That’s it, when I’m done with this blog, I’m devoting my time to writing a wry adult-themed graphic novel following the adventures of a Aix: a time travelling tour guide from the 24th century, now trapped in the past. Everything he’s learned is a lie; the past isn’t some candy-coated funland with a dash of Errol Flynn, but a quagmire of savagery, greed, rock music, and ass-kicking vigilantes fighting against encroaching hordes of invaders from another dimension. Hilarity ensues.
I’ve flown over oceans and seen nautical vistas from the comfort of the sofa, but I’ve never laid eyes on an actual azure coast. As the plane banked on our final approach, I couldn’t stop grinning. Stretching out beyond the clichéd framing of our plane’s wing was the glistening expanse of the Mediterranean Sea. Forgive my prose, but fuck does that look incredible! Had I the option of wiping my memory every time I saw the sea, just to experience it fresh once again … I’d consider it. Dangers of memory alteration be damned! I couldn’t turn away and stared near-dumbfoundedly until the spectacle disappeared from view.
I know that the internet has sat rapt in anticipation for the conclusion of my travels in the lands of Cardiff. Suffice to say, despite my best efforts and intentions, I allowed delays and procrastination to get the better of me. It’s now been over a year since my trip to the Welsh capital and I feel somewhat disinclined to conclude the story. In detail at least.
14 years ago today I sat down to write a short article about someone who’d inspired me as a writer. If you know about Towel Day, you can guess that I’m referring to Douglas Adams. In 2001, Adams unexpectedly passed away. He may not have been prophetic, but he wrote some fantastic stories. Much like Terry Pratchett, he brought healthy doses of wit and credibility to the realm of satire.
Despite a veritable trove of piss being taken out of the Welsh by Brits, Wales is a beautiful place. From everything we experienced, it’s safe to say that Wales is to the UK as Newfoundland is to Canada. It’s oft used as a comedic punching bag, yet you’d be hard-pressed to find people who’d turn down a trip there. Also like the most East-Coasternly of Canadians, the Welsh are amoung the friendliest folks in the world.
Have you ever asked yourself if everything that happens around you, which doesn’t go off with flying colours, is actually entirely your fault? Have you ever reprimanded yourself for the mistakes of others?
If you answered ‘yes’ to either of those … first, jeez, consider giving yourself some more credit! Also, you may be prepared to live in London.
Confession time… I haven’t actually been writing these posts when their date-stamps would suggest. From the moment our feet hit the ground I’d intended to keep a steady blog of our trips and travels in the UK. Since then I’ve learned that the best-laid plans fare poorly under the weight of the London work-life balance.
In the months since we’ve arrived, I’ve discovered that many things piss Londoners off. They’re a diverse lot and, as such, can boast a rather diverse selection of peeves. There are very few things a person can do in Londontown that won’t piss off at least one passerby.
How many pairs of jeans can you survive with? How about jumpers: how many are too many? Do you really need to bring shampoo? You also have to consider shoes, coats, hats, books, laptops, phones, cables, office supplies, rain gear, medication, kitsch and whatnot … The simple truth is, no matter what you want to bring with you, it will likely end up being too much.