Wednesday, 3 December 2014


The full Hemingway - as described in A Moveable Feast. Coffee (that cup is a joy - it sings out La Belle France, non?), calvados and pencil and paper.
But the little shot against a cold morning can be the start of a slippery slope, apparently. And it can be hard, or even impossible, to climb back to the moral high ground. Apparently. Who cares, it's freezing out there and I've still got around twelve miles to walk tonight where I hope a wood marked on the map will provide shelter and concealment. As I get closer to Paris wild country, woods and derelict barns are becoming rarer. I contrasted the way of the wolf against the path of the dog (and perhaps that's also the way of Werner Herzog contrasted with Paddy Leigh Fermor, my two very different walking influences on this jaunt) in an earlier post. Perhaps for the last hundred miles to Paris I'll be more like a cunning urban fox.

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About Me

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I'm an independent writer on wilderness activities, slow adventures, traditional horsemanship and odd stuff. I'm the author of Paddle; A long way around Ireland (Sort Of Books), and i was the story consultant on the IMAX documentary on cowboy cultures across the globe, Ride Around The Word. The Slow Adventure sends reports back from the front-line of a slow and simple life; horses, kayaks, guitars, long walks, travel, books, simplicity, trains, travel, wildlife and the occasional thrill.