to get old and knowing you must first be new and stupid .

To Get Old and Wise, You Must First be New and Stupid

Introduction

I would care to acquaint you to the champion of this story - a young, handsome, muscular, vivacious and slightly delusional character, known as -me. For 23 years I`ve lived in Guernsey, an island situated between France and England. We are neither French nor English, although we are a crown dependency and about of our road names are in French (conclude what you will)!

I hereby cordially invite the referee of this Journal (that`s you) to follow me on a request that will lead us far off from home. I bear no idea where we will go or how long we will be gone. I am presently writing from the ease of my own home, some four weeks prior to our journeys commencement.

Before we climb aboard a wafer-thin sheet of aluminium, folded to the embodiment of a cucumber, with jets bolted to its sides, lets get to love each other a bit better. Now, I`m afraid that this is only a "one-way book", so, for the remainder of this chapter I`m going to be a date`s worst nightmare and speak just about myself. If it makes you sense any better, place the word on your lap and talk freely to it for the following ten-twenty minutes. Give it a quick summary of your life, pick it up again and Bobs your uncle (even if he`s not) its time to speak about me.

What a fabulous me I am (note the delusion stated previously)! Born and bred on this 24.3sq mile piece of rock, it was here that I gave my first kiss, keenly followed by the response of my first slap. I feel extremely privileged to have been bought up in a beautiful and secure environment as this. However, island life has had its drawbacks. I would very seldom be capable to commit a childish act of rising or, in after years, get drunk and run down the street, without my father knowing more about what I`d done than I did. On an island this small, everybody knows who you are. It also doesn`t help when you run naked down your own street!

I think this is the better position to start, my parents. Awesomely brilliant and brilliantly awesome, I couldn`t have asked for a better mum and dad. They stood by me through years of parent-teacher meetings, most of which were less than satisfactory. My ability to interrupt a way full of new people became a subject of legend in the teacher`s lounge, not to name my ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time (often holding the wrong object). I once decided it would be a sound mind to bring prank `sticky shit` into a geography lesson. Every time the teacher turned his back I`d have the shit onto the roof where it would stay for a spell before reverting to earth. It wasn`t long before everyone else found this comic and the geography lecturer figured I was up to my tricks again. Unluckily for me the tail was already stuck to the roof above my head, the teacher was In the heart of giving me a bollocking when the fake brown turd succumbed to the forces of sobriety and came down with a splat between us. I was sent to the headmasters` office, a man who I had so far failed to move in my first class at secondary school.

Luckily, a headmistress soon replaced the headmaster. Unluckily, a number of events saw me in her bad books too. I can`t quite remember how I ended up in the girl`s toilets but I think peer pressure had something to do with it. My mates were waiting out in the corridor to tap on the door if anyone came. They ignored their duties and a female entered. I quickly dashed for a cubicle and waited until the daughter had gone about her business, during this time I thought I`d heard the bathroom door opened for a bit time but discharged it as a figment of my imagination. The girl left and all went silent. After 20 seconds I open the stall door, I quickly learnt that my mates weren`t mates at all, stood in face of me was the towering figure of our new headmistress. My instincts quickly created a lie "Hello miss. What brings you to the boys toilets?" it had to either appeal to her gullible side or her feel of humour, she had neither.

And so my school life continued, being punished or shouted at most days. I was still able to add the classic `condom prank` to my number of misconduct. Having dropped a Johnny down my mate`s top his resulting scream alerted the science teacher that I had again done something hilarious. The contraceptive device was confiscated from my arsenal and that was the final I heard of it. A few weeks afterwards I was called into the Headmistress` office. She pulled the dried-out condom from her lot with the accession of a post-it note detailing my call and offence "what`s this?" she asked in her authoritarian voice. Amazingly I resisted the impulse to explain but didn`t quite stifle a smirk.

In between getting in pain at school, I found myself a new hobby, The Guernsey Marine Cadet Corp, an amazing youth service that taught me the values or respect, organisation, alcohol and sex. The latter two weren`t on the program but somehow we managed to contain them into our social lives. I met four of my best friends at cadets, Adam, Dave, Matt and Tom, since the age of thirteen we`ve been together on nearly every adventure imaginable. I wont mention any names here, but during a drunken house party I`d gotten quite friendly with one of my best mates sisters - in his bathroom. He walked in on us at a rather crucial moment. As we both looked up at him in shock, what came out of his talk was far from expected "you bastards have upset my fucking towel rail!" according to her the court had died and that was the end of that.

I`d soon finished my GCSE`s and it was time to provide secondary school, I had to create a decision - further training or work. I had a beautiful girlfriend at the time, she took the further education route and wish a mouse chasing cheese, I followed. We soon split-up and my enthusiasm for the training system waned somewhat. Within weeks I`d left school to be a thrilling career with our local ferry operator. It shortly became evident that a calling as a, Passenger Service Agent, wasn`t as chill as it sounded. One night, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, showed on TV - My brain had been made - I wanted to be an archaeologist. Back to A-levels I went.

Throughout my two days at the Guernsey Grammar School, another girl entered my life, she didn`t have perky breasts, amble buttocks or a cunning smile. She wasn`t called Lucy or Laura (or any other girls name for that matter). She was only known as NSP 7ft10" - a minimal surfboard that got me in more pain than my attitude did! I was always late for class due to early morning surfs, it was difficult to deny where you`ve been when you grow up with wet hair and salt caked to your face.

So I spent those couple of years surfing and partying, schoolwork taking a backseat. If I`m truly honest, I wish I`d worked harder at school. I got kicked out two weeks before my final exams; the teachers were fed up with me not being in class. My grades were predicted to go based on the number of process I`d done. I passed Religious studies and Ethics, in Field Studies I also gained a C grade - in Environmental Science I got an E (which obviously doesn`t stand for `excellent`). I`ve thus far got no real regrets but I can`t help wonder what I would have achieved if I`d worked for my grades.

