The gospel according to: FUCKEN ME. psalm 3 (page 117).

Blog 33

Reading my blogs I'm more than aware that I come across as a hypocritical arsehole that gives travellers a bad name. Mainly because I am, and I do. 

Thankfully I couldn't give a shit but as a show of good will to the people who may be reading this for any cultural travelling hints try eating lok lak or fish amok. They're both traditional Khmer dishes made out of food but if you get a bad one then you will spend the next day spitting what looks like moist dead skin and cigarette filters out your bum. 

In all honesty hardly anyone read my blogs, which I don't blame them one iota,but that just gives me free reign to write whatever shite I like, although I would like to think that I managed to make at least one person giggle but that's just an ego thing. Many people are very successful with their blogs. Many people are very organised, informative and consistent. I don't think I ever wanted that. 

I think I wanted to show that the world is still crazy and you can be crazy too. If you don't want to be, then the sterile, clinical western world is for you but for the few of you out there who want to say 'fxxk it' and throw your mast against the wind, regardless, then I hope you've found some immature humour in my immature views and values. As regards to respecting other cultures, you can't knock me. However off the planet I am I'm always respectful and always aware that I'm a welcomed but uninvited guest. 

I have not, would not and am slightly sickened by paying to fxxk whores. And fxxk the debate that it's one of the oldest trades. It's as old as poverty. Any motherfxxker who comes here to fxxk young girls is a cxxt. Girls prostitute themselves here because it's the poorest country in South East Asia. I, on the other hand help relieve a farmer of a bit of his crop and pay him fairly. So maybe I'm not that morally fxxked up in a life of hedonism...... Well, comparatively. 

Oh, by the way, I know I shouldn't talk too much but no one knows where I am. I've just been offered a job growing a certain high profit plant over here. I have a miniscule knowledge of growing and then only from text books because I'm law abiding. I abide by my own laws. Shit, sorry, I really can go off on one, hey. So, yeah, growing plants on an island in a river. This guy owns the island. It's only four thousand square metres but that's enough for a good little cash crop. You can only get to the island by boat, obviously, so It's a sweet set up plus the locals are cool with this guy and have a good relationship with him. No one's going to fxxk him over. He provides the seeds (autos, simple as), land, expenses etc and I'm head gardener. Oh, what a mug, what a fool. Well not really because even if the police are informed about it, which they wouldn't be, they won't bust anyone, they will only want their cut. Busting people is absolutely pointless for them. 

They will just want a percentage. Buddha bless them. So, a bit of TLC and a bit of cloning and a bit of seaweed and a bit of bat shit and we're all going to be eating broccoli all year. Problem is that I have got to manage to keep my self here until next planting season. Can yer lend me four dollars, Lez. So that's about it. Go on, fxxk off. Dancing on shite starts in five minutes. 

speechless

Tarmac cheese grater

Blog 32

Hi all,  

Sorry for the last f#@ked up blog. 

I was just leaving the planet but my typing fingers had a mind of their own. My mind was f#@ked. I'm still f@#ked now but that's just from getting f#@ked tonight (and this afternoon.) 

Just did a super hero thing (drugf#@kerman With a big 'D' on my thermals). Some poor Cambo kid just came off his bike. Yeah and on a newly bit of gravelled road. F#@king cheese grater territory. Anyway, I pulled up on my bike, twatted out of my mind and took control of the situation. Smashed out of my face, six beers hanging from a bag on my handlebars and a big bag of dope in my pocket. 

No f#@king helmet to be seen. and I'm explaining to the policeman who arrived on the scene how to take a wrist pulse because all the guys around me (Cambodians) where trying to feel for a pulse and breathing, in his stomach. F#@k. Anyway, F#@k that, my headlight is like a f#@king tea light. I can't see f#@k all. So I f#@king booted it. Screaming through the gears. No helmet, full moon above me and I thought 'F#@k it. go for it. You can't have things like that put you off hooning it'. So I did. 

I may just be wandering here because I'm pretty f#@king f#@ked at the moment, although my writing ability is, as ever, impeccable, apart from the bits I'm f#@king up. So, Im still in Camf#@kingbodia. I f@#king love it. There are so few places where you can live in safe anarchy. I've just extended my visa for another three months, although my money won't last that long but my mate is possibly sorting me out with a teaching job (done it before in Indonesia). It starts off at eight dollars an hour, which is f@#k all but considering that I can rent a bungalow with a terrace/balcony for one hundred and thirty dollars a month and drink a cold draught beer for twenty five cents it starts looking really f#'king good. My mate, Dan, is the guy sorting the job. He's paying off credit in England by working in Cambodia. Something he wouldn't have been able to do if he was still working in England. F#@k me. What's going on there then? 

I'm not too sure of the place I'm in at the moment. I'm in a fishing village of about 200 people. We live on stilted buildings that jutt out into the river. It's f#@king cool. I'm the only westerner here. 

Shops, restaurants f#@k off in to town. The guy I'm staying with is f#@king cool as. 

As I arrived he was rolling up a joint. He pushed a big ice cream tub full of dope at me, then waved a massive bud under my nose wanting to know what I thought. After a sniff and a smoke I forgot what he asked me, so we smoked a heap more joints. The score is that he leaves the big box of dope by the stereo and I can help myself when I want. 

I have just now and I've got a monster burning between my fingers (there's f#@k all sexual about that. I'm talking about drugs). This is such a huge joint......  I did actually pause then because I've got the sweats on. 

