One Night Stand

Strikes can be a good or a bad thing.

Good – A thirty yard scorcher into the  top corner. Strike, the early 90’s dance outfit with their smash song ‘U Sure Do’ , and finally when you knock all the pins down at bowling, thoughts creeping into your head that you could be a pro, whilst inexplicably high fiving everyone including the pop-corn kid and looking like a knob.

Bad – when you knock all the pins down at bowling, thoughts creeping into your head that you could be a pro, whilst inexplicably high fiving everyone including the pop-corn kid and looking like a knob. When snakes strike by launching themselves out of bushes and of course, Pete Moores, no sorry Michael PeterBarrymoores heinous game show, Strike it lucky.

For me they are an everyday occurrence.

After a night amongst a snoring symphony, I disembarked feeling radiant (angry), destination in theory Darjeeling, STRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE 1 – In a complete reverse of the Man from Del Monte’s famous speech, the people from the hills say ‘NO’, they’ve helped the tourists though by putting on some entertainment and calling a ‘bandh’, nice one! That was until someone explained it meant ‘strike’. Resisting the urge to ‘strike’ out at the nearest cheery morning person, we then attempted to go to Sikkim, ”its open, great”, but the roads are blocked by the first bunch of angry Indians…..

So ended up in Shillong (schlong), a haven to nature, waterfalls and supposedly the rainiest place on planet earth! It seems precipitation was also on strike when we were there, as not a splash of rainfall…..Further to this the only thing waterfall-esque and cascading was what I’m sat on right this instant…

Newsburst. Had a go at being a taxi announcer, shouting shillong, schlong, shillong and it finally appeared the rain had arrived, although in the form of tea cups and cabbages, outbreak of birdflu (chicken for tea last night BAKAAAAAAAAA , no, that’s probably mad cow disease – um yes tangent).  Someone found a hand grenade and before the chief officer could dispose of it safely, one of his subordinates, hid it in some sand….(mental note, no more sandcastle building). Took a tour to see some root bridges, made of, um, roots. Mr Richard, our driver, drove us around for 3 hours including to the Bangladesh border before sheepishly turning around, laughing and admitting he had no idea where they were – Striiiiiiiiiike 3. Mr ‘Dick’off the Christmas card list. (Nice joke for the ladies), Men and not asking for directions, eh!

Oh well at least I had the Cabbage Cup Final to look forward to, hotel with tv – check, beer – check, curtains to nibble on when nails had gone – check, Chelsea goalkeeper- cech! So settled down and then Striiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike 4, the hamster running the wheel on the generator had ambled off moaning that he hadn’t been given enough pellets or hadn’t had his whiskers trimmed recently. POWERCUT! The fat cheeked sod.

I WAITED PATIENTLY FOR 13 SECONDS BEFORE (darn) before asking the hotel owner in marvin gaye vocal  ”what’s going on”, ‘oh power cut sir, in a years time there won’t be any more ( a year, a year…..we won’t win anything for another 30). So i saT SULKINg wandering what to do besides sulk. Much sulking later and the game was long finished, as was I with India. Then at 11.45pm IST the TV came back on. Striiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike 5 , my motor functions gave up, I couldn’t even press the channel 63 into the remote, 3,6,36,366,663….

Thinking we’d lost. I looked for confirmation, only to catch the last 30 seconds of e.t. (extra time, not the brown midget alien), my roommate was woken by me frantically mouthing silent swear words and shaking the remote control with such vigour that it sounded like a maraca show. Woo hooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, only briefly saw the goals and none of the game, but we won, we won, we won, we won.

Thanks for listening (ignoring) that.

Back to the aptly named Silli-guri and another attempt at Darjeeling, via a night train, should’ve heeded the warning when the man opposite started doing nasal exercises followed by a thinly veiled threat from his wife ‘don’t you dare’, he dared alright, he dared to attempt a rhino’s mating call with his nostrils till 5 in the morning. It narked me off so much that I ended up following into my own routine of punching, poking and then pretending to be asleep every 5 minutes, so much poking in fact that I felt like a facebook stalker or weiner! At last the blockade and strike was over, not for Darjeeling mind, but for my backside, three toilet rolls in 24 hours and not a single blow of the hooter, say no more.

Another night train, another meeting for the ‘Institute of Snoring Research’ this time they’d assembled there loudest snorers in the sub-continent’ to see how many decibels could be reached, whether the train would de-rail and how an innocent subject would react, well I reacted by answering one of Austin Powers legendary questions ‘Who throws a shoe anyway?’ The answer was me, well more precisely a flip flop, Striiiiiiiiiiiiiike 6, in your snoring face.

February 29^th, Leap Year, my hammock leaped out of my sight into a street kids bag. Wow, what are the chances (1 in 4)…

Varanasi, then and quite an amazing place, here a sideshow bob look-alike warranted more attention than a naked Indian man brushing his teeth with his fingers. Life and death here is played out around the mighty River Ganges. Bathing and washing are commonplace in the river, but so is Burning of the dead on the ghats by the side of the river, walking down the narrow alleys you were sometimes pinned either by bulls or a funeral procession with the dead carried on a stretcher. I took this as a good time to do my laundry and have since had 9 re-incarnations and a strange desire to run up to cows and call them divine. Luckily the bulls saw through my ”possessed” guise and continued to hate me. Thinking I’d successfully walked past one without so much as an angry snort, I laughed to myself, instinctively the bull flicked his tail right in my bullocks! One of the highlights here is taking a boat ride to view the Ganges and ghats in their full glory, guess what? But noooooooooooo, Striiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike 7, the boatowners had to go and screw it up (thanks goonies). Enough strikes, I’m out of here, onto one final night train and I swear one of the ‘snorers’ stuck an amplifier, a ferry coming into dock and a  bean can up his nose, tied some string to another bean can, and then put that one in my ear…

I’m now on holiday from my holiday in Russia, sorry I mean Goa. Ended up having a ramble in Arambol, a hippy enclave in the 60’s  now bearing more than a striking resemblance to an Ivan Drago training camp…

(Note: For this section please imagine Russian accent)

(Not yet…) There seems to be a huge stand off developing between the ruskies and the hippies, with the sickle and hammer folk, walking around going (Now…) ‘what is, hurghppy ‘, whilst the hippies, bemoaning them for ruining the vibe and possibly controlling the weed monopoly. The ladies seem to think they’re here for the ‘Smirnoff calendar’ doing all these seductive poses i.e. lying in the sand rubbing their boobs, whilst boyfriend built like a small tractor, mouths,(Again…) ‘argggh good, more breast veronica, more breast’ (or something). There you go my daily observation, think I’ve been in the sun too long today, wibbldy whoopa. I’ve been running the last two days, much to the disgust of the blissed out hippies (think the Russians like it though, (Do accent now) ‘arggghh good, boy make quick run,’ even more so when I mumbled that my legs killed (one more time…) ‘whaaaaaaaaat this good , legs that kill. you make fine comrade)

It’s not all lying around though waiting for theRussian mafia to put a horses head next to me as I sunbathe, the hippies are fighting back with such pastimes as….

Re-birthing??? What on earth, how could that possibly work, I mean sure the skin loosens over a periods of time (striiiiiiiiike 8 – good taste) but a fully grown human would never fit back inside, especially with all those beads and dreadlocks.

