London to Paris

Day3

In a tunnel under the sea. Havn't seen any squid or mer people but it is dark.
Facing the wrong way on the train as usual, so heading into France backwards.

How rude.

Met my brother, and his wife Faby last night for a Chinese and some booze in China Town. They live just outside London, in Addlestone, so it was very convenient to say hello and goodbye. Tried to pick up some tips for Paris (Faby is French), but all I really got was to go to a Can Can dance, and expect the Parisians to be the rudest bastards on Earth.
Rude Can Can dancers. Perfect.
I will give as good as I get.
Can't wait.

Still in the tunnel.

We caught the Eurostar from Waterloo, direct to Paris. It was more like being at an airport than a railway station, with all the baggage scanning, stern faced passport checking, and boarding passes.
I must admit to slight nerves, as my body was fooled into thinking it was going on a 747. For someone about to travel half the globe, I'm a rubbish flyer. More practice should do it, but I know I won't be relishing the first flight where ever it might be.

See, I ain't your average travel writer. They all love take-offs, turbulence and cockpits.

London, England

Day2

Well fast forward a day and we're in Swiss Cottage, London after a smashing day at Tussauds and the Art Gallery. I had my picture taken with Captain Picard, Stephen Hawkins, Adolf Hitler, and The Incredible Hulk, and then looked at rather old pictures of Jesus, horses and fruit.

The train up from Swansea was traditionally respected with the four pack of lager; first 1 cracked open as we passed over Morfa bridge.

The hostel in London is smart, and in a tidy big old building (see picture at top).

Though saying that the room stinks and we managed to get shouted at by some Aussie for waking him up as soon as we got there. Fair enough it was quarter to four in the afternoon. Flaming gala. I was tempted to attack him but thought it would make for a poor start to a worldwide excursion.

Had an average nights sleep last night as people kept crashing in at all hours and one snored like an asthmatic gorilla.

Went to Camden Town last night and had a wander and a browse. Dined in style by sitting on the street.

Literally on the street.

You see they start selling off their grub in the market for next to nothing just before they are closing. So if we are going to live the lives of genuine backpackers, then we have to learn to dine for less than the price of a cup of tea. I suppose our guts will also have to learn to endure morsels that must have been sitting there since dawn. Very nice Chinese though and no side effects yet.

So if you are on a budget, and in this part of the world, then my first 'Tuckett tip' of this blog is to head to Camden Town market just before the shut for the day, and you can grab yourself a culinary bargain.

Also had a pint or four in a Swiss cottage in Swiss Cottage. Off for a Chinese in China Town later. Don't think I'll go to Cockfosters

Actually bloody going like, for real like

Day1

We have lift off.

Sitting in the Grand Hotel opposite Swansea train station drinking a pint of Stella before lunch. Keep thinking everyone is looking at me as if they know I am going round the world. No doubt none of them give an aerodynamic shite. I have usually attracted a weirdo by now, but no freaks on the horizon yet. Give it time and some one eyed Rod Hull lookalike will be over striking up a conversation about kettles.

Waiting for Kelly and Dave to arrive. I know I will laugh in their faces when I see their massive bags, making them look like Teenage Mutant Tortoises. I am craning my neck to spot them. Can't wait.

Just a three hour and a bit Great Western train ride then to London, over the border in England. One I've done many a time, but never in the knowledge I wouldn't be back in Wales, for quite a few months.

Hope I packed enough pants!

One T-shirt

The bag is packed (well I've put a shoe in and a comb), tickets booked (well nearly booked sort of), I've cancelled the milk, and I've had my hair done (well would have done something with it if I ain't packed my comb). What I'm getting at is my departure is imminent. This time next week, if all goes according to plan, I will be sipping exotic booze exotically.

One t-shirt! One t-shirt is what the writer of 'First time around the world' says to take. I might live to regret it, (but I bloody doubt it) but I am gonna take more than one t-shirt you crazy smelly yank. Jesus wept, how the banana are you supposed to survive with one t-shirt. I accept he has circumnavigated the globe 87 times and knows all the shit, hence his creation of this guide for us amateurs, but one t-shirt. Give me strength.

The miserable sod doesn't stop there. Apart from only wearing a sole t-shirt for a year, I shouldn't go travelling with friends as we will be at each others throats within minutes. Well, he is obviously basing this on personal experience, and I would have fallen out fast with him too, if he was staying in his singular garment for the whole trip. Even if you got used to the stench, it would be just annoying to see someone in the same clothing each day.

One pair of socks. I'm not shitting you. That's what he says. Round the world in one pair of socks. Holy crap. Tea cosy pete changes his more often than that. I am regretting purchasing this book. There are small mercy's. You can take 2-4 sets of pants. He probably takes 2 though. His cheesy quote is 'to stay in the same town and change clothes every day, or wear the same clothes, and just change towns.' Well how about I do both you stanking nonce. I will be changing towns fast, if you are in the same room you honking git.

So, next time I write some words of wisdom, I should be somewhere else, and not sitting here listening to the Swans getting stuffed by Leeds.

Which is nice!