Mr. Grylls’ antics in the wilderness, remind me of Johnny Weissmuller’s Tarzan back in the day.
The post is titled after Nick Cave’s latest film. In it he talks about how he’s come to realise life can’t be understood as a series of linear narratives, despite all its many beginnings and endings.
An idea is brewing, to once again fly to India, and ride back to the UK, perhaps this time accompanied.
I recently helped with a show comprising a slapstick version of King Kong performed by The Smallest Theatre in the World, Bhangra drumming and a story about an ordinary child.
Early morning hours spent waiting for any form of transport are especially hellish, and there’s yet four more to be had here in Calais before the ferry leaves. Time to sing the praises of a 14 year old Mk IV VW Golf, reflect upon a great road trip and… … wonder where next. Namaste
We ate what should have been our end of holiday treat-feast on a park bench in the drizzle, much to the bemusement of passing joggers.
Kings for the day, more like “Down and Out in Paris”
We’ve been dawdling. The great French rivers drawing us like sirens aided by Theo’s insatiable appetite for fishing. Three days before our ferry to England and we’re barely North of Bordeaux: less than 100 miles in 3 days, but there’s no rush, the countryside’s sublime. Max is reading Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. A story of a river subverting and…