OK, time to get the story straight

So, what's this all about, really? It's a travelogue I guess, much that the idea of telling the world all about what I'M up to (look at ME ME ME!!!) smacks of narcisism, self obsession and doesn't really appeal. However, it is a rather convenient way to keep family and friends informed of the fact that I was still alive at least at the time of my last post, where I am (or was when I last updated this thing) and where to send the money coz I've had my wallet stolen\blown all my cash on painted trollopes...again. (Bad Pants!)

So how come I've ended up in this position? Well, I think simple boredom with the traditional working model of the late 20th\early 21st century - sit behind a desk for 8.5 hrs a day, stare at a computer monitor and do little good to man nor beast, take two blocks of two weeks holiday a year, die a slow and quiet death. Decided, after a lot of badgering from certain friends (Iwan for the last year or so, Adam for the past 10 years!), to resign my position of Marketing Communications Manager (whatever that bollox really means) for small Camden, London based legal publishers and hit the road for an indefinite period. My ticket does say I'm returning to Blighty on April 24th 2007 though. Maybe. Maybe sooner. Maybe later but that's the fun: not really having a fixed itinerary.

So this saw me handing in my notice at the end of July with a GeTFOOH (Get The F#ck Out Of Here) date of Aug 31 2006. Another two weeks for getting my shit together, sorting out the flat, having the big Becket House Car Park Give Away, packing some smalls, buying some magic tricks, having six farewell knees-ups, that type of thing - that sugested me leaving the country on Sept 14th 2006. No going back.

I shan't go into the sordid details of all the leaving drinks (errr...actually I will) other than to describe a few highlights. 12 years of diligent employment at work saw me awarded a notebook, a pack of Bic biros, an electronic travel games machine and a voucher for Dixons. Not that I'm a total ingrate but put it this way, the first three items didn't actually make it out of the office with me. Works leaving drinks saw me giddy with excitement right up to the point I was simply giddy with booze. Everyone was buying me shots and I did warn them that I would not be responsible for the consequences, although nobody seemed to step up and take responsibility for the staggering fool with an egg on his head after falling down the stairs to the loo at Quinns in Camden. A kindly soul did prevent me from simply sleeping in the street outside the pub where they found me curled up and bedded down for the night.

They: "You can't sleep here, come on, I'll get you a cab from inside the pub."
My replied: "But I'm very comfortable and was really enjoying that sleep."

Sense prevailed (from them at least) and instead of being left to the whims of Kentish Town's knaves and footpads, I was poured into a cab pointing in a southerly direction. My last memory was witnessing a clandestine office romance being forged on the pub forecourt and also someone on all fours being sick in the gutter. Glad others were suffering as much as me. So ended my career to date.

[Right, beach is calling, friends Joe & Dominique to meet, surf to enjoy, and a hunt for fearlessly large prawns to embark on. More of the 'story-to-date' later. For now, hasta luego from Baja Mexico.]