Past Life Chanelling???? Turning your past life into TV channels? Sounds good, where’s the address for channel 5.

Re-awakening????? with, wait for it, Damiano! The blokes blatantly called Damien and just added an ‘o’ to make him sound cool and spiritual. Don’t know why anyone would want to be re-awakened, I’m pretty angry the first time round.

So, my tan is ace but don’t worry I’m still getting punished for my indulgence. Having fallen asleep yesterday to the sound of crashing waves soothing my soul of its entirety of bad vibes (thanks Damiano) a freak wave rolled over me, casting me afloat, feeling a bit like Kate Winslet on that door (in my case a sarong) in Titanic, I turned to not see Leonardo Di Crapio, but  an Indian chap smiling at me, do you know what he said?

 ‘ big wave, wet huh’….

 ‘Really? I didn’t see it? I said, picking the seaweed from my nostrils and hermit crabs from my ears….

That’s it then, last day in Smelly Delhi today…

Much Spiritual Love Briggs(o)

Xxx (not kisses or a Vin Petrol film, but another three strikes…)

And so begins the holiday from a holiday, just me, lots of dogs And-a-man (budum tisch!)

I suppose I should’ve heeded the warnings on the flight from India to the Andamans Islands, as I watched the two pilots exchanging pleasantries and handing over newspapers outside of the cockpit before disappearing inside the toilet for 10 minutes each. Then it kind of clicked, what the? Who was actually flying the plane………….?

Arrived in Port (Tony/Lionel) Blair and got a taste of stardom as I began to appreciate what it must be like to be famous and be hands on with fans. The only problem being I’m not famous and the fan was attached to the roof, I put my hand in it and spurted claret everywhere. Ouch.

Visited a jail built by the British to house any Indians with thoughts of independence or freedom from British rule, Seems we were a bit naughty up to only 80 years ago…Still didn’t seem to bother an Indian family outside who tried to marry me off to their daughter in exchange for email addresses and a few photo’s. Also saw Ross (from friends) Island, expecting a Jurassic Park type paleontology fest, was disappointed to see more British rule now being pooed on by deer and pea(poo?)cocks (hold on, isn’t peacocks a bit rude).

Um, yep. So to Havelock, where we were assured security wouldn’t be a problem….

The whole idea was to get away from the human zoo that is India, away from the beggars, touts and traffic. Seemingly though the Andamans (still belonging to India) had other ideas, sure human hassle was low, but I hadn’t counted on the animals, who decided that I wouldn’t be able to relax and they were going to gang up on me in some form of animal karma.

1) The Cockerel. (or cock)

I had a cockerel living under my beach hut which as you can imagine is f*cking terrific if you like being woken at precisely 5.14am. The beaked twerp couldn’t even be bothered to complete his sentences i.e. “cockle-doodle-d…….oh bollocks, that’ll do, it’s too early, I’ve probably done enough to wake that hippy above me up”.

2. Bulls (again)

I tried to make amends with the bull fraternity after a previous nasty altercation by taking one’s picture as he lie basking in the sun. He doesn’t like that, hops to his trotters and starts ambling over for a ruck, leaving me ambling quick smart over to my bicycle.

3. Snakes

Strolling down to the beach and singing along with the birds, I heard a rustle in the leaves , good maraca accompaniment  I thought, until I realised the musician in question was a big hairy (ok, not hairy) snake. Even though green I assumed it wasn’t good for the environment and threw sticks at it, until it turned, angrily rearing up (at least I think it did, I was long gone, screaming like a banshee as I ran for the beach).

4. Clown fish

Yes, the one’s from Nemo. Completely humourless. They confront you if you snorkel above their dens, bases, homes in protection of Nemo’s. Easily shoed away by a flailing limb, they return seconds later with a nasty stare in order to protect their offspring and future star’s for ‘Finding Nemo 2: Here’s over there behind the Sea Cucumber ’’.

5. Hermit crabs

Far from being agoraphobes, they love the outdoors and can sniff out a samosa from 500m away. They encroach on your beach spot with the goal of nabbing a spicy snack. Then when you spot them, they simply hide in their shells. Oh, yep, of course, no hermit crabs round here, no one’s moving, just these shells. You turn away and there they are, inching forward again. The best fun was to confuse them by then placing the samosa behind them, causing all sorts of direction arguments between the male and female species. Life here is a bit simple.

6. Dogs

The animal world aggrieved. This was all too much for the dogs. Having shown off to other travelers about my method for losing a pack of chasing dogs ‘a neat cut across them with a bicycle….’ As per usual on my cycle home from the beach I pass a pack of dogs, all content licking their balls and sniffing each others bums until I whiz past, sure enough the whirling of wheels and smell of fresh sunburnt skin, sets off some small alarm in their head and say’s ‘íll chase that’…

Usually I laugh, and let them run alongside safe in the knowledge I have the bike swerve up my sleeve, I pull it out and yes, he’s gone, woo-hoo. I look down and he’s on the other side, snapping and snarling, Scooby dooby do-n’t do that. Fear increasing, I pedal faster swerving from side to side, strangely, he loves this, leaving me wandering if my legs are insured or indeed, coated in winalot. Then salvation, a local bus and leg freedom for me foreveeeeeeeer. Absolutely, unbelievably, the barking must have been a message to a bug who commits harikari by flying straight into my eye. If he survived the impact surely he would have drowned as the tears began to well in my eyes. My eyes blurred, the bus honked, I closed my good eye, partly to stop the bus driver thinking I was winking at him and partly to accept my fate as a huge human cake mould on the side of Andaman Island public transport. Whoosh – and like a kid kissing a girl with braces, I could taste the metal. No re-arranged face, no dog hanging from my knee caps, I went to bed that night clutching a WWF application (the animal one, not the hulk Hogan fan club).

(I’m going to write to Lilt – with this as an idea for an advert. The dog drinks some lilt spies a tourists and then gives chase benny hill style up and down palm fringed hills – slogan – keeps the tourists fresh/cool.) See I’m not being lazy out here.

It could be you…..The islands dangers were not yet over though as every once in a while a snapping sound can be heard, followed shortly by a huge crashing sound. Fireworks? bull charges? Snake drum classes? No, coconuts falling and crashing indiscriminately on huts, dinner plates and supposedly 150 unlucky humans a year.

Butterflies surround you, lots. Making you think you’re in a Timothei advert.

Everyone rides around with construction hats on making you wonder where the giant construction site is. Turns out they are just cheaper than bike helmets.

Did some diving which was great, using the aquariums description of fish to help identify them. The following are all true(ish)

The Trigger (Ryan Baker) fish. Apparently difficult to swallow, true – kept swimming away and eating almost everything – false didn’t fancy my fin.

Guitar fishes – look and sound nothing like guitars.

The Grouper fish, is slightly slimy (true – kept swimming up to other fish open mouthed – expecting a snog?) and has the ability to reverse sex (not a new position – to change organs (not musical).

The Cake star, whilst also being a good name for a band has no anus and therefore expels poo from its mouth.

The Lobster, so called because they are great at lobbing the octopus (keeper) in fish football matches.

Also saw shark, turtle (not teenage anymore, but still hero as opposed to ninja), sea snake and octopus who had his hands in many pies and a Sting Ray (the reverse of Sting’s real name: Ray Sting).