Anyway, I'm just talking shit now so for a summary: I'm in Cambodia. I'm in a fishing village that probably has a name. my room is over the river so I can piss out of my window (if i rigged up something to hold on to I could take a shit as well. En suite). That's it. Boring otherwise. 

speechless.

F@#k normality.

Blog 31


I've got so lazy that I haven't been arsed writing anything for ages. As regards to worrying about my next spliff. No worries there, 
Just buy a fxxxing big bag. Yep, still having fun. Still in Cambodia. 
I was going to get a flight to India but I like it here so much that I've just extended my visa for another three months. 
I got myself a motorbike so I've been cruising around on that. Riding in Cambodia is.... well... an experience.and the bike keeps breaking down on me. Had to adjust the carburettor on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere in a monsoon the other day. My only tool was a key from my padlock, with only a few hours of daylight left, which was a bit of a problem as the day before my headlight fell out, housing and all. 
So my last twenty odd km was down unlit roads in pitch black and if you knew what Cambodian roads were like you would realise what a f***ing adrenaline rush that was. 
Maybe the roads still there, maybe not. Anyway, I made it unlike the guy I saw in my mirror. He got wiped out by a cow wandering on the road. F***ing horrible. Both him and the cow f***ed. 
I would have stopped but luckily there were people around to help and it would have shaken me up for the rest of the journey if he was dead, plus it was a different model bike to mine so the headlight wouldn't have fitted. 
I've seen and done so many crazy things that I've just become oblivious to it all. 
I got someone to take a photo of me with a policeman while I was holding his AK47. I then quickly kneeled down in front of him and rammed the barrel of the gun in my forehead shouting 'quick take a photo of this' but the policeman freaked out and ripped the gun out of my hand before the photo was taken. So I'm  pissed off. 
That would have been the best photo ever. The policeman looked annoyed and bemused. I think he was a bit disillusioned. He had probably walked around for years thinking 'people respect and fear me with this gun of mine' and I destroyed all his dreams in one quick move. He's probably a broken man now. Oh yeah, it's my birthday today. I'm (L) years old. 
Time to get a haircut and start thinking about a career. FXXK OFF. 
Believe it or not I'm proud to be a long haired, bearded, scruffy, smelly, drugged up, freaked out hippy that's still falling through life at this age. Fxxk normality. You've got to admit, it's fucking boring isn't it. 
Long live the freaks of the world (including me... ok, ok, and you). 
Take it easy,
Speechy.

trying to find the rhythm off writing again...

Blog 30

So, Colonel Kurtz has left the farm. He's not allowed back either. He was causing a scene in a bar back in town the other day. He went into the toilet of the bar and walked out a couple of minutes later wearing his bikini. The man's going to get himself in trouble. A couple of days later he arrived at another bar wearing a scarf as a skirt, proudly admitting that he was wearing it because he had shit his trousers. TWICE! He just gets worse. Which is quite a tall order from him. I know it sounds like bullshit but believe me it's not. He's just another casualty of South East Asia.
I've been working with some Khmer locals, fixing an old fishing boat. These guys are real poor. They live in little shacks made out of tin and plastic sheeting. Some of them live in stilt houses out in the mangrove river. A bit like the floating villages you see. They haven't got a lot but what they do have they are very generous with. It's nice sitting around with them as they pass around sun dried fish and Khmer whiskey. A little old lady popped her head out of one of the shacks, smiled at me with a smile that would melt your heart and passed me a big bag of weed.
We had to cut a passage way through the mangroves to get the boat out onto the land. It took three days but it's on the land now and ready to be worked on. Sorry I'm losing track of what I'm writing at the moment because I've got the biggest pain in the f@#king arse sitting next to me, talking at me. He hasn't shut his f#@king mouth for the last two hours. I'm trying my hardest to ignore him but he's oblivious. He couldn't give a f@#k. All he's interested in is talking shit at you. It's a pity I couldn't record him for you to listen to. He's still going on and on and f@#king well on. Oh, for f@#ks sake, SHUT THE F@#K UP man, you want to listen to the absolute shite he's spewing out (worse than some of my blogs).
He's really doing my head in now.Thankfully he's pissed off out of here but now I've lost my rhythm.
Since arriving back in Cambodia I've stayed in the same area. It's not really touristy.The odd backpackers that cruise in only stay a night or two and that's generally only to access the jungle for trekking. The town itself isn't that big and doesn't have a huge amount to offer tourists but it does have a certain charm that grows on you. There's a small community of expats living here, Mainly French and English. The river front's a cool place to hang out in the evening. There's various stalls set up along there so you can kick back with a beer and watch the evening turn into night. I buy these boiled eggs from a stall there. They have half developed chicks inside them so a small part still has egg white and yolk but the majority is a boneless chick even with a fine coating of fluff. sometimes when you crack an egg open a floppy, semi formed boneless head will slip out. Basically you try and suck the whole contents out in one. I know it doesn't sound too appetizing but they're delicious. I ate six the other night but I was smashed.
I can't believe that I've already been here for about twenty five days. Why not! I like it.
In fact when my visa runs out I think I'll renew it and stay a while longer. I really need to make more of an effort to learn the Khmer language. I only know about five words and I've become really good friends with some of the guys around here but conversation is limited to say the least and the usual conversational charades can only get you so far.
I really want to have proper, meaningful conversations with them but a lot of the time I feel as frustrated as a leper with a touch screen phone. I have found that a decent amount of Khmer whiskey helps break down the communication barrier.
Speechless.

Colonel Kurtz.....

     

Blog 29.  

