My way or the Saxon Shore Way...

I consider myself extremely lucky to have witnessed some of the landscapes that accompanied my foreign travels, but yesterday proved you don't always have to stray far from home to see such beauty. Taking a train from London to Hastings I set off on the 17km walk to Winchelsea, taking in the cliff top walk before heading inland to follow the Royal Military Canal path, through farmer's fields and finally up into Winchelsea. Here are a few photos to give a taster of what the day was like...

a full set of photos can be viewed here: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150400067050350.413351.703880349&l=1f3e653b38&type=1

A Dave's Eye View - Monte Coglians Wins.

Bridge over troubled water...

View from Embankement Bridge looking east, Thursday August 11th 2011, 17:05.

Panic on the streets of London...

What the hell has happened in London over the past few nights? Huh? Following the death of a suspect at the hands of the Police last thursday, a peaceful protest outside a police station in North East London descended into chaos and violence as cars were trashed, shops looted and buildings burnt to the ground. This then continued further afield on Saturday, Sunday,Monday and Tuesday evenings, and onto other cities such as Liverpool, Birmingham and Manchester.

But what does it all mean?

I have read so many differing opinions and analyses on the meaning of it all, the backdrop to it, the possible causes and consequences. And the problem as I see it is this. Everyone is correct. Those who argue one extreme, that it is just a bunch of lawless, violent, good for nothing scum, intent on causing damage just for the sake of causing damage, and doing so because they've witnessed others doing it, well, they're right. That certainly describes some of these people. And those who argue another extreme, that these are the disaffected youth of generations of teens and adults that have been let down by the government and local authorities who are simply venting their frustrations and angers in the only way they know, well, that's correct too. And if you then take these two extremes, add in all the people who come somewhere in between, that's a lot of people. Certainly too many people for the police to adequately cope with in the last few evenings.

Others have argued over the lack of police and fire departments to deal with the events, but I would argue back that you cannot expect a police force or fire brigade to be constantly prepared for what has happened. The police have been stretched to their extreme the past few nights. I have also seen a thread on a website message board where a number of people had verbally attacked a journalist who had taken photo's in Croyden during the chaos, saying he should stay out of the area, and questioned his qualifications and were quite threatening towards him. Below is my response to that thread:

This is the single most ridiculous thread ever.

I personally no not feel the need to criticise ******, because I believe in FREEDOM OF SPEECH. I will only criticise someone if they are putting the safety of others at risk. So far, the rioters have put at risk the lives of the public, shop keepers, business owners, the police, fire and ambulance services, and themselves. In a perfect world everyone would stay at home and out of the way, but in our modern world of mobile phones and social networking, the line between professional and amateur journalism is faded. All some of you are doing is creating a pointless thread of claims and counter claims that help no one.

On the one hand, journalism of these events is simply fuelling the fire (no pun intended) of the young people attacking our streets, who are witnessing the scenes in one area and copying them elsewhere. However, there are certain people who seem to think that London and other cities have only experienced a few ‘skirmishes’ and what is all the fuss about, therefore the pictures and reports are making the severity of the events clear for all to see. Both the amateur and professional footage is also being used to identify the many looters, thieves and thugs. Anyone who has read a paper, watched the news or listened to the radio has in some way consumed a form of professional or amateur journalism.

If ****** or anyone else wishes to report on anything, that is THEIR CHOICE, and if you want to stay at home and out of the way, that is YOUR CHOICE, and if you want to pick up a broom and help clear up the mess, YOU CHOOSE TO. If ****** asks people to join him, they have the choice to say ‘no’, or ‘yes’. But for you to then question his qualifications and motives, call him stupid, and generally create a negative and accusatory thread, is almost as morally wrong as the thugs who think they’re right to attack hard working individuals. This might sound crass, but what right do we have to verbally attack him, just as I question the right that these thugs have to physically attack our streets. Don’t criticise others for doing what they choose. Shall we ask all war correspondents to come home? Shall we ask all journalists in dangerous African countries to come home?

The events of the past few days are extremely fluid and there are no clear answers, I just pray that these people see sense soon and realise that this violence will solve nothing in the short term whilst only dialogue, discussion and debate will help in the long term.

