Back In Blighty (A Toast To Water)

I still need to write a great deal of my travels, from the time I completely devastated the good-grief out of a completely innocent squid aboard a boat in Hao Long Bay, to the time the Lady Boys of Chiang Mai dressed me up and very much so down again.

The issue is that these experiences have become like cardboard boxes in the house of hoarder, mounting ever higher and further to the point of which I don’t know where to begin.

Some might say beginning at the beginning is the natural place to take the first step, but the natural thing to do is simply not how I write.

Being home is still yet to stimulate that strange sensation of ‘home’.

It is as though the my travelling never took place and I am simply as I was, 7 months prior, with relationships and routines falling right back into place like a two-piece jig-saw.

There are sure as heck some pleasant benefits to being home.

Clear, clean, unoccupied water out of a tap, merely a matter of feet away, in multiple locations throughout my house, with the possibility of fruity squash cordial as an option; is a delight of a right (well – perhaps there is no ‘right’ to tasty fruit cordial, but imagine the effects of a proletariat without taste-bud stimulus; the world needs tasty).

This, added to the fact that the merciless heat of Oz’s red-centre and the suffocating humidity of Vietnam’s jungles are but a memory that causes me to sweat in only a few regions, means that I wander around feeling hydrated; and this is dandy.

I dehydrate and overheat easily; a problem I’ve suffered since turning all-apey as a teenager, with hair sprouting all over me whilst a thick frizzy mop of the stuff rides my head and keeps all that heat in (unfortunate in that I’m largely sane and see no benefit to keeping alien mind-probes out).

I recall terribly (in that really I wish I wouldn’t recall but YOU brought it up) an occasion of heat stroke as I leaned against the wall of the Vatican, wondering if years of devoted atheism were condemning me and, should that be the case, was I now a believer and so free to walk?

Heavy sun, penetrating heat and really far too much hair for a gentleman to be able to hide beneath anything less that poncho and parasol, I suddenly staggered towards a lamp post, clutching it and feebly fondling the idol of Baby Jesus I’d liberated from a shop’s wicker basket (like a battery of mass produced Messiahs all wishing someone less meek would come along to break a commandment or two) and held on.

The world swirled as it feels when one is drunk and in love, though on this occasion I was touched only by the sun on my overly exposed brain, confusing me via heat, rather than love’s devastating effect on via chemicals of the swooshing and panging nature.

I hailed a cab and escaped the Vatican, the near 40 degree heat have defeated me so that I was humiliated by it, with the sun having it’s hat on and then taking it off owing to it being such a scorcher of a day (I’ve always though the sun a tad slow. The moon seems far more with it, more subtle, more nuanced. I’d definitely rather take the moon to dinner than the sun. In Paris. The sun deserves fast food and wheat, whilst the moon is quite appetized by the mere glory of wine and music. The moon drinks red, or an ‘eau-de-vie et limonade’, can’t dance but does, a wears killer shoes as a matter of morality. I feel I’ve found in myself a most wolfish adoration of the moon this evening – how appropriate – or perhaps I’m simply to grudged-up about the sun and that sweltering day in Rome).

Scarcely returned to the room, I spun a dial to bring the room to a more pleasing freezing temperature and stationed myself in the shower for what was then the foreseeable and what became the rest of the day. Still swirly, still delayed in vision and thought and speech, I just wanted to be laying down in the Antarctic, with my head in the soothing cool jaws of some abominable snowman.

I don’t like the heat.

I do, however, adore water.

Water is medicine, cures when you’re ill and saves when you didn’t realise you were ill.
I feel water could honestly raise a fellow’s IQ and improve his standing in life; such is its power.

Therefore it’ll surprise none that on many days, through jungle and desert and canyon, beach and mountain, city and hut; that I longed for a tap’s worth of easy, bargain priced water.

Slosh me with it.

Drown me slightly.

All I wanted so nearly every-single-moment was nought but a familiar glass of the delicious tasteless water that is home to me.