I've just spent the last couple of days in the middle of nowhere, hammock camping. I've been in the foot hills of the Cardamon mountains. The only way to get there is by boat, those narrow fishing type boats. The first part of the journey is along the river and then you turn off into the mangrove swamps, which get narrower and narrower until they become channels just wide enough to navigate the boat through. It's a confusion of seemingly identical waterways.

How the boatman doesn't lose his way is pretty impressive. Not as impressive as where I was staying though. After about five minutes of walking through the swamp it starts going uphill. 

The land at this point is moderately covered in new growth there is a spread of smooth rocks looking out to the mangroves and the surrounding mountains. A perfect place to watch the sunset. 

Just before the jungle is an open sided small building, well basically a roof but that's all you need. There's plenty of room to hang a hammock under it and plenty of trees around to hang a tarp and hammock. Needless to say, there's no electricity, no internet/WiFi, no lighting. 

If you want to cook something, it's real easy build a fire. 

Walk about two minutes up the hill and you're in thick jungle. There are old animal tracks that are now used as pathways for walking to neighbouring 'houses'. The nearest house is about a two hour walk through really dense jungle. 

My feet have hardened up enough that I did a four plus hour hike barefoot. Okay I got a couple of thorns but they pulled out real easy and I didn't even bleed. I've turned into a right feral shit. 

There's heaps of good crabs and shellfish to be had in the mangroves. The shellfish stick long 'tongues' out of the sand and you grab them between your toes and pull them out. I wouldn't advise doing that with the crabs though. 

There's two guys who live up at the roof permanently, Bodies of forty year olds faces of sixty year olds they only speak Khmer and one of them tells stories by dancing traditional dances. 

I haven't got a clue what it's about but its mesmerising. He fought in the Viet Kong and was involved with Pol Pot. 

His stories alone are worth at least a couple of blogs. These boys know how to cook. They know how to drink as well. 
They sneak off in the canoe to their secret little mangrove shack whiskey merchant. They'll get stinking drunk fall over, then drag themselves off to somewhere shady, where they can't be found and sleep it off, funny guys. 

'Oh that's awful' some of you may say. Well, they seem happier than a lot of miserable f@#kers in the western world and if you had been through what they've been through, you too would be guzzling Khmer home brew whiskey. 

I guzzle it because it's only $1 for two litres. Anyway, they cuddle me when they're drunk. They're so sweet. Shit faced but sweet. 

So apart from the cross dressing German Kiwi that's it really. Hold on. What!..... A cross dressing what? Yep that's right. You read it right the first time. Mani is a German but he's lived in NZ for the last thirty years and he likes wearing frocks. 

He also likes whiskey for breakfast......lunch and dinner. He's even got some really feminine flip flops to go with his frock. That's nothing! 

He came wandering out, the other day in a bikini. 

I swear I'm not shitting you. 

Now picture this: A sixty three year old German Kiwi with a back as hairy as his chest, wearing a bikini that would probably fit a sixteen year old girl, the inevitable bollock hanging out,Yeah, I bet you could do with a Khmer whiskey now. 

I'm going back out there tomorrow and I'm fully expecting an apocalypse now scene. 
For sure he's going to turn into Colonel Kurtz. 

Speechless, 
(and I f@#king was when I saw him in a bikini)

We all have two lives. The second one begins when we realise we only have one'

Blog 28

Bugger, I'm f@'#ked... Now I'm not totally disorganised. 

I generally remember to put my trousers on before venturing out. Most days I remember to clean my teeth. If asked my name there's, usually, no hesitation before I reply. 

I did forget what year it was once and I forgot my age a couple of times but everyone does that ,don't they? 

Anyway, I forgot to look in my passport to see when my visa runs out. Now in my defence, I was pretty sure it hadn't run out. It hasn't. It does run out on the 2nd of January. That gives me five days to get out of the country. No big deal, yeah. Wrong! 

It takes minimum three days to get my visa for Myanmar and that doesn't include weekends and guess what's coming up in two days. Which brings us to the 2nd of January. The visa may not be ready by the 2nd and if it is I need to get it early enough to be able to get a bus and a tuk tuk to the border which closes at either 5 o'clock or 6 o'clock and some cats told me that they tried to book a bus and had to wait two days. Oh, bloody great. I need a secretary or someone to mother me. I will look into what happens if you overstay in Thailand these days. It has become a bit draconian over here. 

The North's laid back. So we will see what happens. I'll go and plead with the embassy tomorrow. Maybe I could put my hair in a ponytail, remember to put my trousers on and tell them I'm a diplomat.
I may have to make adjustments to the plans that I don't really have. I may end up having to cruise back down to Cambodia because I can make it within thirty hours of travelling, not including waiting for connections in Bangkok to the border at Trat. 

The only reason I travelled all the way up was to go to Myanmar. I'm not going back to Laos because if I have to go anywhere I intend on using the whole months visa and if I'm doing that I want to spend it in Cambodia. Oh, why don't you come travelling with me. It's great. I'll lead you astray and you may even like it.
It's all so stressful that I've had to open a couple of beers and get all origami with some papers and write some shite. I'll do my research later when I'm in that relaxed, beef burger eyed, focused state of mind. Saying that, the Rasta bar up the road has got some live bands on so maybe I'll do it in the morning. Yes, that's it, I'll get up really early and sort all my shit out. Now, how's that for organisation.
Maybe I should open up a travel company. I quite clearly excel in organisational skills. I'm relatively well travelled and I can remember half of it, nearly.
So I'm back in Chiang Mai, especially to get my visa for Myanmar but enough of that. 

