Phwoar. Equatorial and sweaty. Decorative taxi-horse-equator-Santas jingle past. Meeting new people is a drag today. Let’s get on a sun-lounger by this ridiculous, perfect, lapping, blue ocean and wait for the world to reveal itself. If we must.

Phwoar. Equatorial and sweaty. Decorative taxi-horse-equator-Santas jingle past. Meeting new people is a drag today. Let’s get on a sun-lounger by this ridiculous, perfect, lapping, blue ocean and wait for the world to reveal itself. If we must.
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
Singapore has loomed in the humidity like an impending hernia operation. Or some boisterous relative you’ve been avoiding until Boxing Day. Continue reading
“Do you know what’s the best thing about flying in the morning, love?”
“Is this a joke?”
“No. Airport breakfasts.” Continue reading
You’re a cock. A wonderful, shining cock. You are absolutely wonderful. Glorious. The chicks all love you. Continue reading
Welcome to Kuala Lumpur.
The first I ever understood about Hare Krishnas was that you had to run them over in Grand Theft Auto to get points. 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
Woah dude, why did I forget my glam-rock bell-bottoms, fly-aways and two-tone, sport-frame, amber aviators? This place reeks of 70’s porn. It evokes images of densely smoky, sweaty foreheaded, Thai whisky, hold-all drug deals going wrong and pseudonyms used by former BBC children’s TV presenters for suspect sex tourism in patterned Speedo’s. Continue reading
Four teenage boys skip school and play gangsters, but when a tetchy, Greek kebab shop owner flips, the boys get involved in something dark. Continue reading
Rejecting the hullabaloo and excess of the Western world for a month of freedom in the East means you can throw a few vests in a bag and everything’s hunky-dory. Passport. Check. Wallet. Check. Vests. Check. Undies. Check.
However, prioritising the pure necessities for a rough and ready back-packing trip when you have a limited number of litres in your rucksack can present it’s own dilemmas. Here, our guest back-packing legend and seasoned traveler, Hazel Keeley gives her tips on keeping packing to a minimum. Continue reading