Walk 2.

Herne Bay to Reculver via Bishopstone with two pals.
One each of the main genders.
Several hours including a stop at the King Ethelbert pub.
It was wet with puddles, rain and blown sea pieces. None of us lisp. I scoured the stones [with my eyes - there has been some pooling which has turned rather sappy...a severe infestation of smelly iron deposits] for bright items including yet more of those famously collectable [and now conventionally extinct] Smarties lids. But that ain't really art, and nor is this [cause I said so] so here are the images you wanted. I meant to say "here:". That better?

I don't understand.

This is a sign. A bad sign? Bad because of what it 'says' or what it 'means'? What is 'bad' about this 'sign'? Who 'cares'? Is life really bullshit? Is 'art' the most destructive concept on earth? Can I 'go' now?

My two dads.

There was an eliptical rock formation and there was writing on the rocks. Is that not incredible? Do you wish you were dead, or do you wish that I was dead? Can we get a poll on that? What about a pact?

This is a very boring picture of the beach near Bishopstone Glen. I hate it because there are no people and it is definitely utter crap and a waste of time and effort. A degree? What on earth does that mean eh? What's odd is, none of this matters at all. We are all free to be shite. Let's exploit that until we are dead.

This is a version of a digital image of a stained glass window. I liked the colours and now I couldn't care less. I want food and sleep and other things. Nyte.