I'm sitting on the rooftop remembering what it's like to be warm at night. Pai is stinky hot in the day but as soon as the sun goes down the temperature plummets Doesn't stop the f@#king mosquitoes though. The size of seagulls. I watched three people die from having the blood sucked clean out of them within three seconds. I ended up spending more time in Pai than intended, through no choice of my own, because I had to wait for my new SANTANDER BASTARDS card to come through. The DHL BASTARDS took a huge chunk of money to have it safely delivered from England to Pai post office, two days to Bangkok, they quoted. It took another six days from Bangkok to Pai and it couldn't be tracked after Bangkok. What did they do? Give it to a f@#king tuk tuk driver?
As I was saying in my last insipid blog we were heading out to do the loop on our scooters. Ryan, Csaba (sounds like chaba, oh and I've probably spelt it wrong. Sorry man) and I. We headed out to Mae Hong Son. Ryan named us the Mae Hong Sons of anarchy. Yeah, live that one down. 

Although I was singing 'born to be wild when the road was clear and I did sing Thin Lizzy 'the boys are back in town' when I went through any one dog mountain villages. Man, I would have killed for some leathers. Look, the bands are starting soon so I'll fill you in next time on the ride. I'll tell you what. Before I go. I like reading things that travellers write on hostel walls. Some are good. Some are great. Some resonate. This one resonated with me. 'We all have two lives. The second one begins when we realise we only have one'........ 

Speechy.

It's beginning to feel a not like Christmas.

Blog 27

Are you all getting excited? Have you all posted your letters to Santa asking for a new crack pipe or a longer lasting erection. It's feeling very much like Christmas here apart from it's 32 degrees, clear blue skies, no tinsel, no Christmas trees, no endless, remorseless fxxking adverts, no carol singing bastards knocking on the door, no mistletoe, no Christmas lights or mince pies (thank fxxk) but I am pissed and can't be arsed moving out of my sofa, so I am making an effort to get into the swing of things.
I've been in Pai for a few days now. I've rented out a cheap 125cc scooter for about £1.50 a day. You need one here as most of the things you want to see are out of town in the surrounding hillsides. 

So I've checked some waterfalls and other stuff, all pretty cool but I can't be bothered describing it all to you. Well, okay, the waterfalls were wet. Will that do?
I've been cruising around with a Scottish cat called Ryan. We're going to do a loop from Pai through Mae Hong Son and all that. 

It's about 750 km, so that'll be fun on the motorbike equivalent of a stick insect. We're loosely planning on taking about four days. We were loosely planning on heading off today but it didn't happen. We are very loose. Now before you all start calling us lazy you need to know that we've had quite a productive day. We rode up towards the foothills of the mountain and my friend, not me, scored some dope off some old village women. Aggressive little bxxches. Absolutely no bartering etiquette. They ended up ordering us out of the village saying 'You no buy, you no buy' but being culturally sensitive we stood our ground and ended up getting a big bag for 250 baht. It must have been because they secretly liked us, although we were expecting some friendly Thai police to be waiting at the bottom. Now that would have made an interesting sight. Two long haired hippies trying to lose the police on 125cc mopeds while they're scattering a bag of dirt weed to the four winds. Anyway, may I take the opportunity to wish you all a very merry Christmas and if I can't be arsed writing before, Have a wonderful new year. 

Speechy.

The wheels spinning but the hamster's dead.

Blog 26

The view was amazing. Spew everywhere. It was shooting out of my face so hard it was catching the sides of my mouth and spraying into my hair. 

My arse was doing an impression of a Karcher jet wash. I could have cleared moss off a driveway with it. 

It was inevitable,food poisoning is, when you're travelling South East Asia. 

It's just a matter of when and more importantly where's the nearest toilet. I've only just shaken my cold off and now this. Luckily, it only lasted about half a day. The rest of the evening and through the night I just laid there, sweating thick grease. 

I could feel it dribbling off my chest like little insects running across it. You will all be pleased to know that I'm much better now, thank you and sorry for my lack of descriptiveness, it's quite early in the morning and although my eyes are open, the wheels spinning but the hamster's dead. My trousers are intact though. So that's a bonus.
Anyway, enough of this filthy, explosive talk. 

I'm now in Pai. It used to be a small hippy mountain village but now it's quite different because of the huge influx of tourists, such as myself. Yes, there are quite a few people with long hair or dreads wearing the obligatory baggy Thai type trousers and an ethnic patterned hippy bag but it doesn't have a authentic hippy feeling to it. 

It is chilled out though. I'm on the other side of the river which is nicely out of town and does have a nice relaxed feeling to it. The views of the mountains surrounding Pai is quite beautiful in the morning with a mist hanging low in the valley. Quite mystical. I will probably hang out here for a bit, sort my visa out and as soon as that's done I will be off to Myanmar. I've only heard good things about it apart from, expect to get food poisoning. So at least I've got a head start on that one. 

I wouldn't mind checking out some walks around here and maybe some wild camping, as I haven't hardly done any and I'm feeling a bit guilty about that. I had ideas in my mind of what this journey would be like but if you read through my blogs you will see how I've turned out to be a total bloody hypocrite. 

Oh well, at least I'm enjoying it. 

Speechless.

Life through a window of a bus.

Blog 24

Guess who's back? Speec........ Ive already done that one, haven't I. Well, you need to understand that I write when I have an urge.

I have very few viewers. I have even less obligation. 

This whole thing is for me to look back on. 

You are more than welcome to jump aboard the SS Speechless but remember I sail this ship and In times of literate scurvy you are more than welcome to abandon ship but only after the Captain. Where's this one going? I don't know yet. I may just meander through short thought patterns. We'll see. 