All in all, I've no idea where things will go next. Once the mayhem calms down, which I imagine it will in a few days time, what do these 'protesters' expect to happen? There will be no sudden change in policies, or legislation, but there will be thousands of businesses and people affected for the foreseeable future. These people are destroying their own neighborhoods. Their own city. My city. And this saddens me greatly.

People smash up London

People clean up London

Into the unknown...

I seen to have had no words of late. Whilst my travels brought about blog after blog after blog, my time in London has ceased that trend. Somewhat like a kinetic energy that powers a lightbulb, it appears my travels powered my words, and now that I have been static for 3 months, no words have come forth. Well, very few at least. One thing is for sure, I haven't stopped thinking about my time away. In fact, recently I've been analysing it from a somewhat different perspective. That of someone who has been home a few months now, looking back to a time that is still relatively recent, and yet seems so far away. I've come to realise that I feel spiritually very different to before I left. I know, that sounds terribly wanky and pretentious. I'm wincing now looking back at it. Spiritually. What does that mean? I'm not sure I even know. I feel I see everyone in a different light. Us. People. Humans. Mankind. The World. Society. The Human Race. Animals. Because ultimately, we're all animals. We just happen to be the most intelligent of the animals. At our peak, we create the most amazing things. We invent things. We design things. We write the most wonderful words. Create the most wonderful art. Produce fantastic films. Direct amazing plays. Write the most beautiful music. But at our most primal, we kill. We rape. We hurt others. We hurt ourselves. We do the most savage of things, but with a knowledge and intelligence that other animals don't have. Other animals kill to survive. We kill to make a point. To feel powerful. To control others.

I've just finished reading the booking Touching the Void, and subsequently watched the film. In short, and without giving too much away, it's the story of two English mountaineers, Joe Simpson & Simon Yates, attempting to climb the Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes. Their disastrous descent nearly (and probably should have) killed them. It focuses around Simpson's fall in which he breaks a leg, and then Yates' attempt to lower him down the ice cliff using 300 feet of rope, then climbing down the 300 feet himself, and continuing the process. They're both descending into the unknown. No idea what is below them, trying to save themselves. Yates ends up lowering his partner off the cliff edge, into nothingness, leaving him hanging there. I won't say anymore incase you want to read the book or watch the film. So why am I telling you this? Because I feel a bit like that right now. Only I play both roles. I'm lowering myself, down into the unknown. Into the abyss. Over the edge. Only if I fall off, I take myself with me. And if I drop myself, I take myself with me. And if I cut the rope, it's me who falls.

And if this was a film, this is the point the camera would zoom out, leaving you in suspense, waiting to see what happens next...

My story...

Everyone has their story. And no one story is more important than the other, but every story is as relevant as any other. Back in the 'old days' people didn't talk about Cancer. It was a very hush hush subject. The nearest anyone got to mentioning it was 'The Big C' and even then many didn't quite understand what that meant. It can appear to be the most random of afflictions, and in truth, it is. The healthiest of people can wake up one day with it, whilst those that drink and smoke all their lives can lead a good life into their 90's. Most people will somehow have been affected, directly or directly. Most directly, my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer a number of years ago, and thanks to an early diagnosis and a speedy intervention by doctors, he was operated on and has had no relapse some 10 years down the line. Some years ago we lost a very good friend of the family, who was a wife and a mother, after a number of years battling the disease, and two of my good friends have been deeply affected, one losing her father 25 years ago, and another still caring for her father who has been unwell for a number of years. Most recently another very close friend of the family, and also my driving instructor, has been diagnosed with cancer and is currently very seriously ill. Although still in the early stages of diagnosis and prognosis, it was just a few weeks ago he was still teaching people to drive, just as he did me, and now he is seriously ill in hospital, unable to move due to a debilitating tumour on his back.

It was for all these reasons, and the knowledge that there are thousands others out there with similar stories, that I chose to do the London Bikeathon in aid of Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. So yesterday I completed a total of 41.4 miles in 4 hours and 45 minutes (7.7 miles from my home to the course, a 26 mile course from Battersea Power Station to Richmond Park and back, and then 7.7 miles back home). And as I struggled through the searing heat of the hottest day of the year, I thought about my dad 10 years ago, I thought about Rose, I thought about my friend's fathers, and I thought about Chris. My ride is dedicated to those who have lost their lives, those that sadly will lose their lives, the family and friends of those affected, and all those who are working had to find a cure.

