To the present.

I'm unhappy; trapped in this concrete jungle.

I'm in London. Again. I was taken in once more by the lure of the flashing lights, the petrol station at the end of the road, and a multitude of 24/7 supermarkets.

It's so unnecessary. I want a simpler life. I crave it. Yet I'm wary of leaving it all behind, and the relative comfort of four walls.

The current plan is to take the car and spend two weeks on the road, and two weeks in London. Not ideal, but business dictates. I'd rather jump, not paddle into a situation. I might lose all my possessions, but at least I can swim.

Eventually I want to be nomadic, perpetually moving from place to place. Exploring both my surroundings and myself. I just hope this is what I'm looking for.

Right now I need to save money. Urgh, the feeling of disgust as I think about it. Such a tiresome thing is money. The car needs fixing, and converting into my home! That's going to be a few hundred boof for sure. Oh well, at least I can practise whilst I wait.

I'm changing my diet in preparation, and I'm decluttering. I aim to only leave one suitcase behind. That's not the even the hard part. That would be cooking outside in the rain.

And one day I'll finish the story.

On route to the forest.

Never trust a sat nav. 90% of the time I wasn't going anywhere in particular, so I didn't need it. But when I did, he let me down. Good thing I could see the castle out the dam window.

Drove past some huge hills that looked like a wedding cake. A square one. Some random grass Tower of Hanoi pyramids. In the middle of no where. I have no idea. Someone had too much money.

Got to Edinburgh. Been there before, so nothing overly exciting. Besides it's a city, and cities don't excite me. I love the architecture, but then there is the issue of parking. I had a drive round, might as well. Reminiscent of Romford, but with more red hair. And more hills, seems every other road was a hill.

Bored of Edinburgh, I decided to head further north across the red bridge. As awesome as it looked, it was closed. The next crossing was over an hour away. I felt I was at the Brandywine bridge in the Shire.

I was on a mission to get to my WWOOF host. Can't be bother, ask google. It was only a 'short' drive to his place in the Cairngorms National Park. It was an incredibly beautiful country drive, but I wasn't in the mood for stopping. I drove past over ten castles, they were looming in the distance. Calling me. I even passed Hadrian's Wall without so much as touching a rock.

In England we have the 'national speed limit' sign, but in Scotland there are 70mph signs. Saves confusion, but technically, a caravan can go 70mph in Scotland, but not in England. And these A-roads are deadly.

I've arrived at the national park, it is full of Scottish Pine trees. OK, so I'm in Scotland, but pine trees are so boring. I want to see oak, beech, willow...anything other than this straight, boring pine. For miles.

Time to find Tom, my host for the next few days. Ha, sounds sinister. It wasn't, but I can assure you it was weird.  

The view on the Moors and foreign land.

Thirty cars queue to turn left at a roundabout. I'm having none of it, so I go into the right hand lane, go around the entire roundabout and then take the left hand exit. And in that time, only two other cars managed to turn left. I always find it amazing that people will just sit there like sheep.

Today I drove at 60 mph for thirteen seconds, with no hands. Unnecessarily insane achievement of the day. Time to find something more sensible to do.

But before that happened, I drove past a WV Polo. Nothing unusual about that. Except that this particular Polo had a yellow wing. And a red bonnet. A green roof and a purple door. Not idea what the boot looked like as I was too busy not crashing my car.

I'm now nearly at Scotland. I passed a road earlier through the Moors, that was so beautiful I had to stop atop the hill to soak in the atmosphere. Even today as I close my eyes, I can still see the scene unfold before me. The solitary road continued down the hill, disappearing with a flick to the left. The hills ahead, varying in colour and size dot the horizon. A large, bushy row of trees shoots of to the right, whilst the sun sparkled through the middle, emphasising the purple heather, which swayed gently in the welcomed breeze.

It's moments like this that make me wish I had both a decent camera, and the ability to use it. I decided to have a nap, so I could spend more time here, waking only when the midday sun had turned the car into an oven.

Continuing my quest north, I finally crossed into Scotland.

And the first thing I see is a giant Walmart, dressed up like Asda. Yes, I know they own Asda, but that is besides the point. Now I really feel like I'm in another country. I decided to investigate. The first 'unusual' thing was the African people. Lots and lots of them. Not Barking and Dagenham levels, but noticeable enough, considering the swathes of white land, I had just travelled through. Shame really. The food was different too. Obviously there was a haggis section, shockingly it was almost as big as the 'ham section' in London. The most awesome thing I observed? The sausage shaped like bread. I can't remember what it's called, but they were everywhere, and what could go wrong with sausage shaped like bread? Apart from the fact that I can't eat bread.

Welcome back to the journey...

