Bending down to pick up my bag, an Indian fella in front of me farted directly into my eye balls. Continue reading
Addressing forgiveness, Martin McDonagh’s writing and execution goes beyond Seven Psychopaths and In Bruges to reach new heights in this blockbusting, dark comedy.
Eggs away! I’m letting go of dairy, eggs and fish for September. Enjoying a mostly plant based diet anyway, I’ve been irrationally granting an exception for these three animal food groups. Why? I’m not sure. It’s possible that it’s the last bastion of my psychological meaty-conditioning. Regardless, with time, I feel more and more distressed eating them. And hell, I could just eat something else. Continue reading
A trip up a hill in Pai.
There’s a hill. Just beyond the monstrous and sopping, elephants cock. Take a scooter. Go up it. Continue reading
Writing Retreat Bali raises money for Indo book charity
At Writing Retreat Bali, guests were challenged with writing a short passage that could be used in an anthology. It was a fun exercise with a truly amazing group from all around the world. Proceeds from book sales go to Ransel Buku, a project that supplies communities in Kilimantan with children’s books.Continue reading
Scooterin’ to Pemuteran (Yep, I just did that, so?)
Collette and I squizzed in on our rusted but trusted Honda 125 to a cheap and cheeky B&B in Pemuteran. It was red hot, dry and unforgiving like my wit on the third day of a session. There was a playful, older, Aussie couple downing Bintang on sun-loungers, they looked like they’d seen a few parties and even more relationship counsellors.
And there was Jesper, bobbing.Continue reading
Forget the knotted stomach that sickens.
Forget the struggle for steadying breath,
for the flickering glimpse of consciousness coming.Continue reading
Anxious and grimacing sex desperadoes. Massively overweight, sweaty and grease-laden, mulleteer perverts, all laced to eyeballs with Singha and STD’s. Thai hookers get a really awful deal. Continue reading
A few shots today after yoga in Bangkok
‘I dream my painting and I paint my dream.’
Vincent Willem van Gogh
Time means little under the shade of this bougainvillea porch at the side of a lonely road in Sant Joan. Eclectic rogues gesticulate, smoke, share stories and gather advice. It makes me want to learn Spanish just to earwig a little. All of the real island scoops are in these laughs and animated pats. Let’s go inside. Continue reading
‘Eeeyaah mate, your ‘air is cool as fuck, yeah?’
Compliments don’t come any more Mancunian than that. Thanks pal. The swaggering fashionista is obviously high and hasn’t had the memo that Definitely Maybe was 1994. Continue reading