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My name is Gary. I am 22 years old. Everyday I wake up at 7.30 am and
dread the tube journey to work, where I sit in front of a computer screen
all day long selling holidays on the phone to life weary passengers of the
good ship ‘society’. In between phone calls I occasionally wonder who
I am and what the hell I’m doing here.
by Gary Anu Davison
A story in two parts
PArt 1
After almost a year of sitting in the office of the window, “Oi! Look! It is Moses! that these paths aren’t very well marked
half pretending to be someone who is HAHAHAHA!” I smile warmly to myself. & they always seem to take the ‘scenic
capable of sitting here I have lost any The last calls of Suburban paradise. route’, so I make the decision to continue
enthusiasm I ever had. All of a sudden I start my march from Guildford my march on the roads. The sound of
I am told I’m getting fired. The sides of in Surrey. The warm spring breeze the M11 motorway hummed peacefully
my mouth curl up slightly and I begin blows into my face. I am walking along in the background of my childhood, as
to smile. I feel a slight fluttering in my the motorway; hard shoulder towards did the noise & chaos of London traffic.
heart. I remember a quote from ‘The Portsmouth, my stomach rumbles, and So it is strangely comforting to be close
Pilgrimage’ by Paulo Coelho, “When we a thought about food crosses my mind. to the roar of oncoming vehicles whilst
least expect it, life sets us a challenge As if on cue, a large truck passes me I march towards my destiny. I walk for
to test our courage and willingness by, with ‘PILGRIM FOODS ‘written on many days along little French highways,
to change; at such a moment, there its side. I smile. For several days, I’m through picturesque Breton villages &
is no point in pretending that nothing walking the motorway and camping occasionally on fantastically ferocious
has happened or in saying that we are in scrublands by the roadside, trying motorways where the rush of passing
not ready. The challenge will not wait. to avoid the police, as certain parts of trucks can blow you off the road if you
Life does not look back. A moment is the road are illegal to walk on. I arrive daydream too deeply. I walk everyday,
more than enough time for us to decide in Portsmouth port, feet aching. I’m from morning until night, as the rhythms
whether or not to accept our destiny.” dirty, my hair in knots. This is just the of my heart become entrained to the
I decide to walk to Santiago De beginning I think to myself. rhythms of my feet & my experience
Compostella in Spain. I stand firmly at the front of the ferry deepens. The road is liberating me.
I march away from my parents’ to France looking towards the horizon, I sleep in Aire Du Picnics (public
house on the suburban edge of Essex the moonlight catches my eyes & for green spaces), closed campsites,
feeling nervous and excited about the first time in my life I know which farmers’ fields & roadside scrublands.
stepping out into the unknown. I carry direction I am going. For the first time I eat mostly bread, cheese & tomatoes.
a heavy backpack and my pilgrim staff in my life I feel that I’m not lost, purpose At times I become very lonely. I phone
that I cut out from a willow tree in a has found me. Santiago. home to speak to my girlfriend, Lisa
local field. As I walk along the dual After arriving in France I try to walk & apologise for things I have done &
carriageway towards the station, a official hiking paths with some maps that express my love more deeply than I ever
passing car beeps and I hear shouts out I bought before leaving but I discover have before. Every step I take towards
adrenaline rainbow
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