Today I went to view Helmsley and Pickering Castle. I had spent the previous night sleeping near the entrance, so was the first visiting human to arrive. The employed human was very friendly and we spent an hour talking about the other local[ish] castles, and she showed me all of her personal guidebooks. Some were rather interesting, and some you'd want a refund for. She then proceeded to tell me all about the bats living in the tower, and how wonderf... before she could even finish her sentence I stopped her right there, thank her for the chat, checked the perimeter and told her it was time to leave. I don't have time for death on wings. Back to the road.

Was in a town [somewhere]  and a Co-Op HGV driver started talking to me. Not in a crazy way, he was blocking the road - in a crazy way. Anyhoo, he told me all about his job, which was fascinating. Imagine that, being paid to drive and there is a mini-bed on board! As usual he was totally bemused by my story and so we spend the next 45 minutes fascinated by each others stories. I may have to look into this HGV driving business, according to Jim-Bob, they'll be a lot of work as the government is adding a new legalisation, that all the old people are to scared to apply for in case they fail and lose their license. But, if I was paid to drive, would I hate driving?

I'm now driving through Yorkshire and the views are astounding. There is a steam train which runs through the Moors. I love trains. I don't know if I love trains or castles more. They each have their moments. At one point I used to go train spotting. I went into the station to investigate - mainly because one of the whistle-holders let me sneak in so I could watch the train depart. That was taking a while, so I went to the ticket office to check the price. It was £22. I took a moment to compose myself. I should have anticipated that shock, but I was unprepared. In an attempt to calm down I turned my face away from the price list, only to be confronted by 100g of 'penny sweets' for £2.50. That did not help. I don't overly like steam trains, preferring modern trains, especially in SWT livery. But nevertheless I went to see the departure. It was massive, slow to move, noisy and dirty. Not my idea of fun, and as soon as it moved 2 feet, I left. What? I'd seen it move, what more do I need to see.

After the excitement of the morning, and walking for ages back to the car, I carried on. I really should remember that if I walk down a hill, I need to walk back up it. You'd think after the 199 steps fiasco, I'd remember.

Today was another day where I needed to sleep laying down, so I searched for somewhere to stay. Off of the main road, off the side road, off the residential road, on a dirt track, I found a camp site. It was only £6 a night. That should have been my first clue. Nothing good was ever found for £6. The toilet was decorated with spiders. Not a war of the walls decoration, but it was fast approaching a barracks. It was disgusting. I always wear flip-flips in public places, but I think even nasty people would want protection from these floors. The sink emptied into a pipe, that dropped into a trough under the sink, and if you weren't careful, would splash on your legs. And believe it or not, people paid to house their private caravans on this site. And boy, do these people get excited. There were fences, gazebos, tables, chairs, pavement, decking, lights fake animal decorations, gates, hanging baskets, pot plants, wind-chimes, windmills and pets. And of course, lots of poor looking white people.

After that experience, today is the day I decided to make haste to Scotland. I want to go home. I'm tired, and my back hurts.

Bats, hands and stairs.

I'd had enough of tramping it, so decided I should camp for the night.

After I left the beautiful view, one which the owner didn't appreciate, I continued through the Yorkshire Moors. Finally, at 7pm, I stumbled on a campsite. It was £10 for the night. I could handle that. Yes, I had a mini-breakdown, but he didn't need to know that.

After picking a good location, I setup my tent. I did a good job. I had to, I was representing every black person on the planet. Unless of course there was some other reason everyone was staring at me. Maybe they'd never seen such an awesome tent before? I took the opportunity to shower and wash my dishes. The only charger available was in the shower block. Just leave it there whilst you're showering, said the owner. I tried very hard to not laugh in his face. You can take the Londoner out of London, but we'll never trust the countryside. A woman offered to charge Nexy in her 'pod cabin'. Slightly better. I managed 2 hours, before I couldn't handle the stress any more. Minding my own business, on the way back to my tent, I was attacked by a bat. OK, so technically (I've been assured), the bat wasn't trying to kill me. Yes, I was mildly screaming, and yes, everyone was looking. In my defence, it flew round me THREE times. It's not the bats you have to worry about, shouted the neighbouring human, it's the deers and foxes. He pointed to the forest. Great. My damn tent was a mere 20ft from the woodline. Note to self, trees are not fun in the night time.

I had my first experience of midges. Tiny little flies, even smaller than fruit flies. The major difference to our, beloved, fruit flies, is that they bite. Yes, that's right. Tiny flying bastards from hell. I got bitten twice. Apparently they're attracted to dark clothing. Midges, the goth nemesis.