Diving continued as we took on the locals at football, all keen to demonstrate how hard and far they could kick the ball before all swarming after it. Every time our team got within a sniff of goal the opposition elder/captain/bully called offside, picked up the ball, booted the free-kick into mars/oblivion and sat back with a satisfied grin, arms folded across his chest. Sensing injustice, I was about to thread an intricate through ball to the village kid, who up until now and had been twiddling his thumbs. Then I noticed the big bully go to raise his arm, thinking he wasn’t about to test his b.o. levels for the day, I neglected the pass and simply ran the whole length of the field, with only rick wallers brother to beat, I gently nutmegged him and began to dart around the side, that was until I was body checked and ended up scratching my head amongst a herd of goats. He wanted to play on, I wanted on elephant to sit on him.

Ended up on (Martin O) Neil Island where it appeared that the animals had stolen my valentines cards. Again hired a bike (Edgar) and thought of more advertising slogans for the Andaman Tourist board.

‘The Andamans, where life is so slow, you don’t need brakes’. This of course applied to bicycles, where I was confronted by a man pulling a cart, being the friendly tourist I moved over down a grass verge before applying some pressure on the brakes. They’d only gone and kept to their word. Tw*ts. Now veering between chickens, bemused farmers and goats, I tried to maintain the friendly tourist by waving whilst careering towards a cow, wide eyed in disbelief. He barely offered a moo as I abandoned bike and extinguished the smoke from my flip flops.

As in many Indian cities you are usually greeted by the sight of lots of bare bums as you enter train stations etc. Thinking it a bit rude, I suffered a similar problem and had to rush to the roadside with only a wicker basket to cover my modesty. Surprisingly ravers didn’t gather and start having it as it appeared to be a full moon party with my pearly white buttocks as the disco light.

Soooooooooo, a great time then. Back in India now and the city of Kolkata. Nothing has changed, a friendly local today asked me if I was here alone. ‘Yes, I’m traveling alone’. I I replied…‘Why, do you not have many friends’, he asked genuinely.  Stifling laughter and sadness, I replied ‘according to facebook yes, right now, no. Will you be my friend? And that was it, buddies for life.

This morning I got caught in a thunder storm, again still suffering with a stummy upset. Lacking toilet paper, I instead used sheets from my diary, taking special care to wipe on the lightening flashes, so to illuminate my behind and not get paper cuts as I jumped on each of the claps of thunder. So, whilst it’s not all fun and games I suppose I’m learning some worldly stuff over here and I’m now terrific at Frisbee.

Sorry, all of the above is longer than a roll of soft, strong and long Andrex which was so ironically missing this morning.

 Off to Darjeeling now, a bit like Captain Planet I’m taking (temperature as opposed to pollution) down to zero and leaving this 28 degree heat behind. Good job I packed all those thermals…..um.

Peace, love and Imodium.

Animal lover Briggsy xxx

Yo-seph!

Still hating India some days and absolutely swearing I’ll never leave other days….

Here are the latest (mis)adventures.

After the excesses of food, near misses with bulls and Right Said fFedness of Hampi something of a detox was to be had at the Honey Valley retreat. Completely in the middle of nowhere, we rocked up and spied a tourist info place, as we entered they all dived behind the counter as it appeared, heavens above, there were some tourists in their shop. Peeping out from behind the counter, they gingerly (honeyly) asked if we’d like to buy some honey, um no, we are after directions. Fortunately they had a computer and googled the town we were in showing us pictures on the screen, um yes, we know we’re here already….Onto a local bus and we were on the look out for a Guiness representative as it appeared to be ‘how many people can you fit into a small metal tin’ every 3 seconds a ‘lively’ armpit was pushed into your nostril cavity’s and I sub-conciously found myself giving them marks out of ten for bobby orange aroma’s. Then we had to wait and drool, whilst watching the bus driver eat his lunch for a whole 45 minutes. In preparation for some hiking we ate copious amounts of vegetables in an all you can munch capacity this then follows with an all you can fart till your bottom wears out it’s voice box. The hiking was splendid save for the part where I walked into a barb wire fence at full pelt, saved only by my legs resembling that of a chicken. On our return we were informed that leopards and snakes run free like young hearts. Which was obviously pleasing.

Been giving yoga a big swerve so far until the plebs next door to me started at 6am, curious I peaked out, and the bloke just had his eyes closed and was blowing his schnozz in an alarming manner for about an hour and chanting. I think Lemsip could be in trouble. First of our two encounters came in the form of ‘Laughing Yoga’. Absolute class. Up at 7am to hear some bloke chanting ‘1,2,3, Laughter is for Free’ and ‘East or West, Laughter is the Best’ then he proceeded to imitate Kangaroos, mobile phones, computers with a laugh designated for pretty much every country going. The ‘real’ Yoga was probably similar to the first in that you would have pissed yourself at my complete inadequacy. First of all the bloke started off by chanting ‘Om’ lots, this stirred my breakfast appetite and I found myself chanting ‘om nom, nom, nom’ at the thought of a sausage sambo. Alas, it was not to be as I got everything the wrong way round, couldn’t sit on a pile of towels, stretch or indeed balance on my hands. I lay the blame squarely on my spandex suit I’d had made especially. I think I have also found the official food for Yoga, Yog-hurt of course, because well, it bloody does.

I’m not gay section – more culture in the form of an Aythuric Massage, little did I realize I’d have to strip naked and be beaten up by two men whilst covered in something that smelt like the seasoning they put on spicy wedges. Quick rub of the arms and then wallop a slap on the back. Quick rub of the legs and then bend all my toes back. Terrific fun. About as relaxing as falling into an Indian squat toilet.

Some full on bus journeys with simply the worst roads ever. Trying a sneaky bogie clear out on the back seat was a small disaster as the jolts repeatedly forced my finger up and out of my eye socket.

Cochin – Saw a Kathakali show – (traditional dance) where men dressed as women and was all kind of silent save for various hand gestures which were explained to the crowd. Strangely the only one I can recall was the cupping of an imaginary breat – which signified what else but boobs!

Witnessed the best ever shouting match on bus, getting louder and louder until they couldn’t shout any louder before mumbling went to grumbling to talking to bellowing and other verbs to describe talking.

Did a backwaters tour, which was much better than the front waters. Scorching hot, fancied a dip until we spied a water snake. Blokes in water half submerged brushing their teeth with a finger (their own, not a Cadburys one or indeed someone elses). Ate lunch from a banana leaf with my hands which was solid as I’m left handed and you’re not meant to eat with it because that’s the one you use to wipe your behind. I couldn’t help it though and left a few locals open-mouthed with some ‘ooo nutty’ and ‘is that sweetcorn? it is true then’ comments.

Lost another third of a toenail after neglecting to realize rocks are called rocks because they are rock hard, booting it, and now looking like I’m undecided as to whether to be a goth as I have one toe nail painted black.

Tested my fatness on a machine and was surprised to learn that I was only 5’7. I’m now auditioning for Top Gun 2: Goose – Back From The Dead, replacing Midget Cruise.

Drank cocunut beer (which looked and probably tasted like jizz – Moorsey: I’ll get you some to confirm)

Noted India friendliness as they saw we had a dilemma with our rubbish on a train, they simply bundled it all up and threw it out of the window before looking over with a big smile. An angry recycling lecture followed from an outraged Kiwi.

Did bodysurfing for days, followed by licking of graizes for the following days.