I came down with a cold. Nothing serious, just one of those snotty, phlegmy, energy sucking, lethargy promoting colds, So I laid up in Kampot for a while, travelling like that isn't fun and it's not fair to spread it around the bus. 

Dr Speechless prescribed me some happy pizzas to be taken daily with a combination of Klang beer and certain herbs that needed to be inhaled. I'm still in the remnants of the cold now but the good old Doc told me the medication would make me feel better and you know what, he's right.
Anyway, I'm in northern Thailand now, Chiang Mai, Nice and relaxed, good food in abundance. Lots of tourists like myself (well nearly) but that seems the norm these days. From Kampot I travelled to Bangkok on a combination of tuk tuk and mini vans. It was an arse of a journey as the mini vans are exactly that. I'm only a little guy, 5'8" and I had to sit with my legs spread like I was ready to accept. All in all it was about fourteen hours. The only good thing about the trip was that I had overstayed in Cambodia for six days. I thought that I would just pay the three dollar per day fine at the border. Anyway, the lovely immigration man, Dave or whatever his name was, stamped my passport and didn't even mention my overstay. Now usually these motherfxxkers try to fleece you for everything including three dollars administration fee. Me, nothing. Yippie. 

It was a double yippie with a bit of Cambodian cooking herb on top when another traveller informed me that they've just put it up to ten dollars a day! Man, creating your own reality can sometimes be a real money saver. 

I miss Kampot. I'm slightly homesick for Cambodia. On the road the drivers technique was, well, let's say interesting. He was the kind of driver who made you feel like you are alive! 

You just don't know how long for.
I laid up in Bangkok at a hostel called 'THE OVERSTAY'. Very cool,the guys who run it are the real deal. I've only stayed there once before but Flo, the joint owner remembered me and although they were full up, they sorted my out a couch which they turned into a bed for me. He refused to charge me for it, because he's a beautiful person. (I made sure I paid the girl for it when I left). 

He's so beautiful that he did a real show of solidarity to his friend 

(I hope I spell this right) Juanco. What happened was that the police decided to invite themselves over. All one hundred and fifty of them. They didn't even make a reservation. Anyway to cut a long story short, the end. Hold on, to cut a long story medium, they got caught with a small amount of electric tea leaves. They spent a couple of weeks in the Bangkok Hilton. Relaxing, socialising as you do. They shave your hair for free when you go inside, which I think is very generous of them, unless you dont' want it cut and I suspect Juanco didn't. He had the most wonderful thick, fat, solid established dreads right down to his bum. Not any more. So at a solidarity party, Flo shaved all his dreads off for his bro. I don't know why they didn't shave Flo's hair in prison. It doesn't matter. What matters is his gesture.
From Bangkok I took a train to here, Chiang Mai. It was about fifteen hours but easy travelling. I've been doing too much travelling in the last few days to have any adventures. There is one coming up though. I'm in the process of creating it. It's going to happen on new years eve in Myanmar and I believe I will be the only one doing it. Can't say any more at the moment. 

Like a good teaspoon full of phlegm I just needed to get this boring stuff off my chest. Then maybe I will tell you a story. 

Speechless.

Permit me, if you will, to regale you with a story from my past.

Blog 23

Australia, Darwin airport. 199?
So there we were, kicking back, people watching, ordering yet another beer in the lounge bar. 'What have you been doing? we've been calling your names for the last twenty minutes' I was, at the time, cruising with a really cool guy from Argentina or Chile or somewhere. Funnily enough, I can't remember his name. 

Wow, after re-reading this, I remembered his name. Guillermo. 'Here, getting pissed' I replied, 

Thinking they would find it funny. The even stroppier one butted in saying 'Go now, otherwise it's leaving without you'. 

'What, can't we even finish our beer?'. 'NOW!'..... Bloody hell! These girls were serious, potential Ryan Air staff, apart from they were pretty and one wasn't a gay bloke.

That was the only time that I've ever been escorted on to a plane by the staff. I felt like fxxking royalty! I could tell by the passengers faces that they were sick with envy. 

They had such a 'you lucky bastards' look on their faces. At least that's what I read it as, when they saw us swagger on with that dumb grin that only a drunk can pull of to perfection. 

Lighten up, I thought. You're on holiday. Look at me, I'm enjoying myself.
I had to get out of my seat to take a piss during take off, which went down like a turd from a high iron diet. 

The looks I got from the trolley dollies was, well, in my reddened, glassy eyes, less than professional. 

Upon exiting the toilet I considered trying to order a sneaky beer but thought better of it.
After a few days of rummaging around Timor I thought I would get a boat over to Flores. The boats in Indonesia need scuttling. 

In fact they all would have been, except for the fact that Indonesia buys all Germany's redundant boats and sails them until they sink, which they, inevitably do. I was on one that was sinking once........................but that's another story. 

Anyway, I got in a local bus to take me the dock. A small 24 seater thing, and there I was, I had a bit of a shine on and all was feeling groovy. We bounced down the typical bumpy island road. Until, the army decided to step out into the middle of it. Just like SANTANDER BANK, how inconsiderate. 

Around that time Timor was a bit unsettled, to put it mildly, and even though I was in a relatively safe area I did dribble, just a little bit. The driver stopped but refused to open the doors. He looked around at me, almost apologetically. I dribbled a little bit more but with good reason, because, apart from the driver, I was the only person on the bus. The soldiers of which their where about ten of, started shouting at the driver. One of them, going by his aggressive authority, was probably the leader, He started banging on the door demanding to be let on. 

