After 2 days of ear popping, leg cramping and trundling luggage around giant displays of Toblerone (a permanent fixture in duty free since 1973), we’re now beyond the Orient, in a land isolated on the far side of the world. But despite that, it’s strangely familiar.
Preparing for a trip to NZ is taking time, but now flights and camper van are booked, and routes planned.
Only in death is a life story fully known, and in Peg’s own words her’s was long, sometimes bloody hard work, and toward the end a bit boring.
Tomorrow we’ll sing auld lang Syne, which isn’t an obvious time to go trail riding around Chichester, but there you go. It could’ve been different, but family got fraught, enough for me to head for the hills.
The plan was to fly to India, buy a new Enfield, and ride it back, holding tea parties along the way. But that changed when Rob, the dad of one of Theo’s mates, invited me to the Adventure Travel Film Festival – where I was smitten by motocross. Now an old Suzuki scrambler, that just qualifies as…
It was M’s idea to go away, so here we are in the Peak district atop the ridge behind Hope Valley just before the wind blew up and turned us back. We played a lot of pool, in the oh so swish Loosehill youth hostel, and a lot more on the super swish table in…
Mr. Grylls’ antics in the wilderness, remind me of Johnny Weissmuller’s Tarzan back in the day.
The post is titled after Nick Cave’s latest film. In it he talks about how he’s come to realise life can’t be understood as a series of linear narratives, despite all its many beginnings and endings.
An idea is brewing, to once again fly to India, and ride back to the UK, perhaps this time accompanied.
I recently helped with a show comprising a slapstick version of King Kong performed by The Smallest Theatre in the World, Bhangra drumming and a story about an ordinary child.
