It was clearly a vagina. A six-foot long, grey vagina, covered with short spikes and precisely positioned tentacles. Also, it seemed to be made of the same material as a child’s cuddly toy. It was obvious as I took my first steps into the Tate Modern, that this was going to be a struggle.
It’s no secret that when it comes to bike maintenance I have a lot to learn. Over a year living on a bike made me very good at making them go forward, I could do that just about all day. But when something went wrong, well, I just had to hope that nothing would go wrong.
On 20 June 2015, I cycled around a corner and found myself home after 13 months, 9202 miles, 1271 cycling hours, 19 countries, and three continents. As I rounded the corner I wasn’t alone, I was with Dora, of course, but I had also been joined by a couple of close friends, my two brothers and […]
My journey down California State Route 1 from San Francisco to LA started with a stone faced cop telling me that I wasn’t allowed to cycle down the freeway. Not a great start, and it wouldn’t be the last time I’d have words with law enforcement before I reached the City of Angels
In December 2014 I joined a few friends on a trip to Nagaland, Northeast India, and the Hornbill Festival. We ate strange food, we drank strange drinks and we got a glimpse of what life used to be like in Nagaland not so very long ago.
This was an entry I made for a travel writing competition. I didn’t win, but I hope you enjoy reading it.
Almost ten months after leaving my home in London on Dora, my heavyweight champion of a bicycle, I have arrived in the USA!
When I made it to India and met a few uni friends in the Northeast state of Meghalaya, I knew it wouldnt be long before they got me kayaking. I wasn’t disappointed, and before long I was running waterfalls bigger than I ever imagined I’d be able to get down, all the time surrounded by dense jungle.
Introduction by Special Guest writer – Limey Snacket.
Stop. Just stop. I know you’re probably curious as to how something like dust could be called despicable, but trust me when I say it can. Also trust that you do not want to read this post, which is all about misery and sadness. You’d be better reading about the adventures of a happy little elf instead.
While staying in the Travel House in Tbilisi, Georgia. I was convinced to join an ill-fated trip with a few seasoned hitch-hiking veterans. In teams we made our way to a monastery in the desert. It sounds like the start of a horror movie, and it very nearly became one.