The driver looked back at me again. I was getting quite damp now. The leader continued banging and started pointing at me. Yep, now I would, personally, call that wet. Obviously the other soldiers are now joining in working their way down the bus, banging on the windows now, pointing at me. 

The driver looks at me, for all I know for the last time as he opens the door. Oh dear, It's a dark patch about the size of a ten pence piece. Hopefully my t shirt will cover it.
The army leader storms on the bus with his comrades jostling behind him to get on the bus first so as not to miss any of the excitement or possibly to join in. 

He starts pointing in the face of the driver and shouting at him, then pointing at me and shouting at him. I haven't got much dribble left now. When someone uses the word recoil, as in 'recoil with fear', then the bus driver fxxking recoiled. Not as much as my mind, but enough.
The leader then comes storming up to me with his comrades seriously starting to jostle for position now. 

He gets in my face. He sticks his fist out. Sticks his thumb out of his fist and points at the driver with it. 'Did you see that. He wasn't going to let us on. I had to force him to open the door. 

I kept saying you've got another passenger, look, look. He obviously doesn't like army. 

Would you like cigarette, can I speak English with you. His comrades touched my leg, in almost reverence. I pissed myself with relief................

SAD PIZZA: 'Happy pizza, ple..' ' No, you no eat here no more. Last time you fall in my plants and break, you need pay'.......'F@*k, I'd better pay for this'.
Speechless.

It's the little things That really sets the scene

Blog 22

Even though my face is glazed with snot and my nose constantly dribbles, my throat hurts and my ears keep popping and then whatever popped in my ear immediately comes dribbling out my nose, again. Even though my bones feel like someone's stolen all my cartilidge and one of my eyeballs has fallen out, I'm still here for you, my beloved viewers. All two of you. 

This isn't what they call man flu due to the fact that no man could survive this. It's was even touch and go with me last night. I sneezed three times in a row. Anyway, enough of that, let's talk about me.

There are some breath taking sights scattered thickly throughout South East Asia. So many that it seems slightly over indulgent. But they are only a part of the S.E.A experience. 

It's the little things that really set the scene. It's the little old lady slowly making her way down the street, bent over, head facing down, eyes looking up. She has a length of bamboo balanced across one shoulder. It's about a metre long and on either end hang rattan style woven baskets.  one of these baskets has a small collection of jars. Someone stops her and she sits down on the kerb, places her 'tools of the trade' next to her, opens it all up. 

She gets some rice out of one basket and magics up a dark green, flat broad banana leaf. The rice is spooned on it followed by herbs and spices.... Culinary alchemy. everything is neatly wrapped in the leaf....Culinary origami. Money is exchanged. The alchemy set is packed away.

 She is obscured from view by a passing moped carrying a trailer the size of a small touring caravan. It has a roof as well and stacks of little red plastic chairs, enough to give a Spaniard a twitch in he trousers, hang of the side. Next to them are..... Well the list goes on but believe me there is more plastic hanging from it than could be produced by the Canadian tar sands. A wonderful spicy curry smell wafts past followed by the smell of warm open sewers. I could go on and at some point I will but at the moment my face is leaking. 
Speechless.

The Cambodian economy with Noam Speechy.

Blog 22

I've been advised by my editor(!!) to give you a little insight into average prices of general items you may need to buy while in Cambodia. 

So, here goes: Please be aware that Cambodia uses both Cambodian Riel and American dollar.

Toothpaste.   $ ?

Toothbrush.   $ ?
Soap.             $?
Shower gel.   $?

Shampoo.      $?
Conditioner.  $?
Deodorant.    $?
Laundry.       $?
Cigarettes. $0.50. -Camel, Marlboro etc. (or a pack of 200 of acceptably smokable Cambodian cigarettes $1.68) YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT.
Beer. $0.50- per ice cold jug. (some places you can get it for $0.25.
Grass. $1.00- per gram. (arguably the best dope in South East Asia).
MDMA. $15
Mescaline. $15-20.
I hope this is of some use to you. 

Visa is up tomorrow Direction Myanmar. 

By the way, if you're ever bored for something to do for 3 minutes, have a look at my youtube clips: 

I am here to promote irresponsibility and endorse carelessness. 

Speechless.

Franz Kafka

Blog 21

One of many reasons for my travelling is to loose myself and to, paradoxically, find myself. My planetary movement is just my way of making the whole process easier but for those of you that, for one reason or another, cannot travel at this moment in time, maybe this will be of consolation. It's a quote from Franz Kafka but I must credit the author Tom Robbins for bringing it to my attention.

You don't need to leave your room.
Remain sitting at your table and listen.
Don't even listen, simply wait.
Don't even wait.
Be quite still and solitary.
The world will freely offer itself to you.
To be unmasked, it has no choice.
It will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
Speechless.

Go wrong,to long in Koh Rong,prt 2, a super moon and a spooky Mexican,

Blog 20

We took what we needed to take and I downed a couple of beers. It helps with the transition as the veils fall away, allowing you to easily break through the fine membrane that separates realities. As Hilary Clinton and I were coming up, so was the biggest super moon in living memory. The sky over Koh Rong was clear as it pushed its way, with confidence, through the starscape While it was low in the night sky it was truly impressive. 

Noticeably larger than usual and the most beautiful peach colour. Hilary and I were feeling rather peachy too but we where just slightly higher in the sky. We wandered off, along a tree lined track in search of the full moon party. Now, sometimes, you just have to be an adult about some things so Hilary and I had already got our faces painted up with glitter by some pixie girl on the beach. 

