For the past four months I have struggled with the worth of finishing my blog about my bucket list trip. On reflection, it just seems to be an ego-driven rant that I should just keep to myself and file away with my other unfinished projects. Like the thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle that’s just the Union Jack flag. The $100 huge Airfix model of Henry the 8th’s splendid ship the Mary Rose that sank on its maiden voyage. Like the ship, my model is sunk in the bottom of my drawer that is labelled “TIME WASTERS”. Or my project for plastic containers that all have different depths but the same size li ..read more

It is important to develop a love of something when you are a child. Something that will help you through the mindless childhood hours that are not spent getting bored to tears in school. Life as a child is supposed to be the best time of your life. And arguably these are indeed the greatest days. But given the limited funds in most houses and therefore the limited access to Disneyland; in fact, no access to anything more entertaining than setting fire to ants with magnifying glasses, then you better make sure an adolescent boy has something to do. For most boys of my generation that was foot ..read more

On day three I made my way to North London, where I later stayed the night in a very unremarkable bed and breakfast. At least it was far from any maddening crowd. I was there for two reasons.  Most important was a trip to Wembley Stadium. But in the end, equally important was a trip on the Underground to central London. The Jam’s Going Underground is a thinly veiled message about consumerism and politics in post punk Thatcherite Britain and Paul Weller’s deeply seated desire for social change. Paul Weller is a wonderful songwriter and Going Underground is one his best. The song is awesom ..read more

The following day I was going to Wembley Stadium, the spiritual home of English football and debatably the whole world of football. But Wembley was too far to travel, so I had decided that I would end day two with a little trip down Memory Lane and a diversion through Cheddar Gorge. My granddad would always drive us through Cheddar Gorge on the way down to the Brean Caravan Park each year. Each year if we had been good, we would stop and get an ice-cream at the cafe at the bottom of the Gorge. My little sister would then be sick at least once before we got to the caravan park. The following y ..read more

As I said earlier, there is something special in the air in England that holds it apart from anywhere else I have ever been. There is a razor’s edge to the air you breathe that makes me realise I am somewhere different. An atmosphere, a smell that pervades my skin, a light that makes gloomy special. For me it’s like stepping onto the set of a black and white art nouveau movie. Maybe it’s because England is so much older yet not ancient. Egypt and Africa are older, but they don’t radiate the buzz that I feel in England. It’s as if you are in the presence of a knowledgeable soul, mentor and gur ..read more

From the moment I woke in the intensive care unit, I was in daily pain of some sort. My nurse would come to my bedside and wake me to ask about my pain level out of 10; The scale one being no pain and ten being insufferable.  Being a math geek at heart, I quickly applied this to a percentage scale. 5% being an irritating tickle, right through to 100%, that being a “get me into surgery now” pain. This percentage scale annoyed my nurse to no end. She seemed to have a problem equating 50% with 5 out of 10. As she kept waking me to check my pain levels, annoying her thrilled me! As anyone wh ..read more