Toronto or Vancouver? YOU decide!

I am off to Canada. I have decided that much.
Which is pretty good for me.
Just don't know whether to head to Toronto or Vancouver first.
I'm not indecisive, I'm just a bit shit at making my mind up, or I make it up, and then I change it. Twice.

Ducking the responsibility
Therefore I have decided, to make the decision, not to make the decision.
You can instead.
I am going interactive.
It's all the rage.

You can control me, as if it was 1987, and you were playing Knightmare, or for the French, Le Chevalier du Labyrinthe.
I'm afraid I can't stretch to solving riddles based around dragons, spiders and goblets, but I will walk round with a bucket over my head, and hang round with a medieval bearded maniac.

"How can we decide?" I hear you enquire.
Well, it's simple really. Just click on the comments bit at the end of this guff. It's just above the bit where you can enter your email address.
Then in the 'leave your comment' box just stick in either Vancouver or Toronto. Click on 'Name/URL' below and stick in a name, or 'Anonymous' if you are shy or don't want the blame. Then clicky on 'publish your comment,' and that's it. They won't appear straight away so don't go sticking them in again, unless you are as bad as me and want to vote for both. (update- they might appear straight away now as I have removed the moderation. Its a f**king free for all)

Jazz distracted while casting her vote.

You don't have to know me (probably a bonus for you that you don't) or have a reason. Just cast your vote. Then again maybe you have a tremendously valid reason or know something about these places. I am slightly incapable of thorough research towards wherever I am going so any advice will be welcome.

If this works then I will continue the 'game.' I can yield a few options for each ongoing destination, and YOU can cast your votes and decide where I go each time. I could leave it open, but you would probably end up sending me to the Congo, or Birdlip.
YOU will all be completely responsible for my destiny. Entirely accountable for my excursion.
Tidy.

So get involved.
Hell, it could really take off. You could end up making all my travel based decisions.
Coco pops or toast?
Pea Museum excursion or shopping for socks?
Blond or Brunette?
10 beers or 15?

My site sponsoring has paid for most of my first flight which is rather good, but you can help get me tons more wonga, and you can be the difference between the standard of sock I can purchase, with a simple click on my wonderful adverts. I shouldn't favour any, but them google ones at the top pay nicely, just with a simple click on them.
I couldn't give a shit if I'm selling out.

So if you are visiting this site for some average entertainment, then you must cast your Vancouver or Toronto 'vote' and visit my lovely sponsors.

We'll give it a few days and see if I get any votes at all. If not, then maybe I will go to Birdlip.

Where do I go?

YOU decide.

EVENING POST!...............FINAL!

You can now read my first article for the Evening Post online. It should help fill the gap until I fly off across the Atlantic, like a migrating goose.

Based on this very websites writings, it is a Christmas special starring Kelly and Yours Truly.

Dylan Thomas started his illustrious career with the very same periodical. Though, if you have seen my attempts at metrical composition, you will realise I have only one thing in common with the heavy drinking poet.


Click this link to have a squint.

Alternatively you can go to the Evening Post homepage and click on their link while it is there. You can currently find me between Kevin Johns, and a baby with two faces.

That's one of my life ambitions ticked off then.

This will be a monthly feature. Something to look forward to!

Gower

I've been travelling a bit. Sort of.
Just because its all on my doorstep shouldn't render it void and unworthy of a mention.
I've written all about the distant places around the globe, so I thought, while I had the chance, I would describe the delights of my home city and its rather smashing Gower peninsula.

Then all the millions of people who are reading this around the World, can come and check out this little part of our planet, while I'm checking out theirs.
I've also got to play with my new camera before it is utilised for real on my next travels. Its got more buttons than Cadburys so extensive training is essential.


Just a few minutes drive from the centre of Wales second biggest city, and you are on Gower. Spoilt for choice with beaches, and cracking countryside, you won't get better in the whole of Britain. I have got to know it like the back of my foot, due to driving around it about ten thousand times with my last job, and the dog making me take her down the beaches every other day for a paddle, and a bark at bearded ramblers.

Famous for its surfing (I went all the way to New Zealand to have my first surf) and its Horse trekking (I went all the way to New Zealand to have my first horse trek), there is plenty for you outdoor type travelling people.

The craziness of the Welsh weather can be summed up in a matter of days. Last Thursday, when the above picture was taken of Three Cliffs Bay, it was like a summer's day. I shit you not. It was a scorcher. People were wearing shorts, constructing sand castles, and even swimming in the sea. There were hosepipe bans, ice cream shortages, wasp attacks, and handkerchief headed men frying eggs on the bonnets of their Ford Capris. If we could somehow keep this weather forever then this place would easily give New Zealand and Australia a run for its dollars.

Today, just to ruin any hope of that, and only three days later, I wake up to a blanket of snow. We have really broke the climate this time. I'm doing my part. I use roll-on deodorant and always recycle my socks, though due to the size of my feet, I can't help my massive carbon footprint.

