A quick one tonight; I’ve got a date with Daniel Craig at the Devonport cinema (I’m going to see the new Bond movie, Skyfall). Daniel Craig, what a dead-set Alabama dreamboat… I’ve still got to have a shower too, because I’ve been up to my elbows in motorbike parts all afternoon LIKE A FUCKING MAN. Seriously though, I spent about 5 hours doing something that the motorcycle manual said would take two, because my hands are so big that I couldn’t access half of the bolts that the service manual stated, ‘are easily accessible by hand’. FUCKING LIARS! I’m about as mechanically minded as a Gaysian hairdresser too, so the learning curve is as steep as the setting that the aforementioned Gaysian hairdresser would set his Stairmaster to in order to keep his butt looking good in a pair of cut-off denim shorts (which, incidentally, he wears while working out on the Stairmaster).

Picture it…

I was in the sauna last night talking inordinate amounts of shit with a couple of mates when the topic swung to the claims that some people make about how they’re about to go on their ‘trip of a lifetime’. I mean, when they say it, they’re basically saying that they will never, EVER, take a trip as good as the one they’re about to embark on ever again. That’s just plain old fucking depressing, especially if said trip is some 21 day jaunt around Europe with a tour group. That’s my idea of Hell, not my trip of a lifetime. What sort of society do we live in where people are only allowed one real humdinger of a holiday per lifetime?

It’s generally young people making this ridiculous statement too, which makes me wonder… is it really an impossibility to have the best trip you’ve ever had past the age of 30? Surely not. After all, you’re much more likely to be financially liquid (unless you’re me, I’ll still probably be living week-to-week like a rosy-cheeked lush), have a great deal more life experience and know far more about what you want to get out of an overseas holiday. Of course, your beauty or handsomeness will have faded somewhat, so your ability to have fleeting, meaningless sexual encounters with footloose exotics (my term for foreign nationals) may be somewhat diminished, but not entirely so (unless you’ve been eating Big Macs in a darkened room while playing World of Warcraft for 5 years).

Whenever you’re overseas you’ll see them; youngish looking people wandering around, hands on their backpack straps with a gleam in their eye. These people are on their ‘trip of a lifetime’. Let them pass, you do not want to interact with them.  Why? Because if you do, the next thing you know, you’ll be in a non-descript outer suburb somewhere with a wife you don’t love and three kids you wish you’d never had, driving a late model family sedan on finance with a temperamental fuel pump, wishing that you still had your ‘trip of a lifetime’ to look forward to…

/end communication

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