The high road and the low, the long and winding, the lonesome, the royal. The open road and the private. You have the road to hell, the tobacco road, the crooked, the straight and the narrow. There’s the road; stretching into infinity, boardered with lacey mists favoured by sentimental poets. There’s a more dignified road of Mr Frost, and for Yanks, every four years there’s the “road to the White House”. There is the right road, then you have the road which more concerns me today; the wrong road. Which I fear I must surely have taken….
Jack (James Nesbitt)
How do you explain to someone else the feel of this journey? When I’ve been cheeky enough to tell others I’m “Doing a bike ride across Spain, will you sponsor me?” I’ve been asked for more details: “It’s the Camino Frances, the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, the tomb of St…
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