Went out the southernmost point in India, which was Southerly. Where men poo’ed freely on the jetty rocks. Presumably setting recors for the most Southernly poo’s in India. Followed by …….

You had to be there: Great Moment #1. Got chatting to this old dude who informed me he was the Samose master and had been making them for 20 years, instantly I spotted his mouth and what constituted for teeth, if you were someone who’d been eating sugar coated poo’s for the last 20 years, we exchanged tales of families and cricket with me dieing to ask ‘so do you have any TEETH (children), are you TEETHED (married) India are really good at YELLOW MOULD STUMPS OF TEETH (cricket) TEETHY, TEETHY, TEETH! Then he uttered the greatest line  – “Before making Samosas I was trained to be a dentist”. I was flabbergasted and looked at him with an open mouth of significantly better looking teeth. He then pissed himself (at his own joke). Told you you had to be there.

Sports: Watched Cricket at the birthday party for the minister of states son’s 57^th bday. Rather politically his son was awarded ( fat and rubbish) man of the match despite being fat and rubbish. Also saw Hockey as India destroyed Belgian 3-2. Was strange the ice seemed to have melted and they didn’t even have roller-skates on.

Sorry this is crap.

I’m in The Andamans now which is very much like a can of Lilt in that it’s TOTALLY TROPICAL

mUCH lOVE

jIMMY XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Happy New Year!! Haven’t been on the lennnnnnnnghthy mails in a while as the computers or more sluggish than slugs.

All the way back to chrimbo then (god, this is going to be a hore (not really hore, chore, see what I mean) as it seems someone has stuck chewing gum under every key….um, ooo still minty, yum.

Back to Bombay and what a mix (boooo, horrendous joke no.1). Christmas eve was an absolute belter as I fulfilled a lifetime ambition and appeared in a movie. Not blue, unfortunately (pop band or movie I might add). So rocked up at 9am and were whisked off to a secret location and it felt like I was going to Noels House Party, no sign of Mr Blobby as we entered a disused wearhouse and were promptly marched off to wardrobe, arguing that I wouldn’t fit in a wardrobe was futile as I was handed my lavish clothes for the day. It seemed all the sequins had fallen off though as I was handed a rascal pair of flared jeans, a studded t-shirt (which confused me lots that day, as i kept thinking they were my nipples and wondered why I was aroused or indeed cold in the 35 degree heat). And a pair of wooly shoes that looked like they’d either been stolen off a mammoth or fashioned from strange shaped cocunts. What lay in store then? After half an hour of nipple fiddling it was into the warehouse and a giant nightclub scene…..Ooo look a bar, ooo dancers, wow famous bollywood starts!!! What do I do then director? Knee slide? get everyone in a big circle and individually high five them all? No? You want me to dance……………………..

What followed was 5 hours of sober dancing, how the hell do you dance sober? Everything and anything came out of the bag, the hoopla, the birdie song, the pointing finger, the tiger claws, the Nescafe side beans dance and the old reverse hand over the hand. Embarrassing just about sums up how the talent scout was feeling after seeing me in action…I quit in shame after a free lunch. It’s called King of Singh and will haunt me and amuse you forever.

Boxing Day was amazing we met Mike Tyson and Frank Bruno (porky & horrendous joke no.2). Not really (really) we did however take on some Indians at Cricket as is tradition over here. A world all comers XI compromising 2 aussies, 2 indians and 2 brits vs 6 eager Indians, a 6 over money match no less (is that a collective zzzzzzzzz I can hear). We opened the batting and soon discovered this was no friendly affair as balls were hurled at our well, balls. With one bossy git on their team arguing over everything. Our team struck a colossal 42 all out with me hitting a massive 11 before being bowled s.h.l.b.w. (skinny hairy leg before wicket). Then the opposition took to the field with Briggs as the (Im)mobile wicket keeper took 3 catches behind hurling the ball into the air (and about 150 metres down a main road) with them on 32-5  the moment we’d been waiting for a little edge and gone!!!! Victory! No, what’s this this the bossy turnip, captain of the other team and now umpire was demanding a re-bowl because he hadn’t said it was ok to bowl……………What?! The aussie said ‘no worries I’ll just bowl him’ and did just that. I couldn’t contain myself, ripping the stumps from the ground and legging it off in celebration with the other 20 something year old travellers. Rubbing the faces and taunting the opposition. They were all about 9 years old.

Onto hippy paradise of Goa then by a bus sponsored by alton towers, red bull and pro-drink driving producing the new sport of scary amnesia. Here I met a Swedish hippy who was barking. She told me how she found herself in 89’. I presumed she had no friends and was playing hide and seek on her own and unbelievably it had taken 89 seconds to find herself, I mean come on, look you’re right there I can see you. She then like the energy of the way I was texting on my phone??? I thought about telling her if was a lilo and I was looking for a new meaning from the ocean but she went off to smell seaweed. Some of the clothes worn here were absolute Madness, quite literally lots of baggy trousers (baggy trousers repeat to fade)(I await a few virtual punches for that one – sorry…). Asides from laying on sand, I managed to lose half a toe nail after booting a rock, got pooed on (red, berries perhaps?) by a bird and had………………………… ‘The curious incident of the flip flops in the internet shop’

Oh my god (rant coming). Wenr in for ten minutes and came out to find my size 9’s AWOL. Great, someones pinched them. Hold on a second, what’s that ah there they are…! Slipping them on it seemed coco the mother sodding clown had come to the beach and left his size 14 waterskis whilst walking off with my clearly smaller flip-flop sakes. Right now I’m wearing them and also using them to taxi small Indian families around….Unbelievable.

Finding Nemo:

Went fishing and couldn’t basically until our skipper who hadn’t said a word for the whole trip pipes up ‘I’ve got a big one’ half cringeing we turned to face him to see if was indeed waving his willy about only to discover he’d landed a big fish, which he was more then happy to tell us that was his tea. Tried to stone, paper, scissor him for it….

N.Y.E – booze fest surrounded by Indian perv’s all behaving like they were on Yorkshire uncovered , barfing on sandcastles, weeing on curious octopuses (octopi(e)) etc. They were all trying to grope the girls, needless to say my long hair failed me here. As I saw one dive in for a sleaze he got the knuckle dig in the ribs and the word ‘oi’ in his lughole. Booze aggression aside it got really messy when I went to the toilet and flushed it, which emptied the contents onto my feet. All that aside Goa was cool in a 30 degrees hot kind of way.

Now in a place called Hampi. Expecting many hampers, I was disappointed to find a landscape of boulders and rivers. Here been mostly pretending to be Steve McQueen (McQueen – good name for a Scottish Freddie mercury tribte???) and hammering it round on a erm, harley, I mean moped. Been jumping in lakes lots till yesterday, when we noticed the sign saying crocodiles in lakes, since then been a bit tired to swim and not feeling the need to cool off. When the sun goes down it’s a bit nuts as cocnuts are everywhere. Wait lost my train of my thought, trains , no ……ignore all that. Oh yes, a tip build up hunger till dusk and then ride around on a bike in India, simply drive and open mouth, flies, bugs, dune bugs, mossies and small Indian children simply disappear down your throat.

