This is a new one.  By a new one I mean the most horrible, stinking, retching, twisted stomach of a hangover I’ve ever experienced; at least since downing seven straight tequila at an after show Christmas party in 2002.  Picso.  Never again.  Now I’ve got to throw myself down a sand dune while traveling faster …

My alarm clock rapes me awake at the earliest time I’ve been up for the best part of seven days.  I packed my bags the night before, convincing myself that I’m getting out.  I’ve even managed to latch on to a pretty girl heading the same way, almost using her as an excuse to force …

I need to leave.  It’s becoming a desperate struggle to get out of this place, and stop gorging myself on a diet of booze, cigarettes and choc-chip cornettos.  I’m far too sore to make an attempt today though, so I opt instead for the sofa for the best part of nine hours.  That’s about it.

I’m still not quite sure I can believe what happened last night but I’m walking around the hostel with a stupid grin on my face.  You’d have thought Liverpool had won the league, I’d had an all night sex marathon with Zooey Deschanel and Eva Green, and red aniseed balls were on sale again at …

It’s just your average hang over day coughing my lungs up, sweating out booze and wasting away watching movies from the comfort of the sofa.  The same hot sun in the same blue sky that I can just about see out the window.  The same topics of conversation by people too tired to move, cracking …

Is it possible that after so long going through a bad drought while traveling that I’m going to pull three nights in a row?  No.  Of course not.  Don’t be stupid.  My little purple patch and run of form comes to a crashing holt eating a horrible piece of chicken in a McDonald’s at 4 …

My quarry from the previous evening has checked out early and is nowhere to be seen.  Must have been something I didn’t do.  In her place are two good looking English girls, who precede to ruin all my hopes by admitting they’re lesbians.  Another massive sausage fest at the hostel and the only two hot …

I’ve set aside some time today to try and work on my website, which involves copying and pasting every entry on travelpod.  That’s currently 209 posts.  In order to undertake this mammoth task a basic requirement is a fast internet and a lot of time.  Time isn’t a problem, but finding a hostel where people …

I’ve spotted one of those open top tour buses from the window of the dirty hostel and voice my keen, but Paddy tells me to fuck off.  In fairness we’ve spent nine hours on a bus so why would we want to get on another one.  We’ve opted instead for a Lima city tour by …

Once again the Lonely Plant balls things up with some ridiculously poor information regarding our original choice of hostel.  We’ve attempted sleep while on the road with mixed results, me sparking out and Paddy managing three hours.  Regardless whether we slept or not, we were still on a bus, so not in the mood to …