Beginnings
Beginnings are quite often endings. And in turn endings are quite often beginnings.
I dislike the very first posts of blogs such as this, as the phrase “I hope this will be the first of many…”often signals the beginning of the end. Cue five or six further weekly posts, followed by a three month gulf between the next. I would hate to sign off (or up) this blog to a similar fate.
It is T-minus two weeks until take-off. I’ll be embarking on somewhat of around-the-world trip taking in the vast continents of Asia, Australasia and America before coming full circle to the modest beginnings of your humble narrator. It is a shame that the symbolism involved in a twenty-something hailing from the famous port of Liverpool leaving his home town in search of adventure on the high-seas, travails in the tundra and mojito’s on the white beaches of the farthest-most tropical location, (breath) it is a shame this brave and sun-kissed image does not quite transpire into reality. Instead, this Wallasey boy will beg for a lift to the regal port of air in Manchester before disembarking in the capital before boarding the next hot, stuffy and over-stuffed Virgin (flight) to New Delhi.
I would hate to spoil the fun of finding out where I go from there. I know you’re all desperate to hang on my every post, waiting for a subtle clue as to what exotic destination will follow our three weeks in India. Well forGET IT! The suggestion, nay the mere thought that I would do so is pure poppy-KOK. So stop BANGin’ on about it!
I will not promise 2, 3, 5 or 10 posts a week. I will not promise anything. One post might be a detailed description of a certain town, city, beach, mountain, ocean, stream, hut, bar or local werido; the next post might be a mug-shot of a self-deprecating hangover pose. The mystery, I can tell already, is killing you.
So this is the beginning (or is it the end?) sat on a sofa just meters from the majestic Mersey- soaked in maritime tradition- listening to local radio’s weekly football phone-in (in case you didn’t know, no, Suarez DIDN’T shake Evra’s hand) and trying desperately not to get burger grease on my shiny new netbook. Who knows where I’ll be in three months time? I guess you’ll have to tune in next time to find out.