Feel I’m getting old. Met some teenagers who thought everything was ‘well, good’ and ‘well, wicked’. I toyed with the idea of asking them how well they felt ‘well, well?’ or if they’d seen the really ace ‘well’ down the road’ which was a well, well, well’? (if this sounds mental I haven’t been taking my anti-malarial automatic tablets…….wibble)

Got a Right Said Fred look-a-like in our hostel. Hours of childish amusement as we tell him ‘there’s no way I’m disco daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaancing’ (perhaps what I should’ve told the bollywood director)

Ok I know this is long as my fingers are now coated in hubba hubba. Couple more yarns before you delete me forever from your contacts.

Rant No.2. Cash Machine Twat.

Out of money we went to a local town to renumerate. First bank closed as it was being re-filled, ok. Off to another then waiting patiently we noticed a farcical situation developing as a well dressed Indian was performing the hokey-cokey with his bank card, in-out, in-out, shake it all about, you do the hokey you put your library card in, you put chocolate buttons in, you put your big toe in (you get the idea) then take them outuntil you break the sodding machine. Arse. Off to the next one then and unbelievably lord flowery shirt is there again with his crappy bank card licking it, bending it, inserting first sloooooooooooow, then really quick until 8 seconds later and he’d broke that as well. We managed to beat him back to the first bank and formed a human ring around the machine until the cash was secure and the Benny Hill music over.

The Great Escape

Yesterday we were out scooting about in the villages meandering on past a herd of bulls/ buffalo when I turned back to see what was going on, what was going on, was that a bull was running at me, about 2m away in fact, I let a loud pitched yelp containing the word FACK (lose an ‘A’, add on ‘U’) and throttled it straight into a hedge (on purpose of course ,bulls hate hedges, everyone knows that).

Ok so bulls hate me and so do you all now.

Hope all your New Year wishes have come true…..

Bull charges for the lads, Bollywood nipple studded t-shirts for the girls.

Briggsy xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Right still miles behind with updates, waiting for a bus, so here goes again….

Having real problems understanding Indian English, kids coming up to you and asking for ‘chikum’?? you want some chicken? Do I look like Colonel Sanders, in reality what they were after was ‘chewing gum’. Same when a driver shook my hand and said ‘my heap’. Yes, thanks your help was very much appreciated, him repeating ‘my heap’. Again, excellent help my friend before it dawned on me that ‘my heap’ translates better as my tip. Jeeeeeeeees (not cheese, an abb. of Jesus)

Onto Pushkar then, a spiritual town where the Ghostbusters obviously haven’t been as this remains intact, annoyingly overflowing with western hippy’s who are down with the vibe but all wear daft baggy trousers and colourful patterned tops. Here a young girl in our hostel asked my name, James, I replied cheerily, ah James Bond she said. Yeah, that’s me I thought before attempting to run up some stairs and tripping up, whilst hoping no-one noticed. Yeah, classic Bond…Also we sat down with the owner and shared jokes, after telling a few, he went on the mother of all joke telling tales, absolutely pissing himself at his own jokes, cutting ours off halfway and ripping out another stinker. Eg. Him: You know eggs? Us: Yes. Him:Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahaha. Us: Oh yes, haha. Is that the time?

Next, Jaisalmer. A dessert town where they sell only puddings. No, sorry a desert town with a big fort (not boyard). We checked into the Jane Cobb affiliated ‘Swastika Hotel’ expecting to see Hitler and being rather suspicious of the showers, instead we learnt this is a sign that actually means ‘good travels’. True. Out into the desert then for a camel safari, which was smashing. My camel was a bit of a tyke and had to have his gob taped up because he kept trying to eat the other camels, he was also rather adept with his mud trumpet and knocked out a fair few one vocal burst sounding similar to the Inspector Gadget theme tune. Night came, as did the ghost stories from our guide, women with feet pointing the wrong way (I was parping it slonks) and teeth like tombstones (asho). Had  a bash at making chapatti which is like a frisbee but made of bread, scoffed curry and then settled down to watch the stars, slowly moving across the still night sky, with no sound to be heard, save for a slight gasp as a shooting star whizzed by. Beautiful. Then something crawled across the bottom of the blanket. PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRP. Going against my first instinct of screaming and sticking my head in the sand (good one ostriches) I booted the offending thing, peaking up, it was a dog whining something along the lines of ‘you git, ow, woof, I’m off to call the RSPCA, whine, woof”

Back to Delhi and a return to having a small coal mine of blackness up each nostril. Then by local bus to Corbett National Park. The local bus was dusty, bumpy but mostly funny, as you settled into dreamworld before the window was slid back from the outside and water, bhaji’s, nuts, inflatable hammers etc were shoved through the window for us to purchase. Upon arrival, it was disappointing to note that Ronnie Corbett was in no way affiliated with the park, instead we’d have to make do with wildlife, boooooooo. Supposed to be tiger’s there, but seemingly he was busy with kellogs as the only thing we saw were footprints, fresh that day apparently….Yes fresh, as some guy had walked around with tiger print things on his hand. Was rather good though as we saw deer, tortoises, vultures, owls and elephants, heard the trunk noise for real as well, apparently they eat for 16 hours a day, judging by the size of some of the brown boulders in the road, it seems they poo for the other 8. The monkeys sit cross legged, look down, scratch, play with their cocks, and scratch again. Class.  Perhaps we’re not that evolved after all.

Oh, Happy Christmas by the way! To prove my sincerity here’s a Christmas present for you all introducing the ‘Briggs Belly Buster Program’….tried and tested by my good self.

First sit on a local bus for 7 hours and ‘come on, come on, feel the vibration’ as your stomach as rattled in the same way as one of those electric shock pads, producing rock hard muscles with a slight nausea side effect. Then consume the local buffet before retiring to bed. Lads, here comes the really clever bit. At 2am proceed to the toilet with a mild belly grumble. Sit, poo. Now, feel nausea defying gravity, note impending barf, grab nearest available vessel, in my case, a jug for splashing your behind with. Hold under mouth and barf violently. Et voila….multi-tasking and instant weight loss.

Un-sodding believable!

Other stuff:

Mobile Phones: They’ve all just got one, f*ck me, it’s like those gits on trains back home who play with their ring tones on full blast, times that by a billion people….

Hot water: Is usually a bucket of cold water, where someone has rubbed the bucket to generate warmth, for 6 seconds.

Haggling: Is fun and easy, except when your travel companion, instantly up’s your first bid, to make it fairer on the trader…….

Male affection: Is hilarious, Blokes walk the streets hand in hand or lie in each other’s laps, all the while portraying an image of ‘man is powerful god, woman is beast for reproducing’ (Moorsy/Elliott you’d love it)

I have 3 kids watching me writing this now, I’m not sure why. This sort of thing sums up India thus far. Currently in Mumbai (mumblei) and heading to Goa tonight to sneak up behind blissed out hippies and tango them.

Wishing you all a Mary Christmas and a Happy Hardcore New Year.

Male affection for the women and spitting for the blokes.

Briggsy xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Namaste from India,

Shit! Well, where to start….shit is actually a good starting point as there is plenty of it, mostly cow’s, who’ve sacred privileges, the best one being they can’t be killed for steak.. This further extends to being able to walk around all the streets and down dual carriageways, motorways etc, without so much as a grumble from motorists or pedestrians. More animal observations later.

Upon arrival, people literally fight to get you in a taxi, we settled for a chap who liked like steptoe and had the driving skills of Lewis Hamilton after a large bag of pick and mix. Trying to find a guesthouse was hard on the first night and it appeared steptoe would ask for directions as he rolled down the window, instead he produced quite possibly the best ‘hoik’ you’ll ever see, depositing a lung, half a kidney, a shoe and some spit on the pavement, on again and fighting between stray dogs we were home in Delhi.

