An ordinary visit to the park turns into a near-death experience. As I dutifully pick up his shit, my dogs runs toward a busy main road.
Tag: newwriting
Backpacking in India: unexpected dangers.
Danger comes from unexpected places in India. Perilous roads, the ever-present risk of shitting oneself. We had a long list of potential hazards. But little brown Geckos were not included.
Unexpected Dangers in India
In India the perilous roads, the ever-present risk of shitting oneself were both expected. We quickly learned that there are unexpected dangers too.
Backpacking in India: a cautionary tale about farting
Budget travel brings an unavoidable level of intimacy. Oversharing in extremis. De-briefings requested and given after each visit to the toilet.
Backpacking in India: avoid farting
Budget travel brings an unavoidable level of intimacy. Oversharing in extremis. De-briefings requested and given after each visit to the toilet.
Backpacking in India: arriving in Delhi
Carried by a motorcade of tuk-tuks through the dark, dusty streets of Delhi looking for a hotel room. It was like we were caught up in a surreal Nativity Story interpretation. THIS was the adventure we wanted… wasn’t it?
Arriving in Delhi as naive backpcker
We were carried by a motorcade of tuk-tuks through the dark, dusty streets of nighttime Delhi on a frightening, fruitless search for a hotel room.
Quitting university. Arriving in India as a backpacker
Age 22, I wrote a letter to my future self. In a moment of transcendent clarity, I committed my thoughts to paper so I could look back and remember that feeling. It was as if I’d been driving through a dimly lit, noisy tunnel. Coming out of the other side into silence. Sunlight. Sweet relief.
I quit university to see the world
Age 22, I wrote a letter to my future self. In a moment of transcendent clarity, I committed my thoughts to paper so I could look back and remember that feeling.
Naked
I’m naked. Well, almost. I’m wearing only a fig leaf. That’s the way it feels sometimes, writing this blog. Looking at my comfort zone through the rear view mirror. I enjoy it. But It’s exposing.
Embrace The Newtown Gnome
In a world of divisive politics, orange presidents and Brex-shit, we can at least agree on one thing. Garden gnomes are tacky.
Life with a Brachial Plexus Injury: protecting your good arm
You’re unaware your arm is resting up against a boiling kettle. The skin is burning but you can’t feel it. When and how do you realise? When you smell your skin crisping up like pork crackling?
A Life Well Lived
My tour was interrupted by an old lady who seemed to know everyone. She took my and warmly between hers. Not letting go.
onearmbandito 