If you would like to donate please visit http://www.justgiving.com/centuryofsponsors/

or click the 'donate' button below:

Leaving home...

Crossing north to south...

The start of the 26 miles course...

The cause...

The street...

Approaching Hammersmith bridge...

Richmond park...

Oh deer...

Lunch...

Half time near Ham House...

Putney...

The end (of the 26 mile bit)...

Battersea Power Station...

Hyde Park on the way home...

Back home...

this is a low, but it won't hurt you...

For the first time since I've been back, I hit a strange wall of depression last night. OK, so nothing suicidal, and if we get technical about it, it's not depression, there's nothing clinically wrong. So let's call it a low. I can give no reason why it happened, but as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I was transported back to my time away. In particular, I was taken back to Flagstaff in Arizona. It was quite a strange experience. As I lay in bed, with my eyes closed, desperately trying to sleep, I suddenly felt like I was no longer here, in Cricklewood, in my bed at home. Instead I was back in America in the front room of Scott's house, on the pull out sofa bed, wearing my long johns and two t-shirts to combat the bitterly cold weather outside. I recalled arriving in Flagstaff, and finding Scott's house. Within minutes of entering his home, I myself, felt at home. There was something about Scott and where he lived that I felt immediately comfortable with. I met his house mate, Felicia, and in the coming days, a friend of hers, Michelle, both of whom I got on with extremely well. And I mustn't forget Tobin, the dog, possibly the friendliest dog of all time.

It was during this almost out of body experience and recollection that I felt the sudden low.

Of all the wonderful amazing places I stayed during my six months, Flagstaff continually sticks out as feeling like a home away from home. During my stay there I visited the Grand Canyon, I went on a brief cross country ski, I visited the Snowbowl mountain, Walnut Canyon, the Wupatki National Monument, Sunset & Lenox Crater, made and ate Sushi, played countless Yahtzi, watched films, learned about new music, and basically didn't ever want to leave. It also followed my amazing Christmas on a ranch in Chino Valley and was followed by my trip through Vegas and Death Valley.

Six months later, I remember my time there as clearly as if it was yesterday. So much so that I'm randomly transported there at 1 in the morning. And the irony is I feel low because I'm recalling the best 6 months of my life where I met some of the greatest people I've ever met. It's not even a depressing low. It's almost a happy low. A happy low that recalls the high of those six months. A low that reminds you how high you can climb.

(I know this song is technically about the shipping forecast, but I liked the lyric "this is a low, but it won't hurt you...")

fate's hand...

One thing I didn't blog about whilst I was away was the untimely / frustrating / depressing / complicated end to my reign as bassist in Hatcham Social. I actually wrote about 6 or so blogs about it, but every time I went to click on 'Publish Post' I held back, realising that I didn't want to air my dirty laundry for all the world to see, plus I was aware that it would be a biased point of view (my own!), that may not 100% represent the situation. So everything I wrote about it was subsequently deleted. Having left England almost detesting music and everything that goes with the music industry, I pretty much decided I would avoid the music industry when I returned, and return to just enjoying music for what it is in the confines of my bedroom, and not in a rehearsal room or a van travelling hours to a far off venue.

And so fate decided that within my first week back an amazing opportunity would rear its head. Long story short, a band that had recently relocated to London would be needing a bassist for about 6 weeks whilst their regular bass player dealt with the birth of his first child, and would involve touring Europe, the USA and Australia. I met the band and their management, was sent their album and live tracks, a load of bass tabs, I rehearsed with the bassist and on Thursday went for a full band rehearsal where we successfully went through a number of songs. However, I wasn't going to celebrate the job until I had a contract and saw some flights and working visas in my name.

And that's when fate dealt a completely different hand. On Friday I received a message from their manager stating that completely out of the blue a friend of the band from back home in Australia would actually be in London and able to cover the dates from June to August, and as he already knew their songs, he would be taking the job. I completely understand the decision as it makes complete sense for the band, but after working so hard for 2 weeks learning their songs, it came as a bit of a blow.

So on Monday I start the search again for employment. And I've put my bass amp back in the garage. Let's see what cards are dealt next...

this is England...