So there we where, Hilary Stardust and Aladdin sane, floating off down the track following the distant drum beat.
It was still quite early on and the party was only just starting to warm up. We mingled, feeling, and slipping into the vibe. I felt a rush run through my body like someone had poured warm water in the top of my head and it had run through the inside of me. My fore arms had a sweaty, chubby feel to them. My stomach felt tickled with excitement. My lungs felt warm, watery and I could feel them wanting to breathe in deeper than usual. The calves of my legs gave slight pleasant spasms. I knew they had developed a mind of their own and wanted to move independently. Who can blame them. Then the inevitable beads of sweat broke out on my top lip like a salty moustache. Three... two... one... Whoosh. The next thing I know is that I'm in deep conversation with someone I've never met before. The conversation was beautiful, very intense but totally positive and we couldn't agree with each other more. On every subject. And probably covered most subjects. At the same time as this was happening, my arms decided to take a leaf out of my legs book and were slowly weaving and rotating as if trying to unscrew themselves at the elbow. The bottom half of my body looked like it was treading grapes. Oh well, it looks like it's having fun. Leave it be. The night carried on with many beautiful encounters dispersed with allowing my body to wander off in search of more grapes to tread. At some points I would walk off into the warm sea, the ripples around my legs shattering the reflection of the stars into a myriad of new universes. My toes working their way into the sand as if experiencing the sensation for the first time. If my toes could giggle there would have been bubbles of laughter popping on the surface of the water. Palm trees in my peripheral vision, I looked up at the night sky, the moon, the distant silhouette of another island and sighed a deep, long contented sigh. 'I'M HERE'. I thought.
As the night wore on other things wore off and just as the sky was turning deep royal blue (Gods warning sign of the onslaught of morning) I found myself lying on a bamboo platform just observing. Perfectly content, just observing. 

The night sky had an overlay of sacred geometry spread across it. It had meaning to it. There was a secret hidden in it. Many travellers, like many people in general are heavily tattooed but the tattoos on these cats were like nothing like I'd seen before. They emulated the geometry of night sky. Then like a dream you try to hold on to upon waking, the tattoos dissolved and the bodies either followed suit or just dissolved into the darkness beyond my vision. I'm still not too sure which. It was at this point that the big Mexican guy with his oversized sombrero stood up from under the palm tree and started walking towards me. 'How long has he been there?' I thought as he to dissolved a little more with every step, in front of me. The veils were being drawn closed again. Farewell my Mexican friend maybe we will meet again.
I fell asleep in a hammock outside a closed bar. I closed my eyes and plummeted into blackness. I awoke, more dishevelled than usual, paint and glitter smeared across my face. I was now surround by customers, who in all honesty had probably seen it all before. I was so wasted that I couldn't care less, anyway. I got up, stumbled into the toilet of the bar, had a slash and wandered to my dorm to recover. When I woke up later that evening my bed looked like a Christmas card made by a five year old. It was covered in glitter and sand............... Speechless.

Moral support.

Blog 19

My mate sent me a couple of emails complaining about the weather in England at the moment. Because I'm a good mate I responded with some moral support. 

Hopefully helping through the drudgery of his day at work. SUBJECT: Drama queen.
I do feel you're being a bit over dramatic about the weather. Have a bit of consideration for me, man. Even though it's already 8pm I still have to waft the bottom of my T shirt to get a nice draught up it. That's the problem with you. It's always me, me, me. 

I have to drink cold, soothing beer every evening just to keep perfectly comfortable and you don't hear me fxxking moaning. Do yer. Grow a set. Right, my mate, I'm off for a happy pizza. By the way, what's on your sandwiches today?

You see, that kind of friendship is priceless.

Speechless.

Now I know why the Italians drive like fxxking nutters.

Blog 18

I skipped off to get something to eat. This is how it goes: 'Happy pizza, please'. 'Happy pizza'. 'Yep, real bloody happy. I want it grinning from ear to ear'. 'Ok, ear to ear. 1st quarter of pizza: 'Oh dear, that's not broccoli'. 2nd quarter of pizza: 'The only good thing about this beer is that it's served with pizza' 3rd quarter of pizza: ' There's that dog again'. Last slice: 'Fxxk, I'd bette.....................................
Now I know why the Italians drive like fxxking nutters. They're all smashed off their heads on pizza!.

Speechless.

Happy, Happy, pizza, please!

Blog 17

The difference between 'happy' pizza/shakes and 'magic' pizza/shakes is wanting your mum and taking Thorazine for the rest of your life. Bullshit man, I would endorse both of these to any of my clients, if I had any. 

I had a happy pizza tonight. This is how it goes: 'Happy pizza, please'. 'Happy pizza'. 'Yep, extra happy happy'. 'Ok, extra happy happy'. 1st quarter of pizza: 'Nice pizza but I can't taste much'. 2nd quarter of pizza: 'The only thing happy about this pizza is the fact that it's served with beer'. 3rd quarter of pizza: ' look at that dog pulling a funny face at me'. Final slice: 'fxxk, I better pay for this'.

Speechless.

Debauchery.

Blog 16
The view approaching Koh Rong island is one of those views you don't need to take a photo of as it is deeply etched in your mind and as time passes, the mental photograph only improves. All that was missing was some black dude, leaning up against a wooden piling, singing 'sitting on the dock of the bay'. It is the eve of the biggest super moon in living memory. So I'm expecting chaos............ Nah, don't like this first person, here and now narrative. I'll save it for when I need it. 

