Hey, to say a big thanks to everyone for getting me past 50% and well on my way to being published, I'm adding a little extra extract from the book for you to read:
"Dreary eyed, I woke up confused because the sun seemed to have broken through the white walls of cloud which had encompassed my world for the past two days. The spit of the fluffy balls above me would no longer have to be contested with. Smiling down on me was now a bright ball of light which could only be a sign for a better day. I only had 15 miles left, easy. Well, parts of it would be easy. Let’s focus on that as I’ve been quite the grumpy shite so far, always good to switch up the mood. Frost-covered countryside always creates an appreciation of the beauty that you reside within. The rolling hills covered in speckles of brightness tingling in the sunlight that beams down on it can only bring a sense of awe with it. Standing in a field, knowing that you have walked directly to that place. No other transport. Nothing. It gives you a sense of not only pride but also, in an extremely pretentious way, it gives you a sense of freedom. I don’t mean freedom in the falsified American sense (to any American offended by this, please stop using the word as if it’s your mating call. You’re not free, you’re just not. ‘Leader of the free world’ my arse. Your country, like everywhere else, is so dominated and controlled by money that the idea that it is somehow the bastion of ‘freedom’ is utter bullshit. If you do feel like you live within a country based upon ‘freedom’, well done, you are probably white and have a fair amount of wealth behind your name.) I mean freedom in the sense that I wasn’t really connected to anything, I had no responsibilities or anything to do but wander the country I had inherited as my home. I can’t really put it into words but there’s something special about using walking as your only mode of transport, waddling along to your destination with every human contact feeling cherished rather than brushed aside like it is in the hustle bustle of London. The contrast from living in London all my life was probably the main reason it felt so different to be in the open expansive countryside surrounded by friendly souls. I’d also like to now retract my use of the word ‘freedom’ as I have just realised the reasoning behind my hatred of it. It is meaningless. Try to define it to me and then attempt to justify the exclamations by every American artist at Glastonbury of how much they love ‘Freedom’. Fuck off, seriously. It is just a bullshit word used by bullshit people.
That didn’t go too positively in the end. Oh well. I began to see the South Downs rising into the distance, this was my rite of passage to Brighton. I would climb the wall of green in front of me, it would be my final challenge to conquer. It was a bloody steep challenge, but I began to find the rhythm I’d been searching for over the previous couple of days. Step by step I climbed with little stress apart from a slight lack of breath. My reward: a stunning view over the miles of ground that I had just conquered. In actual fact I took little notice of the view behind me and focused on marching across the hills that lay ahead of me. Looking across the hills, you get an admiration for the beauty that stands in front of you. Hills as smooth as a baby’s bum; horses standing in ownership of the land around them; trees rising into the sunset beaming down on them. You could spend a day here and not be bored of staring and admiring the stunning design of nature. My feet seemed to have found some sort of inspiration by the setting around them as they turned up the heat. Then I saw it. Brighton. The edge of the city stood staring back at me. Tears began to arrive in quick succession. My arms rose into the air as I afforded myself a little jump of joy. I had done it! I had walked from London to Brighton! Fuck Edinburgh, I had walked from fucking London to Brighton.
It’s a unique experience jumping, screaming and crying with joy whilst standing on a hill with no humans in sight. Your screams of happiness are heard by no one but yourself. It leaves the concept of being self-conscious miles behind you with the last individual you saw. The screams and jumps can be as high as you want. No one will judge you because no one will see you. Of course I was reminded by a stranger that ‘you still got 2-3 miles to go’. My blister oozing out the puss that had encompassed it didn’t exactly help. Burst blisters aren’t the most delightful things, both in looks and the temporary agony they cause. I still hobbled on, however slowly. Seeing the arches of the raised railway towering above the road ahead raised my spirits, I was close. With a little break, about 5 minutes away from the station, for some inspiration from Flo, I climbed the steps to collapse into the hug of the concrete block in front of me (Brighton Station). It was cold, but it was comforting. Almost as comforting as the sandwich that Stan provided me on arrival at his house. It was definitely an improvement on the extremely average bagel I had purchased inside the cold concrete block. You know those really shitty mediocre bagel shops? The ones that sell bagels as if they are a luxury good and try to do things to bagels that should never be done to bagels. A bagel does not need to be changed. It is a treasure trove of sweet delight. Just leave it alone you wanky hipity hop bagel twats (they’d probably call it something like a ‘Bagel Bar’. Wankers.) But yeah, Stan’s sandwich. That was nice."
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