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
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
Bending down to pick up my bag, an Indian fella in front of me farted directly into my eye balls. Continue reading
Mysore immersion at the Ashtanga Yoga Bali Research Centre
Wow. I never thought I’d see the day, but I’ve shoehorned myself into some ludicrously tight-fitting, 80’s-teeny, pink, porn shorts and I’m wearing my hair in a double man-bun. A three week immersion into the world of Ashtanga starts here. Continue reading
‘Financially, emotionally and in terms of the pain or even death, I’m taking a calculated risk.’
Ron Lilley, Herpetologist
And aren’t we all? Continue reading
‘Think of a memory. Something important to you. Go on. The first thing that comes into your head. Allow the memory to come to you. Go deeper into it. In the next ten minutes, I want you to write about it. Consider the images, colours, textures, rhythms and sounds that you associate with that moment. Go.’
Jonathan Ogilvie, Film Director and Tropfest Winner
AFTRS Screenwriting Course, 2018
His house is OCD-amazing. It’s newly built and has a pool, a trampoline and sexy hammocks that overlook a beautifully manicured, Stepford Wives-type park. We’ve a swanky Airbnb rent with this guy in Margaret River. Ensuite, double, porn shower, fluffy towels and a clean fuckin’ dunny. The only problem is, this dude’s on meth and he’s desperate to hang out.
When the manager of a rough, local, Sunday League football team dies, a vicar steps into his boots and begins a journey to reclaim his joy in life.
I’m very pleased that this poem, written in India in June, is now in print and available to buy. Perfect as a socialist stocking filler. Continue reading
Day 34 Thursday 28th Dec
Well that was a rip-woofing time. I’m looking forward to my mummy and daddy coming home now. Last I heard they were in Singa-paw and on route to come and spoon me, yey! Orororororor.
I made a little video here of me at 8 months-and-a-bit old. Orororororor. I hope you, enjoy, Willowers.