We'd better start with Three Cliffs Bay, which does seem to be getting more and more national recognition recently. Katherine Jenkins endorsed it on national telly, and it came second in the ITV vote for Britain's favourite view. I think Katherine Jenkins herself came first.

Only the other day I saw Gavin and Stacey's Uncle Bryn (why is he always drinking drinks with a straw), using the very same panorama, to show that Wales wasn't all bad. Maybe it would be even more popular if someone came up with a myth for the Three Cliffs, similar to what the Australians have done for the Three Sisters in the Blue Mountains. OK, we wouldn't be able to say they were once Aboriginal teens, petrified for eternity by a yeti, but they could have been three welsh blokes (all conveniently called Cliff) who were so stunned by the amazing view, they never wanted to leave, so they turned to stone, and have been forever staring out across the bay. Magical bullshit, that will have the tourists fighting each other to get a butchers.
A superb beach then. Where else would you need to go?

Well, when I turned round 180 degrees on the cliff top, from where I took the above picture, I was greeted by another rather agreeable view.

Tor Bay, right below, leads round to the magnificent sweep of Oxwich Bay and some more nifty beaches. Oxwich itself was recently voted Britain's best beach by The Travel Magazine. Nestled in between the both is my favourite sandy Gower bit. A local beach for local people. When I was little, the trek to get there from the car park (well a farmers field) seemed to take forever. Its only in Swansea that the locals would call a beach, Crawley Woods! Fair do's you do have to go through Nicholston Woods to get to the beach, but when people refer to a day out at Crawley Woods, their ultimate destination is the beach, as they ain't packing their deck chairs, sun lotion, and bucket & spade to sit in a forest.

The woody trek down takes about five minutes (not forever, unless you are under sixteen) and is well worth it. There is even the famous rope swing on the way, if you fancy breaking an extremity. You'll usually have the beach to yourself, if it isn't the height of summer (that's usually one day in June in Wales). Then again, when my legions of readers have read this, you might not be able to see the sand for bodies.

There are three new YHA hostels in the Swansea Bay area so plenty of room to stay and explore. Talking of exploring too, there is a Gower Explorer bus which goes from central Swansea to all corners of Gower. You can't miss it. It's big and green. I have used it.Kelly and I were attending a Ghost night at the excellent Gower Heritage centre, and we wern't going to do that without indulging in a few gallons of booze. Hence the utilisation of public transport. I hate to compare the driver to those met while travelling Australia and New Zealand, but while they were amongst the most friendly and helpful beings in the Universe, this guy was amongst the biggest sour-faced moaning sods, this side of Saturn. I, you see, made the inexcusable mistake of checking the destination of his bus.

'Is this bus going to Parkmill?,' I enquired of the rat faced git

'NOOOOOO, THE NEXT BUS GOES TO PARKMILL. NOT THIS ONE. THE NEXT BUS.NO,' replied the bellowing buck-faced bastard.

I stood corrected. I scoured my brain for a quick witty response. What is commonly known as a 'put-down.' Nothing came to mind in time, so he suitably pissed me right off. He is singularly responsible for getting people back in their cars in Swansea. Don't let that put you off though. It all adds to the local experience.

Didn't see any spooks by the way, but my vision was severly affected by vast amounts of local lager.

Plenty more to tell you about Gower, including the Geologists dream at Port Eynon and the nudist beach experience. So be back soon.

April Fish

I must announce with great sadness that Simon's reign as the first genetically modified ice cream man, has come to a premature end.

He was found lying on the floor of his van covered in hundreds and thousands.

Police say he topped himself.

No, no, no, no! If you haven't realised by now, my last story was a hoodwink. A hoax. A ruse to acknowledge April Fools Day.

It wasn't all a complete fabrication. The history was all true, with Brian really existing and behaving just as I extensively documented.

To be honest I'm a bit gutted. I almost convinced myself I was gonna be an ice cream man. So the jokes on me. Apologies to those who got excited at the prospect of me handing out feasts and calipos round the Swansea suburbs. Perfect weather for it at the moment too.

I had to mark the tradition of All Fools day. It came down to me either becoming the ice cream man, or a Franciscan Nun.

I hoped it would better the other April fools stories of the day which included flying penguins, Catherine Zeta-Jones's face on some Mumbles cliffs, and Cardiff in an FA cup semi-final .

Just be thankful you are not French. They have the tradition of 'Poisson d'Avril.' This involves the sneaky attachment of a picture of a fish to someones back.

People then shout 'Poisson d'Avril' or April Fish at this unfortunate sole. when they discover they have been 'had.'

Bastards.

To make amends with you all, here is a totally unrelated, but smashing picture of Swansea beach I took with my new camera.

