It turns out a little can simply, go quite the way
10/01… 2023
Going abroad.. probably the best yet greatest mistake you would ever make.
Backpack, stuffed full of material life.. accents surround, the international sound of a brave individual.
Cooking for one in a shared kitchen, learning spice use from others, to pour bolognaise sauce in over a low heat so the pasta absorbs it up.
Tobacco, marijuana.. “less is best”, geezer may I borrow a rizla - mate, ye got a lighta’
“New Zealand! Is it really like Lord of the Rings there!”
Of course it is, I’ll show you around.
Mate, I’m coming to England.. “oh lovely! I shall return the favour!!”
“The weed is much better in Holland.. the beers are batched to perfection in Germany”
“Wait till you walk around the Colosseum at night, and get shat on by pigeons in every city”
One more thing, cycle on the right, cheers your glass from the bottom and learn mannerism in each language of the places you visit.
… … … …
All of which had been established within my first six weeks of leaving my home of origin.. not realising I will struggle to find a love for it again.
First engagement was such a critical moment in time for me, anything after that.. they can take my personality or leave it.
Thankfully a hand full of those suckers didn’t think I was too bad of a bloke.
Little did I know, that the young German girl walking in a “bridge” manoeuvre around the pool table in Melbourne would soon host me in her home city six or seven times, then go and invite me to her wedding, and integrate me with her two young son’s lives.
How did the couple who I apparently (perhaps true, I can’t remember) denied their free glass of wine at the backpackers bar, go on to share their house and life with me for a whole month in London.
A solo travelling yoga teacher showing me stances and breaking every bone in my body on a rooftop in Porto, only to send me her fathers address in Australia for if “I ever got stuck in the outback”.
A early twenty something traveller I took on a date for dinner at a market in Melbourne go on to return the favour and take me to a vegan kitchen in Vauxhall about eight years later.
Parisian nights with random folk going to find Jim Morrisons grave site with a bottle of pinot, stories about opera around Darling Harbour with a one night fling, sharing ball breaking vodka with Russian brothers and their girlfriends on the sand of Venice Beach.
The women who showed me around Manhattan at night, the punk who walked me through Brooklyn by day light.
The bloke who I cleaned cars with for a small wage, who took Melbourne nights by storm only to drive me country to country in Europe, and back around his hometown in Holland with his best mates, adopting me as one of their own.
The folk I spent six years with in vans all around the UK, getting up to no good in tiny thatched roof villages, making our voices heard.
The young actors I helped with scripts, the models we took photos of.
The clients we met, famous or not, who somewhat became friends. I see you on the telly and pinch myself every time.
The lovely lady who agreed to meet me for a drink in West Brompton who went on to go on multiple dates with me, move into my apartment and eventually internationally relocate with, to come and reside in New Zealand together.
The people you meet, the impressions one another make.
Sometimes fluent English.. on the occasion — not a lick of words understood.
As I lay here in bed, watching the world go by.. it’s quite apparent I am missing something.
I miss all my friends, the people who I have met, shared a meal or pint with, taken a walk through Southbank or a road trip south of Thailand to Phuket.
We never get enough time with each other, right?
I miss you, I really do.
I get scared I’ll never, ever see these common folk again. It is relatively petrifying to me.
Much love to you all, and one day.. I hope to see you again, sometime, anyway.
If you are reading this.. I would love to hear from you, and there’s also a good chance I owe you a lager, pinot or two.
Sincerely yours
SBG
