I would acquire new coping mechanisms, etc. I've never been diagnosed with schizophrenia or psychosis, but I do hear voices, but they're just thoughts. My current thoughts are merely that—thoughts that, I think, have come up because of the trauma I went through as a child. I suppose some would describe that as "disturbed."

The train journey from Truro to the end of the line in Penzance was satisfactory. It was refreshing to observe individuals not wearing face nappies. However, the weather upon arrival was a slightly turbulent combination of grey skies, intermittent drizzle, and gusts of wind.

I was asked to arrive late so that others would know I was there, even though I arrived early for the meeting. For a brief period, I strolled through the town, capturing images of some nostalgic buildings and observing a staggering number of subtropical plant species.

People frequently told me I thought too much when I was homeless and living on the streets of London in 2010. It was during this period of extreme poverty and harassment that the narrative of my thoughts emerged.

The session took place in the back of a crystal shop, and I got there about ten minutes after the group had begun. As I entered a room adorned with esoteric adornments, I was greeted by a silver-haired woman. I was transported back to Findhorn. So arcane!

Due to confidentiality, I am unable to disclose any information regarding the group; however, my time here was highly beneficial and informative in numerous ways. I am of the opinion that mental illness has been the result of four centuries of artificial purgatory, which was imposed by the Vatican following Cromwell. Mental health is truly the final stigma to be overcome.