One thing I know I did do was a trip up north to visit some friends, and take in a 20+ mile bike ride. The chosen date was April 29th. Not that I have anything against the Royals, or Will & Kate, I just didn't fancy being a part of the hoohah surrounding their wedding, so when Stef & Ryan suggested we go biking in Derbyshire, I thought it was a great idea. I got a train up to Manchester and we drove out to Derbyshire where Ryan had kindly brought along his dad's bike for me to ride. About midday we stopped for a break in a small quarry, and Ryan quite ingeniously took out a small cooler bag with 3 beers in it. We reckoned it was about the time Will & Kate were probably exchanging vows, so we raised a toast to the happy couple. The 23 mile bike ride took in some wonderful scenery following a disused railway track, and we stopped in a small village for lunch, and a pint. After so much outdoor venturing in far off countries, it was great be doing the same back home. If you're able to, take a close look at the final photo, in particular the top of the hill. This Is England...

time takes no prisoners...

What has happened to the past 35 days?

The previous 177 days I can account for, I was travelling from place to place on the most extraordinary 6 months of my life, but I returned home on Friday April 15th, and now it's Friday May 20th. I'll tell you what's happened to it. London happened. I'd forgotten how all consuming London can be. It takes time and crushes it into a small medium by which we live, and before you know it 35 days have passed and you don't quite know how. It's been great being back, catching up with friends, re-visiting my favourite parts of London, seeing family again, and where possible, getting involved in the couchsurfing scene here. Living back at home, I haven't hosted anyone, but I've been a to a few events and met numerous foreigners, either travelling through or living in London. It's been a great way to put something back into the community that served me so well for 6 months. But I haven't really had time to reflect on those 6 months, until the past couple of days. I finally put up the maps of my journey up on my wall, stood back, and just looked at them. I've also been sifting through the thousands of photos I took, and strangely feel quite disconnected to the images I see. Was that really me? There? Doing that? It's a strange sensation. However, returning to London does not feel like the end of a journey I started in October 2010. No, it just feels like an interim part of my journey. I've started to dream of being somewhere else again now, and am now looking at various options to get away this year, and even into 2012. I have no specific plans, just ideas. But it was only an 'idea' in March 2010 that I'd like to travel across America. 7 months later that I began that journey.

USA Road Trip Map

New Zealand North Island Road Trip Map

New Zealand South Island Road Trip Map

twenty nine years later...

1981

Everybody, meet my parents. Everybody, meet me. As a 3 month old baby. This was my first ever social engagement, at the wedding of my 2nd cousin Ruth, and Malcolm. Ruth and Malcolm then moved to Australia, settling in Perth. Twenty nine years later, their daughter Laura got married. Timing and circumstance meant I was still in Australia, and having cancelled my plan to visit Japan, I rearranged my flights to be back in Perth for that wedding, completing the most amazing circle. I can now say that I was at both the wedding of Ruth and Malcolm in 1981, and at the wedding of their daughter Laura, to Shahar, in 2011. This time round I could feed myself. And I could drink alcohol.

I first met their family at my brother's Bar Mitzvah 13 years ago, but I'll be honest, I don't really remember meeting them. Then a couple of years ago I met Ruth and Malcolm as they were visiting London, but those are the only occasions I'd met them. When I first came to Perth 4 weeks ago I arranged to visit them, and ended up staying for a couple of days, and felt very much at home with them. I very quickly found that I wasn't just accepting them as relatives who I didn't really know, but I also very much enjoyed their company, and were great fun to be around. Having departed Perth to visit Melbourne, Hobart and Sydney, on Thursday I returned to Perth. By sheer coincidence, I also have other contacts in Perth. From my birth and through much of my early childhood, my family were very close to our next door neighbors (not just geographically). A typical Indian family with many generations living there, there was always someone to babysit me and my brother, and we ended up installing a gate in our garden fence allowing all the children to run around from one house to the next. As a child growing up, you don’t really think about these things, you just accept it for what it is. But now that I think about it, it was a great thing to have as a child and opened my eyes to other people and other cultures. A number of the now married siblings have moved out to Perth where they are bringing up their families, and so it was that I arranged to stay with Dinesh & Asha. The last time I saw their son, Naynesh, he was about 7, running amok in our garden. Now he’s 22, giving me lifts in his car. How things can change. Anyway, I digress. Having spent a great few days with Dinesh & family, the wedding took place on Sunday. There was some concern that rain was due (a much needed first rainfall in 6 months for Perth but a poorly timed forecast for the wedding), but luckily the rain held off until later in the evening when the reception was well under way. The ceremony took place in the wonderful setting of a civic centre garden, not far from the beach. This was followed by a few photos, and then a reception and dinner at a nearby yacht club. Needless to say I had a few glasses of wine. And champagne. And ended up dancing the night away, waking up Monday morning with a bit of a headache. But that’s what you do at someone else’s wedding. Right?

