You know those days when you wake up and you kind of know where you are, but you kind of don’t? Chapter One: Lessons In Temporal Displacement
I love food programmes, and I love travel programmes. I even love it when competitive cooking programmes jet off to some far flung places to taste some lovely food.
I have never been around the opportunity to develop either the basic interest or the practical skills in tending to vegetation.
Vinyl formation. Hot glue gun apotheosis. Interminable joy. A frustration in the eyes of the mad man.
Nothing can prepare you for a beauty you have always felt. A field as flat as a wicket; an enclosure of monastic solitude; a building burned in to cultural memory.
I like a drink, and I always have. The problem is what comes the following day.
The glass bottomed boat skimmed through the water, in and out of rock formations with ease. We sat upstairs, under the shade of the sun deck above, and watched the mountains drift by.