After surviving the night, I continued my northward quest. Today I discovered Whitby. Very nice town, overlooked by the ruins of Whitby Abbey. Ruins is hardly the word to describe it. The scale, the magnificence, the sheer determination. It's awe inspiring. I walk around these places and feel a sense of connection. I'm an atheist, yet cannot help but feel their devotion. Imagine how much they had to believe in God to sacrifice so much for him. Speaking of the sky fairy, I went into the adjoining church. One of the few, if not the only church, to still have boxed in pews. Each box, had two rows of pews [benches for the uninformed]. Each had varying levels of opulence. Outside each door was a sign, dictating who was to sit there. Most had names - Smith, Edwards etc. Those to the left were marked strangers. And at the back, with bare wooden pews was the free box. For those too poor go to church in style. Oh how I love the Roman Catholics. It was in the church, that I found out what Whitby was also famous for. The 199 stairs. Leaving the church, I stood at the top and looked down onto the town below. It was beautiful, separated by a river flowing horizontally, a large metal bridge to the left, and the alluring view of the winding streets ahead. Mesmerised by the view, I descended the stairs and delved into the depths of the tourist trap. Quaint, period shops, around a twisted cobbled alley. It was crammed full of gifts, both tacky and tasteful. Scores of jewellers, specialising in local jet. Jet is a black stone, which almost seemed to sparkle when polished. They were extremely expensive. Shockingly expensive. For that price it should be gold, expensive.

I moved on in search of a snack. Mmmmm, a sweet shop. The longest laces I've ever seen, fizzy, plain and all those in between. Green ones, blue ones, rainbow ones! So many laces. I was in sweetie heaven, and I was only looking in the window. I walked in. He was giving a customer change. He proceeded to serve the next customer. That one, she asked. He picked it up. Two of them and three of them. He picked them up too. He put them into a bag. She handed him £5 and he gave her £4 change. Next customer. Mmmmm, I stepped back and gestured for the next person to take my place. I couldn't eat them. Have you figured it out yet? If not, let me enlighten you. He was using neither gloves, nor tongs. This big, sweaty beast of a man was using his bare hands to pick up the sweets, handle money and in between wiping them on the back of his trousers. I went to the shop next door and bought a Snickers.

I explored some more and watched the swing bridge open. Two large boats went through. I searched for saveloy and chips. Found fried everything else, but no saveloys. They had red sausages. I asked what they were. The counter woman didn't know. She asked the cook. He didn't know. Turns out, no one in the whole place knew what they were. I'll just have chips then please. Chips eaten and diet coke drunk, I decided it was time to go home. Home being Oz. And that was the moment I remembered the stairs. One hundred and ninety-nine bastarding stairs. I began. By the time I reached 80ish stairs I'd given up counting. Now, it was time to concentrate on survival. There were periodic benches, welcoming the lazy and infirm. I...can...do...this. Encouragement. I will make it. At this point, I was struggling towards the next bench. I sat down just as two pensioners walked past. Dammit. I had to get up. I finally reached the car, and spent the following 5 minutes, astonished I'd made it to the car.

Camping and the Yorkshire Moors

I drove for 12 miles without finding any fuel. These are distances, that as a Londoner, we can not comprehend. Went to the Hornsea Mere. A mere, is a northern word for lake, or glorified pond. Oddly, there was a sign saying - no fish and chips. Would it offend the fish in the mere, to see their dead brothers in batter? I highly doubt it.

Saw a sign for Skipsea castle. Excited as ever. It was an unmanned castle, nothing unusual about that. Opened the gate. Hill to my left, expanse to my right, with the English Heritage guide board. Aim for board. Pass hill. Reach board. Look behind hill, see cow. Assess chances of outrunning cow to gate. Seemed positive. Ran for my life.

Went somewhere looking for a camp site. I say somewhere, as eventually they all blend into one green blur. I asked in a chavtastic caravan site if there was somewhere to camp. No. The security guard however, did enjoy explaining to me how the company ripped everyone off, and suggested I check at 'Bridge Farm'. After a slight detour [read lost], I found the farm. The owner didn't have a campsite anymore. But upon realising I was alone and destined to sleep in the car, he let me camp in his garden. It was my first night camping since leaving London. Oh how the sleeping bag slides. We spent time moaning about the city - how much it smells, the noise, the dust and how stupid its inhabitants are. I couldn't disagree.

We saw a hedgehog in the garden, I've not seen one of those in years. Was bigger than I remembered. I touched it too, screamed, and got laughed at, but I touched it. The farmer, told me that cows are inquisitive animals, and if you look at them, they'll look back. I still believe they're trying to kill me using brain waves. Combine harvesters are massive and their tyres are over 5ft tall. I felt like Alice in farmerland. Last random farm fact, cows sell for £1000, but the farmer makes £100 profit. What a waste of time, with that profit margin, no wonder they're all closing down.