Mr Whippy

Since I have returned form the first leg of my splendid journey, I have acquired a new confidence that was admittedly slightly dormant beforehand. I find myself talking to people on the street like I think I'm in bloody New Zealand, where it is common practice.

It would probably be common here too, if we all gave it a go more often. Try it. Next time you are passing someone in the street say, 'Lovely day. I hear Homebase is having a sale next week,' or words to that affect.

The rewards could be unbounded, as I found out when I conversed with Brian, while walking the dog on sundae.

'Cracking day. They say parsnips are supposed to be the new super food.'

'Do I know you? Nice hair by the way.'

'Good Lord, its you Brian, the ice-cream man. I didn't recognise you without your Funny Feet.'

And it was. It was Brian the ice-cream man, still alive and well after all these years. Brian used to do the local round when I was a young boy, and was without doubt a bit of a nutter. He was a few 'hundreds and thousands' short of a Fab to be honest.

I remember once, back in the day, playing at the bottom of the road. About five of us were sat on the pavement, probably melting ants with magnifying glasses, when Brian in his ice-cream van came tearing round the corner in stealth mode (he'd turned his Greensleeves music off). He mounted the pavement and tried to mow us all down for a laugh. I recall throwing myself over a garden wall, as the yellow modified transit bumped over the kerb, with Brian inside, absolutely pissing himself.

Happy days!

He knew us all well, as we spent a daily small fortune purchasing his chilly goodies. We were such good customers, I had the amazing honour of him parking right outside the house. Our cheek and abuse granted him the permission to try and run us over from time to time. Some of the boys also used to hang onto the back of his van as he drove off. They were on skateboards at the time, so would be propelled at speeds you would expect to make the wheels explode. If he saw them in his mirror he would go even faster.

Anyway. This chance meeting with Brain has provided me with an opportunity, most young lads could only dream off. He still does his rounds (though he says all this modern politically correct heath and safety shit, prevents him from attempted murder on the pavements these days) but was off into hospital for a couple of weeks to have his cones removed.

I told him I was about to head off for Canada, but wouldn't be going for a few weeks, as I have to wait for my mother to return from her travels (we are like a family of gypos) so I can leave the dog with her. Then and only then can I sod off again.

'So are you working at the moment?' he enquired.

'Well, technically no. But if someone clicks on an advertising banner on my website I do get paid. I made 15p yesterday. Does that count?'

'You could have bought a Mini Milk in the good old days for that. So you are free for the next couple of weeks?'

'Again, technically yes. But I have to look after the dog.'

'The dog will like it in my van'

'You are gonna take my dog in your van?'

'No, you are gonna take your dog in my van. How do you fancy doing my rounds while I am at the mercy of the NHS'

'ME? An ice cream man. You are f##kin joking Bri? Alright then.'

So, before you could say Neapolitan, I had become an Ice Cream man.

'Do you still sell Benson & Hedges from under the counter Brian?'

'Nope, that particular diversification ended after I got caught outside Olchfa.'

"So, I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin by. See now all my flavours are guaranteed to satisfy."

Who would have thought it ay? You never know, Brian might not recover and I could become a permanent purveyor of 99s. Its a ruthless business though. Who can forget the ice cream wars in Glasgow. Lolly Gobble Choc Bombs, Zooms and Orange Maids being used as lethal weapons. Several killed. One by a well aimed cornet.

A brief tour of the van and I'm all set to go. I sometimes think I was born without ambitions. Just happy to be alive like. But a long lost ambition re-surfaced on seeing the magical vehicle. I always wanted to go in the back of an ice cream van. They would look so amazing from outside, but as mere mortals were also kept at bay by that sliding glass window.Nowhere else will you see the unique and magical wallpaper you get on the inside roof of an ice cream van. Tremendous. I distinctly remember recreating the magic of being an ice cream man as a child.

I used the street sign. I would stand behind it and my customers would choose which frozen delight they would like by pointing to a letter, reconstructing the selection of a lolly on a real ice cream van, when you would point at the sticker on the glass window. The 'W' was always popular. But, the 'Howells Road' sign never lasted long, as it was frequently broken off and used as a ramp or a club. They gave up replacing it in the end. This only gave me the excuse to upgrade to a new 'van.' There was a new selection when I got behind 'Cyncoed Close,' and my customer loved it.

I have a worrying feeling there is something more to being an ice cream man than meets the eye. Something mystical. I could almost be selling my soul to the devil. Never ever being able to leave my van, until I pass it on to some unsuspecting stranger on the street. I thought Brian was looking well for his age. As if he had been kept in a cryogenic state due to spending most if his life in a mobile freezer.

Frozen in a perpetual purveyance of upside down daleks, with bubblegum at the bottom. Trapped between the four Walls.

What have I done?

Well stop me and buy one anyway and as the sign on the back says look out for cross children. They'll be the ones I've tried to run over.