It was the eve..........Have you noticed how I'm using........................a lot lately? I quite like it...........................do you? It made me feel like singing a sea shanty, until I saw all the backpacks. But, in all honesty, even though there are many like myself on the island, its super ultra chill. I expected to see drunken westerners staggering along the sand track, kicking a light covering of the powdery white stuff over their spew. 

We were the only ones doing that.
Kevin is great but so as to protect his anonymity I will call him Donald Trump (made up name). Donald has the best. The purest MDMA, clean synthetic mescaline and pure liquid LSD. According to Donald, his LSD contact is a seventy eight year old chemist who was one of the four original chemists to cook up the original California sunshine. I haven't googled it but I had no reason to disbelieve him. Donald Trump tore the veil many years ago and is now quite comfortable flitting between parallel universes. He dropped two splashes of acid on his tongue while I was talking to him. Contrary to what some of you are thinking, Donald is switched on and with it. He is alert and eloquent. A psychedelic scholar. Unlike myself. 

My friend, Hilary Clinton (made up name) and I were like a pair of kids in a sweet shop. and got a mixed bag. May I point out at this point that I've just pointed out that before leaving the un-United Kingdom of (formerly) Great Britain that I had not touched drugs apart from mild hash for about twenty years. I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in eight months and hadn't smoked a cigarette in two years. Oh, how quickly we slip into decades old habits. When given half the chance.
So it was the biggest full super moon in living memory and we were loaded and we were on the island of Koh Rong.........................but that's another story.

Speechless.

Go wrong too long in Koh Rong, prt 1 (The shit ship.)

Blog 15
The boat was about forty five minutes late, which in Cambodia is on time. There were, approximately two passengers for every life jacket. I think this was done purposely, for the entertainment value of the crew, watching the fight break out as the boat goes down. Die laughing. Why not?
Just to add to it all, the narrow walk way was blocked with fold out chairs to squeeze more passengers in and probably add to the crews entertainment in the case of an emergency.
I stealthily slid out the back and sat outside next to the big diesel engine which was held in place by an ancient strop and a ratchet that was rat shit.
The steel of the ratchet was rusted so thin that I kept giving it the odd glance, thinking 'this could go any minute and if it does, the whiplash will peel the skin off my face'. Are you having your dinner? Good. The toilet was the most amazing sight. I took a photo of it. I will see if I can upload it. Basically the floor, the walls and even THE CEILING were covered in shit. Now due to the fact that I didn't see any elephants on the boat doing 'dirty protests', my only explanation is that the toilet exploded. Boom! Oh shit! You may want to put your fork down for a second. On closer inspection you could see that it was dried and had been there for a while. The conversation between the crew must have been 'Bog's blown up again'. 'Well don't look at me, I'm not cleaning it. I'm in charge of hiding the life jackets'. ''Ah, fxxk it, the flies will polish it off within a couple of weeks and it's only the passengers who use it, anyway.
Entertainment boys, entertainment'.
Much to the disappointment of the crew, no one drowned and no one used the toilet.
Koh Rong island is, well................. another story.
Speechless.

Bloody double bugger,"Right that's it"

Blog 14

I've lost everything lately. I lost my mind on Otres beach. I lost my dignity at the village. I lost my soul on Koh Rong (it was last seen floating off towards the biggest ever super moon). I hope it's alright. 
But most of all, I lost my sandals! The problem is that I can't remember my steps to retrace them. What a bugger. They were nice too. Leather. Yes they were too big for my feet but that just stopped me from stubbing my toes. Now they're gone. Maybe my soul is wearing them. If so, give us 'em back, yer bastard and get back in my body! 
So, I waited five days.... shoeless, hoping they would turn up. It hasn't happened yet. So, the next logical step (scuse the pun) was to buy some flip flops. Yeah, right. Flip flops are only worn by masochists with strange shaped toes. I paid three dollars to walk like a goose with gout. 
I gave up after about twenty minutes and just carried them in my hands to show people that I actually am posh and do own footwear. You see, over here only the poorest of the poor have no footwear...... well them and lost boy travellers. Anyway, I lost my bloody flip flops within twenty four hours! I  mean that's just  abusing  irresponsibility. on the way to Koh Rong.. Bloody double bugger. Right that's it, I thought. You don't deserve anymore footwear Your just gonna have to live with it. So there you have it, no soul, no soles. But don't you worry. I'm creating my own reality, so I created Nichole, a Scottish chick, who is very cool and she donated me her flip flops. I don't wear them but I do keep a good eye on them.

Devlin had a bottle of vodka in his hippy briefcase. Devlin is from Wyoming. I don't know where the bag was from but it probably had a story to tell. Who doesn't. By the time we arrived at Sihanoukville we were all loaded. It all started early that day with breakfast of herb and beer soup wrapped in a cigarette paper. We fell out of the tuk tuk as the driver, traditionally, pushed a big bag of buds in our face, informing us that only he had the very best. Wow, what a coincidence because so did the last driver. We did the international sign language of  'No thanks, already sorted' by tapping the bulge in our pockets and winked at him. Wilting buds in hand, he watched us drift into the nearest bar and promptly order iced water and health juices..................Nah, that was the table next to us. When a jug of good cold beer is $0.50 you don't hmmmm and haaaa too much about what you're going to drink, hey. ( there is a tiny, little, cute cricket on my screen at the moment). So we kicked back for a while, having to put up with frustrations like wiping condensation off our beer glasses and looking at palm trees that were too lazy to even sway. They didn't need to. 
We were doing it for them. Because we're considerate like that. Then the boat to Koh Rong arrived. 
But that's a different story.
Speechless.