Spitting is common as muck…, it is everywheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere (see even on keyboards….)

Trying to get out of Delhi was not so easy, as you approach the train station to buy tickets, more touts await, offering up sone fantastic excuses as to why you should buy tickets from them instead of the station. The station is closed for painting (hasn’t been painted ever), the station has moved (no, still there in front of me) and my favourite, the station has been overtaken by the honey monster, tony the tiger and the coco pop monkey.

Out of Delhi then and onto Agra, similar to Agro, but not quite as aggressive. Also home to the Taj Mahal, it’s possible to be blasé about this, but it is pretty amazing in all honesty, and was built as a shrine to a deceased lover….zzzzzzzzzzzz. Looking at it it looks like a painting and also the thames television sign?! The most common activity here is being approached by Indians asking to have their photo taken with you, whilst mumbling is it really Craig Mclachlan, ask him to sing Mona, no, no get a photo…

Onwards to the pink city, Jaipur, where everything is blue. No, not really this is where the pop star ‘Pink’ is from, likewise the panther and people come here to get tickled…..you get the idea. Lovely Royal Palace with a snake charmer, who was offering flowers to it and reciting poems, no sign of a flute anywhere. Also took in a Bollywood mvie called Aaja Nachle which was quite entertaining if indecipherable, as the kids cheered everytime I ate a piece of popcorn, or more likely when their favourite star appeared on screen, very much like the English cinema experience though in that you still got hoofed by people in the chairs behind. Also people think nothing of holding a full blown conversation in the cinema about who is going to buy the choc-ices. P.s. Walls ice cream is called Kwality Walls, which is well quality. Then all aboard, the night train. Which is like band camp, except with adults and no instruments. Here you sleep in bunk beds, 3 high, with snoring and aggressive bed turning mandatory. Fun all the same.

Udaipur – Home to a huge lake and where the Bond film Octopussy was filmed. Possibly my favourite place thus far. Balls, just broke the tray with keyboard on (shhhhh).

Um, here we got lost, searching for something and finsing nothing but a flase teeth shop and hordes of children asking for pens, when they realized we didn’t have any, they noted our flip flop clad feet and  guided us to the nearest cow poo, providing added wamth for the toes! Onto another palace where the Mughals lived (Harry Potter people?), impressive. Then hired a pedalo, where you actually pedal quite low, then high, then low again, perhaps should’ve been called a peda-high-lo? Still managed to cause a nuisance as we bordered a private jetty prompting a mad rush by the water authorities in a speed boat to tick us off then over to a royal island where a birthday party was happening, shocking rave music and all, blatantly ignoring the 50m restriction until we got within lip reading distance and could see them mouthing, ‘piss off with your silly plastic boat’. Point taken, after getting within shaking hands distance, offering an outstretched arm and then placing a thumb on the noise before doing a sideways wave (try it).

Spitting Break.

All that fresh air then and all night until we were woken at 5 fecking am, by what appeared to be the start of the thundercats credits, huge mumbling nonsense followed by song so ridiculously bad, they thought they’d play it 6 times in a row. Spirituality now being rapidly replaced with anger. Our room next door to a mosque/Alco’s house, apparently. With musical vengeance in mind, we had a music lesson on the tabla drum. Hilariously inept, the teacher got bored with my constant missing of the camel skinned drum (quite an achievement) and took a lively interest in the scab on my knee, we had an depth conversation about the state of hard pitches in england before he decided that that was my job and I had every right to be rubbish at the drums because he’d be rubbish at football. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was actually a footballer and a lead guitarist…

Finally to the Monsoon Palace on top of a hill overlooking the city, very romantic at sunset (Rich & Pete take note for your hols), our rickshaw driver thought so to as he played what he termed as ‘american pop’ with lyrics of ‘I want to f*ck it good, f*ck it hard, f*ck it like an aardvark (anteater bit = lie). We found it he was married with three kids and about 50 the bloody big soppy swine.

So yep, that’s loads and covers about the first week..

Other things:

Hair: People love it, mostly men. Which makes it….People who hate my hair: 34,742. People who love my hair: 37

Tea: Chai is the national drink here, 1 billion people love it, I hate it.

Staring: Everyone does it, mental note to be made to carry tissue to wipe curry from face.

Everyone is your mate: then tries to tell you something…’Hey friend, what your name ,where you from?”

“ Clarence from Cucumber, North England’

Enough, hope you are all dandy and beano in the run up to chrimbo, no sign of it here (boooo).

Peace, love and saliva.

Briggsy xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Been home 3 weeks, but here’s the end of the journey anyway….

And so it is……..

The final countdown (not literally as des lynam is on it now with the effervescent carol vorderman supplying mature woman beauty). After the relaxed (full on horizontal) experience in Laos I was looking to inject some energy into myself, back to Thighland.

‘Hello Sir you want grasshopper’, obviously cringing at the thought yet surrounded by impressionable 18 year olds, ‘Yes I’ll have a full bag’. Crunch, crunch, slurp later(see also bicknall eating the contents of his nostrils) and I certainly had a spring in my step (boom, boom, boing, boing)!!

Had some bronchitis (no I didn’t also eat a dinosaur) due to heat (I feel a wave of winter addled sympathy coming my way).

All aboard the night train to bangwilly before going to the cinema on my own (weirdo, loser alert!) before discovering that they hate their king as much as we hate our royals. Before every film they play the Thai national anthem with a smashing montage of the king falling from the sky in raindrops (soggy and painful), Funny until, I had to stand up unfold my arms, dropping my pick and mix, sending giant bananas and cola cubes everywhere.

2 weeks left then and with me laughing at my unfathomable credit card bill (update: currently crying) it was time to PARTY like a worm in a tequila bottle. Headed down to Ko Phagn Nang (lemon meringue) and pretty much got lost in buckets for about 72+24 hours (beer has killed maths area of brian and brain too!). First night was more crackers than Jacobs and Ryvita, with memory loss attributed to my drink being spiked. I guess should’ve noticed that someone had put a hedgehog in there, but hey! Anyway ‘lost’ bank cards and hard cash (Thai P.M. doing a mean bullying face). There was a rumour going around about a ladyboy gang nicking stuff which posed obvious questions when telling the police……

The Fuzz “Was it a man or a woman|”…….
Me… “ Well…”

So armed with my best friend (not you Gil, you Essex sun bed merchant!) Mr Gold Card it was to the main event. Fortunately the moon had eaten all it’s tea and also a choc-ice for pudding and it was Full! Thus enabling 20,000 fruit loops and nut bars to go off on the beach (smelly). It was more mental than well, a mental person, meeting heaps of people (not all on top of each other) and going nuts (horsechestnuts especially) to quote Lionel Richie it went on All Night Long (regular voice), All Night (sort of high pitched beckham voice), All night long (reg voice) until 10 in the morning before swimming in a once beautiful sea now saturated with ‘pass’ (minus the ‘a’ add an ‘i’) , barf and some substance that rhymes with Doctor Who!!