2011

Going the distance...

Monday 28th March 2011

I've never run a marathon, though I have once cycled the equivalent distance. It is common knowledge that when running a marathon, or similar long distances, you often reach a certain point where you hit a brick wall, believing you can continue no longer, but once you persevere through that barrier, you find yourself on the other side, and able to make it to the finishing line. That pretty much describes my last 10 days. Arriving in Perth, I had no energy, and almost no will to continue my travels. Admittedly, I did have time to rest up thanks to my great couchsurf host Selby, who didn't really mind me just chilling out in her flat, as if it was my own. Now I find myself in Melbourne, and it's fast turning into one of my favourite cities. My four days in Belgrave, up in the Dandenong Ranges, were brilliant, both for the surroundings I was staying in, and my two amazing couchsurf hosts, Rhys & Penny, who from the moment I entered their home felt like lifelong friends that I just hadn't seen in a long time. Nearly six months of couchsurfing, and it continues to amaze me with its array of amazing and fascinating people. From there, I travelled further into Melbourne to Glenferrie, where my next host would be. Within an hour of arriving at Rachel's house I was at a local community event designed as a chance for local neighbours to meet up, where they were cooking up jacket potatoes in a brazier (I didn't know either, it's like a little BBQ/basket for holding hot coals, not a woman's undergarment). I also met Rachel's parents and various neighbours and by 10pm was having the most in depth conversation with her dad about my family, its routes, my life, and it didn't seem quite real that I'd only arrived a few hours earlier that evening. On Saturday I had arranged to meet Colin, an old school friend who now lives in Melbourne. I've seen him twice in the past 10 years or so, one for a burger and pint in Hammersmith, and then again in 2007 when we bumped into each other at Glastonbury. Other than that I haven't really seen him since school, when we used to spend a lot of time together and he was one of my closest friends at the time. We spent the whole of Saturday drinking in downtown Melbourne, met his girlfriend, grabbed some dinner in China town and generally continued like it was 1998 in Hendon. Only it was 2011 in Melbourne. When Colin told me he lived about 200 metres from Albert Park and would be going to the Grand Prix I couldn't turn down the opportunity to join him. I booked my ticket online and was all set for a Sunday afternoon in the park. In the morning I went round for a late breakfast at Colin's flat and then set off the park. The F1 race wasn't set to start until 5pm but there was plenty going on before hand with other races, and it was pretty much set out like a music festival with bars and music and lots and lots and lots of cars dotted around the course, ranging from old classics to modern racers. Strangely, the most memorable part of the day came when we went into a bar that had a range of live snakes on show, for anyone to touch or hold. They were all pythons, and at first I held just a smaller one, but on sight of the huge monster snake, I had to pick him up! He was big, and weighed a ton, but it was pretty cool having him wrapped around me, just being all snaky, and slithery, and, well, not slimy at all. Anyway, snakes aside, the Grand Prix was quite an experience. The volume of the F1 cars was phenomenal, and required the wearing of earplugs whilst the race was one. It's one thing watching it on the telly, but when you're track side and you actually see the cars passing at ridiculous speeds, and the air has a strange smell of oil and fuel, it's quite something. Once the race is over you can actually walk up and down the track (which takes place on the roads that are within the park anyway), and walking past the pit lane we could see the BBC team doing their post race analysis that I've watched so many times on telly. Basically, Jake Humphrey looks about 12. David Coulthard has the most chiseled chin of all time. And Eddie Jordan is tiny. By the end of the day, despite not doing much other than walking around and drinking a beer (or two) and watching fast cars, I was knackered, so made my way back to Glenferrie. Today I have been finalising my travel plans for the next 2 weeks, and enjoying the relaxed coffee shop culture of Melbourne (by sitting in coffee shops). On Thursday I go to Tasmania for a few days in search of the Tasmanian Devil, and next week I will visit Sydney before returning to Perth for the weekend of April 10th. "Returning to Perth?" I hear you ask. Yes, I'm returning to Perth. All will become clear...