This is the post I’ve been avoiding writing. I don’t really want to talk about Thailand, but as I strolled along the coast this evening, on a hot humid Sydney summer’s night, I rediscovered the urge to type. So here we are. My ten weeks in Thailand ended in mid-December, I flew back into Australia
This big black cat is magic. She is sleek and sultry, her muscular body sways with confidence as she moves, and she has these dark yellow eyes that could pierce your soul.
The habits and coping mechanisms I formed at that young age are very much still there in my behaviour. I needed them when I was that young boy. I don’t need them anymore, they’re holding me back.
My pulse thumped through my veins, my senses were firing on all cylinders; seeing, hearing, feeling everything. The bass line pounded through every cell of my being.
There is little pile of poo sat on the paving slabs right outside the front door of my sister’s apartment building. It has been there for five days, and has long since dried up. It bears an imprint of the sole of some poor sod’s shoe. Every day I note its presence and carefully step
I know that the umbrella I clutch in my hands, my only defence against the steady drizzle that falls gently from the dark sky, will be worthless if the storm materialises and Zeus himself unleashes his fury.
As anyone who follows me on Instagram will testify; I have positively loved living the past few weeks in and alongside ‘Vinny’ the van, as the two of us have toured up the East Coast of Australia. I bought Vinny a few months back, from an English couple desperate to sell as their flight back
3am. After a merciful couple of weeks of half decent sleep the insomnia came back with a vengeance last night. Having fallen asleep shortly before midnight I woke up a few hours later and laid awake for two hours hoping sleep would come back to me. It was not to be, so I’ve fired up
I kept my social media entries to a minimum whilst I was away in the Philippines recently, but those on their Instagram game will have seen a couple of stories and posts, enough to know that I was essentially floating around in paradise, eating copious amounts of fried fish, roasted pork and partially developed duck
In my last post I mentioned how I hadn’t been writing as much, partly because I’ve been in the midst of a hot Sydney summer, and partly because I haven’t felt much like writing. Simples. Towards the end of that last monologue, I made a comment about only writing when I felt like writing. What