The written thoughts of a traveller.
Touring with Rock ‘n’ Roll bands; exploring Europe and the world; flirting in bars… and some naughtiness.
Oh, and all with a trombone. Enjoy..
Guys, I know self-improvement for a man ends at toilet training…but what’s with this sexting business? Why do you feel compelled to send pictures of yourself in various states of arousal to women you haven’t slept with? It’s a particularly inexplicable quirk. There I was, having a meal with my friend Kate the other night
Driving along the M25 the other day, I saw a huge billboard advertisement. ‘PUSSY,’ it read. ‘An energy drink that actually tastes good.’ Clever? Or clinching proof that society has degenerated even further? In fact, is it a bad thing, do you think, that few people would bat an eyelid nowadays when ordering a “screaming
Romania fizzles out after Craiova. Faced with a choice of routes to reach Bulgaria – drive over the new Calafat bridge or take an open-decked ferry from Bechet to Oryahov – I chose the latter. It sounded jollier; in half a shake of a duck’s tail, I veered south rather than southwest. ‘DKV card?’ I
Where did we get to on the Slayer Tour? Oh yes, Deva in Romania. In my road atlas – which excludes Romania in any detail, as if to say ‘Don’t bother unless essential’ – I’ve now written “Dreadful but no police” for that stretch we did down from Oradea last time. The reason for
Get your map out for a minute. Or open Google Maps if you haven’t got one. The latter might be preferable, actually, given that a) you’re already online and b) Tokaj, Hungary is minuscule, barely even a village. If you can face it, put some Slayer on the stereo, too. Well, my old wrinkled testicle,
‘Problem?’ asked the Hungarian promoter. I’d rolled in to Hegyalja Festival in Tokaj – near the Ukrainian border – and things looked iffy. A hundred yards away lay the stage, but, coo, what a hundred yards. Muddy? There could have been a tour bus from last year buried in that bog. ‘Well, as a vague
“Barnaby’s thoughtful musings on his voyage through life. You are not alone as you travel that valley my son.”
Father Pius Smith, Hastings.