Today is a day to watch. The sky is cloudless, and filled by the nonchalant tones of a jazz trio that seem to capture the contented ambivalence of a city to its residents, and of its residents to one another. Turtles sunbathe by the pond in mass and ducks tune in and out to wet their wings. Smaller birds (which?) give chase to each other above, while in the distance a jet flies taking whoever to wherever, as if its tonnage of steel had always made up a part of the skyline. The camera pans back to the pond, where the by-passers watch the band play, and where whatever does not play, sits still in peace. It is a good day to be an animal.

I watch the scene for two hours, and see the future glimmer in the water, making promises to be as perfect as the day that conceived it. When the sun shines, every idea seems good and everything seems possible, and it is a time to be savoured, for sunset will not only bring the end to this beautiful sky, but also I imagine the fantasies conjured beneath it.

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Sexi Plexi, the worst lyric of all time?

I was rambling down the middle of the road in one of Milan’s less traffic-ridden streets  (a new pass-time of mine) when for no particular reason the word sexy came into my head, followed by the succession of words ‘sexy sexy made out of plexi’. My first thought was then who was it that said that? Then realising it to be the banana pancake quaffing acoustic folk singer Jack Johnson, and upon a second of further reflection, my second thought; this is undoubtedly the worst lyric of all time. Continue reading

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I like walking down airplanes. It’s a wholly different sensation than sitting on them. Whilst sat, the experience is so relatable to that of a bus or train or car, that all sensation of the surreal, or even of the incredible, in being on a huge mass of metal being hurtled through the heights of our skies, is almost completely lost. But when you stand and walk the length of the plane, the sensation becomes undeniable. Instead of the previous one or two windows visible at eye level, you now have them all available to your sights, and more, from your new height you see past the horizontal and deep down into the vertical. This inescapable message from the eyes then infects those other messages relaying touch and balance and position, and you immediately feel your legs lighter. All of you now fully realises the miracle; you are walking along an aisle marked upon a bed of metal, which in turn is suspending itself high above a bed of sky. You walk down and then back up again, and you feel like Indiana Jones in the last crusade faithfully crossing a bridge over an infinite descent. And then you reach your seat. And then you sit down. And then you don’t care again.

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Why I Don’t Write So Much Anymore

And so we arrive at this point (refer to title). It would now seem that gone are the former entries in which I’d state a grand return, before laying audacious plans for our future, whilst wildly celebrating it all with my rambunctious key-smashing and its resulting phonetic fireworks. With the last part of that sentence being synonymous for shitting all over this web page with non-sensical words (and indeed even being parsimonious).

Ok so I suppose at least some of the verbal defecation remains, but the dreams, THE DREAMS, they have deserted me. I stare at this page and no longer aim to delude you, nor delude me, nor delude the world, the solar system, the universe, the multiverse, no I come in truth. I don’t write here much anymore, and I know why, and I’m here to tell you.

It’s because I hate you.

No, I joke. I love you. I don’t even know who many of you are, but love you still I do. More than I ever knew I even could love people I don’t know.

But a quick step back: why am I telling you the truth? Because I saw it myself in a brief realisation. As much as I may ever try to deny it, this blog must in some way be accepted at the very least as (at least, least, least) some slight form of a travel blog (perhaps). The blog title being predominantly the major element in refusing me any complete denial of this. Hence, with the blog’s nature in mind, a silence here one could imagine may only result from a lack of travel.

But one is foolish! For travels I have made, more than one’s feeble mind can clearly fathom. To summarise briefly from 4 months ago, my path has been thus: Milan > London >Milan >Switzerland >Milan >London >French Alps >London >Milan >Morocco >Milan >London >Paris >Milan >Paris >London >Jakarta > Bali> Lombok > Flores > Reading > London. This all including boats, planes, trains, long cycles, motorcycling across islands… the whole shebang!

What’s more I’m in love, I have a girlfriend. Why don’t you know? Why haven’t you heard? What happened to that boy who wrote to you of 24th birthdays spent in the company of beautiful German twins (female), yet simultaneously spent absent from them, daydreaming to the past, questioning its formation of the present and why that present had seen me leading so much, or even (until then) all, my life alone.

And the answer for my silence is actually remarkably simple. Although I may have been to many places this year, I have not moved through them, as in I have not lived in one and then on to another. And yes, actually this is not a travel blog, it is instead a my life story and a sharing of my thoughts thing, and unfortunately (for you voyeuristic cronies) my life is now static, based in one city, attached to one job, connected deeply to a set of people who no longer change, but grow. The consequence of this is that I can no longer voice myself publicly. If I want to slag someone off, they will read about it, if I want to talk about how unhappy I am about something, someone may take it personally for some reason, if I want to talk about my students, I could get discovered as the tutor who tells the whole internet (/30 or so readers) the intimacies of all his student relationships. And I’m just too damn successful to even think of risking the latter.

Especially for you lot. Because I hate you.

No, I joke. I love you, and even without me here, I hope you can all still know that.

Until the next time my old friends. Whatever the next time may be.

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Years Together

Something fell out of Tom’s pocket and he swept it up again quickly.

“Oh you grabbed that up fast” said Jacqueline as they walked towards the party, “Especially for an old man like you now Tom”and she winked neatly. “One might be made to think you were just hiding something there.”

“Aha, yes” chuckled Tom, “quite right” and then he grabbed her suddenly. “But perhaps I was” his tone lowered, he stared dead into her eyes. Continue reading

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