Scarborough Castle - the chav at the desk was exceptionally rude, and didn't even offer me an audio guide. Worthy of complaint, but couldn't be bothered. Later that day I was tailgated for 3 miles by an old white lady in a minicab. I know, so many strange aspects to that statement.

Driving through the North Yorkshire moors. Astonishing. Undescribably beautiful. And yet full of flying bastards from hell. I'd stop the car, and within seconds, it was swarmed by flies - so much so, it sounded like rain. I've never seen so many files. I couldn't get out the car. Such beautiful things, and trees and forest parks. But you can't. As soon as I stopped, they descended, hundreds of them. So sad. Should've bought some Raid.

I drove out of a forest track, which I'm shocked they let cars drive through, and I stumbled into a hamlet [small gathering of human dwellings]. Holy shit, I nearly crashed the car. Seriously. I'd found the single most beautiful view I'd ever seen [at the time, Scotland is awesome]. Through a gap between trees, the lush green valley dipped down, and then rose up in the distance, fields separated by hedges and stone, creating alternating lines from left to right. The odd smattering of trees and sheep, just emphasising that this was real, and not a postcard.

Finally after experiencing the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, I went bird watching. I saw more rats than birds. And also learnt that squirrels, although larger, are scared of them too.

Peer Pressure!

Well I've been ordered by two friends to get my ass in gear, and write a new post. So, here it is.

I've been so busy since I've been back in London. I've started working part-time at the bar I originally volunteered in. It's not as awesome now. Mainly my own personal issues with expectations and taking orders. There are some stories to tell, but for now, I'll stick to the journey.

I went back to the Humber Bridge to take another look at the heritage park. Once again, I spoke to the woman in the information unit. I stayed for two hours, talking about my adventures and the bridge. She let me charge my phone and even made me a cup of tea. Her husband appeared - "Look Mike, this is the woman I told you about - the one driving around alone!" Well blow me down, I was like a celebrity. He was more fascinated than she was. Their son however, couldn't give a shit, he was 3, and incredibly busy destroying flyers.

After I left her office, I went back into the park. I'm so glad I did, now I had the time to really look around. It's almost magical, there is a lively quietness, a connectedness to nature and a feeling of mutual respect. One of the rare places I'd visit again.

Had to wash Oz as he looked like shit again. Hanging your washing inside is one thing, looking like a tramp-mobile is another. It was £2.60. What a bargain.

The first view of Hull is council tower blocks. Oh what joy. A nice reminder, that cities are still crap, even in the country. My illusion is swiftly shattering. You can tell all you need to know of an area, from the Asda customers. What we learnt from that experience, is to stay in your car, and keep driving. The area was run down and dry. Brown concrete buildings everywhere, unkempt verges and fencing. The entire place was reminiscent of an industrial estate. The defining feature is that it smells so bad, it makes Dagenham smell like a Glade plug-in.

As I was driving I saw a church steeple. It instantly struck me that I hadn't seen one in miles. Perhaps not since leaving London. The South and North have mainly square towers, whilst East Anglia has its rarer, circular counterpart. What was flat, was once again pointy. It looked odd and out of place, but after driving past 3 more, it seemed normal again.

I went to the Spurn Heritage Coast. It's a random sticking out thing near Hull - or Ull as it's known by the locals. Apparently we East Londers say it perfectly. They should change the name to Spurn Death Trap. First you pay £3 to park, but you must drive down a 'road' first. Holy shower gel, that was insane. Once you get going, the grass is long. Savannah long. Lions could hide in that shit, long. I walked along the path. Let me emphasise that path, is loosely defined as an area where someone has once walked, and the 4ft grass is merely 2ft. And then to discuss the nature. There were warning signs to not touch the blah-blah-blah caterpillar as it's poisonous. You don't need to tell London people not to touch a caterpillar - why the hell would anyone do that anyway? There were bees, flies, butterflies and all manner of flying beast present. And species of flowers, so tall they should be classed a trees.

I walked past railway lines that went off the cliff edge, abandoned military huts and a old lighthouse. The whole area stays the same shape, but moves left a few meters every year. Across the 'path' and eventually onto the beach. The amount of litter was shocking. It looked like a market at the end of the day. I walked a good mile around it and was tired. I stopped and asked two humans how to get to the carpark. Oh, one smiled, just walk up there and follow the path. So I did. Fool. What was I thinking? I'd already experienced 'the path'. At least I had the option to choose where I wanted to go. This, was a one direction path. And no, not the singing idiots. After nearly killing myself, I decide to scrap that idea and keep walking along the beach. After a total of 3 hours walking, I was back in the car, driving down the 'road'.

I went back to the man in the parking office. I asked him for my 'London Achievement Award'. He didn't know what I was talking about. Well, I explained, after surviving THAT, Londoners should get a prize. He laughed, but not before taking a moment to figure out if I was insane.