In stupid heat I’m rammed into a tiny mini bus being glared at by locals. I’ve managed to get out of the city, but these things weren’t built for travelers. There’s nowhere for your bags (two rucksack’s, a guitar and a hitch to India sign) so I’m left to squeeze in and pile my stuff …

Things are different in the daylight aren’t they?  Especially if you’ve been blinded by your own selfish interests.  Change perspectives.  It’s not always about me.  It takes a big man to admit that they were in the wrong.  But I am/was.  She’s young.  Her life is on a different path to mine.  She needs to …

Reading a detective novel didn’t really help.  It inspired something.  Maybe being the son of a D.I antagonised things even further, but nonetheless, I found myself putting two and two together and coming up with four. I’d not heard from her properly in months.  Her Facebook page was silent.  No response to the “I miss …

It was getting to be more of a mess. I’d seen nothing of the city. I met with old friends, made new ones, went to the same bar to watch the world cup, and generally out-stayed my welcome. Driving a girls Jaguar down winding mountain roads while getting a blow job was definitely a new experience. …

And so we continue down the annuls of history, with the hitch to Sofia, around mid July.     I’d made many new friends, spent time with old ones, lamented places which held fond memories, been thrown out of a bar for rounding on some stupid American girl giving me abuse, and climbed into a …