Next day was like this….Discover not dead, rejoice! Fall foul of bucket syndrome, go mad, forget name, but still able to spit and deduce that I’m twerted when talking to people, turn down ladyboy, have one hour sleep, wake up, pack in 20 seconds, make boat with 4 seconds to spare, eat valium, sit in café, want to lie on floor, almost fall apart at the kneecaps. Arrive in Krabi feeling what else but Lobstery, er no I mean crabby.

Rock climbing at 8.30am REARRANGED for 2.00pm. Awake at 1.45pm “ muttering ‘mum, tea, bacon, urrggh’. Strolled up to big cliff (richard and asked him why he releases bad music) not knowing my arse from my elbow, fundamentally importantas its difficult to climb with your bum. After my instructor ‘Tu’ (never trust a man named after a number i.e. Juan or Tu) told me he hadn’t done
much rock climbing before and that he wasn’t really an instructor I suggested something similar to rock climbing in the slim chance I might be able to sneak back to bed, how about ‘Clock Rhyming’???

My champion efforts were ignored (sock, lock, block, cock) as he fitted me with a harness and told me to go away up a big rock face.It was great! I released more water than a camel after 10 pints of bitter and even got to tread on a Spanish girls foot when I got stuck. My later Spiderman auditions were discredited when the highly illegal substance sellotape was found on my fingers.

1 week……….Onto the lovely island of Ko Phi Phi twinned with Ko Poo Poo. Previously the Tsunami had hit here, but you’d barely know save for subtle reminders, a testament to the Thai people.

Not really to much to say about desperate sun bathing other than you go REDder than ruby grapefruit juice. Drank lots of fruit shakes to go with the arm shakes from booze consumption. Then hired a boat to take us to the island where they filmed the originally titled movie and book ‘The Beach’ did some class snorkelling seeing loads of fish before calling Captain Birdseye (rumour has it he really does have a birdseye under that eye patch) and asking for some breadcrumbs.

Hit the beach (not literally), no sign of All Saints singing ……“I’m moving, I’m jogging, can you come over here, I really want a beer, oh look Cyril sneer, take me to the quiche ” …… (or however it went), pretended to be Leonardo Di Crapio running around going “ I’m King Of The World ” , “ I’m also a huge cock ” and “ Francoise ”. It was a seriously beautiful place and therefore was ripe to be graced with my football skills, all was going well until a Brasilian by the name of ‘Chico’ popped up, played some ball, and it suddenly dawned on me with only 2 days left………

Cue sad violins and possibly the worst Goonies/current pop music joke ever, ever, ever and ever.

“ Don’t you get it Briggsy, the moment you get on that plane your giving this great nomadic life up, Up there in England it’s their extended winter time, down here playing football on a beautiful beach with Brasilians it’s Chico Time!!!!” (letterbombs are welcome for that one).

Finished up with the Half Moon party (one bum cheeked trousers) before slowly trundling off to Bangkok to fly home. Back in reality now I’m peeling more than a potato technician, a young child called me a w*nker presumably upon seeing my Henry from Neighbours haircut, and just had a phone call from Wilkinsons saying my Dads hedge trimmers are in. Brilliant!

So thanks everyone for reading and writing and being great travel people/job avoidersIt’s been character building (good C.V. lie)
I love you all more than a fat man at a woolworths eater egg sale and hope to see you soon to compare tans.

Sabede ka (I think it means hello but could mean monkey bogies)

The Laos mentality: Laos people feel sorry for those who think too much.

The only country named after an insect or bug (wood) Laos…………continued my unabated adventure travel by flying in with Air Laos who have one of the worst safety records in the world. After that we needed some serious (no jokes or fun) relaxation which as it turns out would go down very well in Laos. A supremely laid back country where the national past time appeared to be either sleeping or sitting down doing nothing and staring into space. Fantastic.

Well it was until the Laos people gathered around us at 10pm mimicking a sleeping action and saying they needed to sleep, when we’d witnessed first hand them sleeping all day. They’d be all smiles and friendliness when taking your brekky order only to start walking off before turning around, laughing and saying they’d forgot. Probably scared them with pro-activeness when I hired the gayest bike of all time™, proper E.T. style with a little basket on front minus the brown alien and proceeded to cycle to nowhere, well sweatsville.

Met some interesting travel folk as well including one try hard, who was like ‘fashionable dad’ and kept popping things into the conversation like “Aren’t the White Stripes just the best band around at the moment” Well, no its clearly Girls Aloud, always has been.

Observed more Laos work ethic from the peace of a hammock and noted that it was 5 seconds graft followed by 5 minutes rest, the boss would just walk around kicking planks every so often before sitting down and staring into space.

Trying to get anything done was a complete nightmare as every mother hubbard was asleep, went to get a boat ticket the fella is asleep behind the counter, went to a bank and politely waited 6 hours for the girl to raise her head from the counter and out of cuckoo world.

Clearly a country after my own heart, I developed a real affinity for the Laos people and their point blank refusal to wake up for the day, I signed up to a ‘Love in Laos’ internet dating site, arranged a date with a local stunner, favourite hobby being lazy, only to see plans for residency scuppered as she didn’t turn up. She probably couldn’t be arsed choosing a sit down or was sound asleep, my poor bleeding heart will never know.

Hired the newest contender for most useless bike of the year 2006 with a seat quite obviously gay as it continually tried to insert itself in my bum. I tried to dispel this notion as a girl strolled past in a bikini which grabbed the attention of three monks who couldn’t resist a sneaky peek and one could be heard to exclaim ‘wai be colomchi bigger boobs than Jordan’. To quote Charles and Eddie “ Would I lie to you?”

Thought we’d treat ourselves by taking a V.I.P. bus to the capital unfortunately it seemed V.I.P. stood for ummm… Vind Inglish People (up)….um yeah. We were promised meal, drinks and t.v. We got a mini swiss roll and 2 (count them) sweets, as for a t.v. they said chances are there was a transvestite on board. It was time to succumb to valium!!

As i slipped into a land of penquins playing the drums with icepoles and horses having banjo lessons with giraffes our destination didn’t seem too far off, after spending 5 hours in la la la land it became apparent that we’d been broken down on the side of the road for well, the last 5 hours. So we transferred to the local bus which was full. Never fear they had a solution, put tiny stools in the aisle for all us V.I.P. folk. With the valium still coursing around the veins I spent the next four hours, falling asleep at 3 second intervals, swaying violently in 360 degree circles due to the ergonomics (posh word) of the stool, thus unknowingly backwards headbutting, shoulder barging and elbow dropping the clearly alarmed locals.

In the capital then and I donned my ‘Lucky’ t-shirt to hit the streets. Which is where the t-shirt came through with flying (mostly brown and white) colours.

Luck No.1: A bird pooed on me. Ha.
Luck No.2: I cut my toe open. Ha Ha.
Luck No.3: The beer factory we visited was closed. Hady facking Ha.

As you can imagine the only thing in stitches was….

1.That idiot bird
2.My toe (quite literally)
3.My liver

I served my revenge by getting impossibly drunk and then the tables were turned on me again as a filthy hangover took its toll….DOH!

I laughed freely again the next day as I put a bike stand through my toe, ha ha brilliant I nearly cried until someone gave me a Mr Men plaster. Finally got to this big cave thing and was delighted to find the skeleton piano from the Goonies, you know the one where Andy isn’t sure which note to play and Mikey cracks that classic line “If you hit the wrong note we’ll all be flat” luckily we escaped the Fratellis with nothing but another cut on my foot.