And I haven’t even begun to talk about squash – or ‘cordial’ to those who wish to continue a use of a fine word that isn’t in much use unless supping the elderflower variety.

Whilst I might love water as a matter pf product and principle, I’m afraid I’m a terribly 21st century boy and I tired of the taste of water decades ago. I need a bit of jazz in my glass to encourage it down; otherwise it can become just a tad too dull to really become an option.

That is, unless of course you throw me into a large Mekong-sized river of the stuff (such as the Mekong River). There – with floorboard-stiff dogs floating past you, bloated enough to really flatter your own figure, and with waterfalls strong enough to take your spectacles from your face (as happened to my good pair) so that they might wander down stream and inadvertently choke some innocent swimming dog, there – with squid hunting your fishing line and then becoming latched about the hook, through the brain, before being accidentally spun by in attempted to release so that it should revolve like a frigging roulette wheel as it ejaculates ink over everyone there but me….in these cases water can be a little more fun than a tasty fruit cordial; although it is the latter you’ll when reading a sentence this long out loud.

What else am I glad to be home to?

I think that might be it.

Immediate water.

Although I do miss the bum guns.

Next time?

My issues with monkeys and apes (I think it might be the beard).

Sam

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The Ice Bucket Challenge: Reasons ‘For’ And Only ‘For’.

Reasons ‘for’ and only ‘for’, since I’m unable to conclude with any reasonable alternative to dumping the cold and wet good-stuff over ourselves.

What follows is a reasoning behind the query: “Is the Ice Bucket Challenge flawless?”

It’s my query, and this is my answer. I’m not sure if you as a reader is even necessary at all- I seem to have done most of this on my own. But, then again, I’m all about a little dangerous socialising. Especially when…with ice

So, shall we?

It is fun.

It helps to raise money for ALS.

If it weren’t for this- ALS would not be as well known, nor (now) as well funded.

People were NOT giving money to charity- so the Ice Bucket Challenge DID help, and it is also worth mentioning that this money could have been given to any medical charity for the intention is a fine one.

We certainly could JUST give money- but this way is far more enjoyable and much more social.

The fun is the point that goes beyond the fact that this is a ‘craze’. We could have been doing this all just for fun…marvellous.

I apologise for the fairly abrupt writing style here- I am apparently feeling punchy.

Punchy.

It’s invigorating. The preparing of cold, wet substances and a bucket (I used a trough), the anticipation, the shocking sensation, feeling fucking awake and, finally, the pride in both achievement and the revelling of that which is silly. Not quite skydiving…but certainly in the same neighbourhood.

The main point for the ice-bucket challenge: it DID raise money- and since no one was harmed then there is no issue.

The second point- we should be doing this anyway. Similar to the ‘Neck-Nominations’ craze that swept social media. It is fun, a slight challenge, and gives you a chance to experience a new activity and sensation. We could have been doing this the whole time and it would be no bad thing.

A waste of water? Not really, no.

If it were then it would be far less than either having a bath, filling a water pistol, or going to a pool to swim. Just don’t do any of the items from that list if you’re worried. If you’re not worried about the tiny amount of water being ‘wasted’- then have at it…with ice. The waste of water is extremely minor, particularly when compared to the aid, spirits and hope it raises. This is no loss.

So, as I said, ‘have at itwith ice’.

There are some wankers.

Yes, there are some wankers…I could leave it there.

But I won’t.

There are some wankers that want nothing more than to be the centre of attention. We know who they are when we see them, we can just tell by their uncomfortable vigour that this is somewhat less than genuine in how it wishes to be perceived. Let’s leave them be- for at least the money was raised and no harm was done. Wankers.

All otherwise…this is jolly experience meant to be shared with buddies and profit those with motor-neurone disease. Even if there was no benefit to charity- it would still be a wonderful shared-experience that wakens the body and strengthens the spirit.

Perhaps next time you might do it alone- just for the feeling.

‘Just for the feeling’; what a reason!

Sam

P.S Of course- you as my audience are more than essential. No hard feelings. Smooch x