English Lesson

"How you going, mate? Traveling alone?" I hear as I'm wandering around outside the Denpasar airport in Bali, Indonesia. It's Matt Leigh, a young lawyer from London who scoops me into a posse of English lads and we're off in a bemo to Kuta beach. As soon as we find a place that's not too dodgy, we drop our bags, pull a few quid out, and are off into the night to get on it.

We all get totally lashed that first night and through the morning. We watch the sun rise and return back to our hotel for some complementary breaky. I reckon the majority of the following 8 days were filled with proper Western food, fit Swedish birds, smoking fags, 2am footy and pints of Bingtang that are cheap as chips.

A small take away from the intoxicating highlights are that my bloody sunglasses were nicked from my towel on the beach. Bugger! It proved to be just one of many things I lost in Bali. Can you say camera number 3? But, even with the minor setbacks it was a great week. I made some new friend from the other side of the pond and absorbed scads of English lingo.

Sidenote: Asian life is a world of sandals. I can't even remember what my trainers feel like on my feet. I even carry my pack in flip-flops now. My toes are banged and bruised but becoming hardened to the daily treks of a road warrior.

Cheers to Matt, Crossy, Fordy, Syrup and Judge.

One question does still remain: Were DUCs used on D-day?