Next up some tubing down the mighty Mekong river where locals pulled you into their bars with a big bamboo pole, forced beer and local hoembrew spirit (so good they named it twice) lao-lao down our throats, then pointed to huge rope swings, cliffs and jumps from which to risk castration, collapsed lungs and frizzy hair.

Bus ride up to Luang Prabang (gangbang) flanked by an orange hairded scotsgirl and an orange toga attired monk, the next 8 hours were spent in a shoulder barging contest with said monk for arm space, we finally made friends when he gave me his autograph and I told him I was UK chief Jelly Baby tester, although he blatently didn’t give a fack as he was too busy puffing on cigarettes, taking phone calls, sending dirty texts to nuns and going for a new record on snake.

I’d go on but I have to go to the immigration office to take a sleeping test to stay in the country.

Love Briggsy xxx

P.S. I failed for sleep talking and snoring

Cam eron Diaz bodia!

Cambodia was a great country the people here were amazingly friendly, always smiling and pretty funny as well, loads of cute kids trying to sell you useless stuff. Loads of brilliant animals just wandering onto roads such as Water Buffalo, pigs and cows getting beeped at by oncoming vehicles, before probably mumbling “moo-f*cks sake – oink” and trundling off to the side of the
road again.

Phnom Phen, the capital was an interesting place, went to the Killing Fields where thousands of cambodians were killed in mass genocide, their skulls, bones and clothes all piled high to serve as a reminder of an atrocity that should never be forgotten. The same day we visited a former school which was taken over by the Khymer Rouge (not the same as gay Moulin Rouge) and used
as a place of torture (perhaps the same as Moulin Rouge after all). Understanding the nature of these acts was extremely difficult given the lack of knowledge i had surrounding these years, yet you couldnt help but be overwhelmed after seing countless pictures of the murdered and testimonies from friends and families who literally saw loved ones vanish simply never to be seen again.

On a more lighter note February the 14th and Valentines Day. As i woke my heart was fluttering, this was an incredibly steamy day for me, mostly due to the fact it was 30 degrees by 9am. Unfortunately i had to call the police early doors as i opened myroom to find that someone had stolen all my valentines cards. Decided to take out my sorrow on an evil looking man made
of paper at the gun range! As we entered we were handed a menu with Coke, Fanta, AK47, Hand Grenade, 7-Up, Rocket Launcher, Tizer and Anti Aircraft Missiles on the menu. Rumours abound that for an additional $100 you could buy a cow, presumably the money going to the cows family. I opted for a cheap bond style Colt 45 and proceed to handle the weapon like an absolute retard before popping some caps off and discovering that i’d nailed ‘Mr Paper Bad Dude’ in the jugular and through the heart (how romantic!)

A mad session with 0 minutes sleep saw us hop on a bus only to be roused by BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, THUD and saw a cow wobbling in the middle of the road, with my sympathies to cows in Cambodia we landed in Siem Reap. Here they have huge, huge temples, as the sun rose above them and the murk and gloom lifted many people went ahhhhhhhhh, unfortunately this magical moment was lost on me as i want urgggghh and legged it off to the nearest tree to pay my respects with the contents of my stomach, ‘laughing sodding cow cheese baguette’ and all (the cows get their revenge!). I was on my way to bed quicker than you can say tuk tuk.

Decided to revisit the temples of doom and barf, this time on a crapped out bike, chatting with cambodian english students (minus the daft haircuts and top man clothes), i was in a great mood what could possibly go wrong this time……..
Had a good look around observing the monks dreaming of cold beer and hot birds before grabbing my bike only to see my front tyre was flatter than a pancake that had been sat on by 10 horses. As i hopelessly tried to fix it i was savaged by a nest of red ants who bit so hard they left blisters the size of watermelons. Sulking aside the temples were cool.

Did a couple of days voluntary work in some schools, in the vain hope that Angelina Jolie would show up, marvel at my deep soul, bin off Brad Armpit, and run away with me to heaven. As you approach the schools by rubbish push bike, the kids all run inside the classrooms before saying Hello teacher how are you today, you then have to tell them to sit down or they will just stay
stood up!

Taught some basic english and was amazed at how eager and attentive the kids were. On the 2nd day i was the new P.E.teacher in town, first up CRICKET! having all the knowledge of a goldfish suffering complete memory loss, i wasnt confident of producing another Freddie Flintoff. Pretended i knew how to ball and taught the kids useful phrases such as HOWZAT! (which may possibly useful when they work in the tourism industry ie. HOWZAT soup you’ve got there).

Played some football and taught them how to pass and how to say PASS, which would be ultimately useless in everyday life unless they appeared on Blockbusters and became stumped by Bob Holness! As i dictated play from the back the kids couldnt quite manage to say teacher instead calling me Cher! They were probably taking the pass as i wrapped in an O.G! thinking that i looked like the daft he/she singer sitting astride a cannon on a warship, whilst belting out ‘if i could turn back time i wouldve scored more goals’!

From one school to another then and as we left some schoolkids chased us on a bike, after they’d been calling me James Bond i thought they were just messing about so playfully fired imaginary bullets at their heads whilst making the PUEW, PUEW sound, 10 minutes later when they finally caught up we realised that they had the keys to the next school….whoops!

Arrived at the next school on my own and gave the kids some plates to draw on their favourite meals and write the words next it, five minutes later and they came up having just coloured in the plates, i persevered teaching them the alphabet, before realising that i was in the wrong classroom and these kids didnt even learn english yet! All in all a great experience, set in a beautiful country where cows wander in and out of football and dodgeball games!!

Right now i’m in Laos which is lazy heaven! Obviously i stand around tutting at the peoples complete lack of interest in anything resembling activity.

Hugs for the girls and playfights for the lads

Briggsy xxx

Thighland !

So Thailand then and no sign of any neck apparell for my impending return to a working life, i was immediatly made to feel welcome as my taxi from the airport belted out classics such as Darius who’s apparently colourblind, poor bugger and S-club 37 who’ve never had a dream come true, awww.

bangkok is like a big pooey nappy sticky, smelly and overwhelming, hit the infamous kao san road and had a few mental sessions involving chang beer which saw the return of jim furyk given its 6.5% volume and sampled buckets for the first time (minus the spade) since the innocent childhood days, which ended with a visit to the police station!?!

On the whole the people were pretty friendly with lots of smiling and good banter from the tuk tuk drivers, “hey sir you want tuk tuk” followed by some muffled whispering of…. pussy show! i told him i hated cats as they are sly devils. Did some sightseeing though visiting temples where we witnessed monks living a traditional life, mostly texting their mates and browsing pictures on their digital cameras. saw a big royal temples which was class until the army of socks and sandals brigade removed their strappy numbers and filled the temple with cheesy feet.

next to ko chang which was top drawer lots of doing nothing except maybe throwing a footy and tripping over some rocks followed by huge PARTYZZZ on the beach, hated it! Hired a motor bike nearly fell off as tried to wave to kids (doing a dumb and dumber style swerve), bumped into a monk and we tried to communicate with one another me speaking english in a foreign language punctuated with bits of spanish and him just shaking his head and laughing, then he said bush i was like right these monks are desparate for some action, but i think he meant george as he said iraq and started to pretend to fire at random with an imaginary machine gun. funny (but i guess you had to be there!)

Next up CAMBODIA …….