The first night at Goan Corner was pretty brutal. I slept alone in my dinky thatch-roof mud hut and starfished on the double bed beneath a light blue mosquito net. Through the cracks in the ceiling I could see moonlight. It was all very beautiful until the fan broke at 3am and I boiled alive, and a succession of coconuts crashed down onto the roof, and a pack of dogs got into a savage brawl outside my door. I forgot to drink enough water too, which meant I woke up periodically with weak trembling limbs, lurching in and out of tragic sleepy hallucinations of ex-girlfriends. But ahhhh, I’m used to it all by now. Continue reading
diary
India: Ferris Wheel of Death
Lily, Conor and I arrived in Hampi around 7am after a relatively easy night bus. After gurning my way through several hellish rides, at this point I’ve got night buses down to a tee. Long sleeved shirt and jeans to avoid the inevitable snowstorm from the pounding AC, a bottle of water, a massive, forced piss before boarding, headphones w/phone charged, an emergency jacket, and a seat rather than a bed – you can stabilise yourself far easier in a chair than a bed, where you’re left to roll around and smack into every surface available. I’m getting good at this. Continue reading
India: Swervin’ the Cops
I’ve been in Goa for two bloody weeks and I tell you what, if I ever see a coconut again it’ll be too soon. I’ve not stopped sweating; even now I’m sitting a little bit drunk alone on the terrace and my arms are so wet I could fist a cow. Goodness, fist a cow? Where did that come from? Nevermind, we’ve no time to turn back now. So yeah, I’m ready to leave Goa and start travelling again. In Rajasthan I craved company and parties, but now I’ve been here a while with plenty of both, I’m ready to go solo and begin learning again. Continue reading
India: The Peacock
Aaaand I’m still in Goa!
Yeah, pretty much as I planned and anticipated, Goa has been a little holiday within a holiday – hence the lack of writing. I’ve not been doing much in the way of exploring or learning. I stayed at Jungle hostel in Vagator for a total of ten nights, which was probably a little excessive but a lot of fun, and have now journeyed a couple of hours south to Palolem, South Goa, which I keep mistakenly calling Paloma, or Palooem, or Palooloo, because I’m thick. Continue reading
India: Goan Whirpool
I’ve had the time of my life and I’m filled with both the desperate longing for it to continue and the bittersweet reality that it’s almost over. Goa has been wonderful to me. It took me a few days to adjust to the humidity and for the guilt over doing nothing all day to abate, but after one week here I feel at home. Continue reading
India: The Hellbus
My fourth day in Udaipur was spent doing glorious beautiful wonderful nothing. Two weeks into my trip, and I was feeling exhausted. Heat and booze and a constant flurry of new faces and the ever-looming dread of food poisoning, which has ravaged literally every single person I’ve met bar me, all conspire to leave me absolutely knackered. I spent a half hour in the morning doing yoga on the rooftop with Sandeep, and then happily committed myself to a blissful day of fuck all. Continue reading
India: The Cleanest Lake in Rajasthan, Honest
I’m writing these a few days behind, so some days are a little trickier to recall. However, as far as memory serves, I spent most of my second morning in Udaipur doing very little, apart from nursing a hangover on the terrace. As time has gone on I’ve found exhaustion setting in; I’ve gotten lazier and lazier in the intense heat, and when you’re shattered in the first place, it quickly becomes a huge task to simply get up, get dressed, and leave the relative serenity of the hostel for the rapture of the streets. Continue reading
The Berlin Dairies – Time’s Almost Up
It’s the 19th of February, and these dairies have been running on for 18 months now. They’ve become less frequent, sure, partly because I’ve got used to life in the city and therefore am less inspired to write a 3000 word dirge fresh off the heels of yet another evening’s ketamine and kebab consumption, and also partly because I have, through no fault of my own (honest) been drunk a LOT. We’re not talking Oliver Reed or Shane MacGowan levels of astoundingly ever-twatted, there’s no need to worry, but certainly enough booze quaffed over a 6 month period to reopen Bärenquell Brauerei for a long weekend. Continue reading
2009
Look at these kids here. I was 13 years old. I first got their album on a pirate CD with ‘Arctic Monkeys pre album’ scrawled on it in black marker, and half the songs on it were recorded live in noisy bars. I always get caught up and sad watching videos of bands and shows and old sunny concerts, and I suppose this is what getting older feels like, and I suppose it’ll only accelerate. Continue reading
The Berlin Diaries – Seven Weeks Left
Fifty one. Fifty one days is all that remains of Berlin. I ain’t coming back here once I leave, you can’t do that. I’ll never live in Newcastle again, never Sheffield, never Berlin. Happy memories in all, of course – and that’s the way I want to keep it. If you meddle too much with the cheerful snapshots that crowd your mind, you risk tarnishing them with your greasy daft fingerprints. Continue reading