The sentence had come for me to re-enter the actual existence of work, like any other self-respecting bum I opted for university. I took Religious Studies with Divinity and Archeology at Winchester University for six weeks. "Six weeks?" I see you say, "that`s a bloody short uni course!" well, If you let me stop my time you`ll take that I didn`t quite close the course. I got bored there too. Even I could see a design starting to issue in my life. Simply put, I accept the attention span of a fly caught in a low light test facility. With this in mind it probably wasn`t the best approximation to get home and begin running in IT. I`d already had some boring jobs in my little life, including, but not express too - turning sausages in a caf, picking bits of scrap metal from a conveyor belt, shovelling mud from one batch into another, booking other peoples holidays and cleaning sweaty gym equipment - so when I say that running in IT was a mind numbing, soul destroying and emotionally demoralising job, please consider me at my word. Perhaps it wouldn`t have been so bad if I hadn`t been running on the service desk for our local government.

Me - "good morning, your through to the ITU Helpdesk, how may I be of assistance?"

Technophobe - "my computer doesn`t look to be working"

Me - "I`ll log an incident report and an engineer will be with you shortly"

Technophobe - "thank you, bye"

And so the conversations went, time after time, until I one day I extended the script_

Me - "before you go, we have been advised of a virus which is currently effecting Civil Servants computers, can I ask that you finish a tax before we ask a technician to experience a look?"

Technophobe - "yes of course"

Me - "you`ll get on your computer a game called solitaire, the solitary way to rid your computer of the virus is by thrashing the game. This should solve any issues you have."

I didn`t quite look the wretched old lady to drop all morning trying to get the system. I also didn`t anticipate that she`d almost get fired. After this I played by the rules but I also realised that a normal job wouldn`t quite do for me - So I decided to get a politician.

Four months before the quadrennial elections, after 3 months of existence an IT assistant, I announced to the local papers that I would become Guernsey`s youngest political candidate. I had knowledge of our local political organization that rivalled any Amazonian tribesman`s, henceforth; I had a lot to study in a short stop of time! As I knocked on the doors of local peoples houses, I soon became cognisant of the problems that our island faced, I grew up tight in those two months. Evolving from a shorts and T-shirts twenty year old trying his fortune at a new career, into a young man who cared for his island and its population. Nevertheless, I retained some of my youthful character. Fourteen hours before ballot boxes were due to open I found myself sat at bar with one of my best mates trying to get free beer "There`s a full fortune that I could be a politician tomorrow_any chance of a pint on the family?" I said in a spot of speech to the barmaid. Luckily she took compassion on me and passed over a pint of water. The following day was horrendous - my mouth felt like a carpet factory that had been broken into by a thousand cats with urinal dysfunction and my head gave the effect it could implode at any moment. I stood at the charm of the voting hall for 12 hours greeting voters and tackling political questions.

One grand and forty-Seven people voted for me on that day, had I gotten in I wouldn`t have defeated a single one. But it wasn`t meant to be, I missed out by around 200 votes, give or take. "C`est la vie" - in truth, I was gutted.

Destiny had closed one door but, as always, had opened another. I applied for a journalist position at our local paper. Manly due to the contacts I`d made during the elections and because my face had become `popular` around the island I got the job. And so I started another doomed career, writing about cats stuck up trees and people who had been caught pissing in the street- the irony of this fact did not pass be by, for I had been caught doing the precise same thing. A friend agreed to support an eye out whilst I relieved myself behind some bins. With a smell of relief I went around my business, checking over my shoulder to make sure max hadn`t abandoned me. PC 113 was stood directly behind me, this was now the back time I`d been sewn up by mates in the toilet department! I vaguely tried to utter my way out of it but soon gave up as the water from a hastily stashed penis quite clearly dribbled down my jeans.

The following 5 months of my spirit we`re spent writing local stories along with a recipe column for the weekly paper, a postscript to the primary daily rag. Beer bum chicken, boiled pig`s brains and balut (cooked fertilised chicken egg) featured among the rankings. As I publish this I`m starting to see how often of a waster I must sound, for once again I got bored of my job. The company wanted to engage me into a five-year contract in substitution for training. It was at this period that I had to establish another decision, get stuck in a job for 5 years, most probably get married, have kids, buy a house, become an alcoholic, give-up alcohol, die in a car crash at age twenty four or quit, and do some travelling. It`s worth mentioning at this place that I`ve been in a relationship with a daughter for considerably over a year (for anonymities sake, not many girls out there would wish to take to being my girlfriend, we shall call her Jean). She was into her second year of university and we`d been done some hard times due to the problems caused by long distances. Despite our relationship I took the travelling route, deciding to throw the space between us even greater.

For the last 160,000 years humans have roamed the world in the variety of Homo sapiens - a species that has evolved from three and a half million years of evolution. I`d like to believe that we`ve learnt a matter or two in this time, it would be gracious to think that we`d get a long way since our cavemen instincts of sex and hunting. So when I travelled ten thousand one hundred and three miles in about twenty-three hours, to the nation of Australia, I couldn`t help but remember to myself "yep, as a human race, we possess come a long way" We`ve invented machines to prepare meals in mere minutes, technology for instantaneous worldwide communications, ships that can move into the emptiness of space, we `discovered` fire and invented the wheel. So why can the average male still not see his penis? A count of weeks into my Australian adventure I`d managed to wander on my girlfriend. Things wouldn`t have been so bad if it wasn`t with one of her best mates. Of course as shortly as it happened I did the honorable thing and tested to extend my tracks. I`ve told you this much so I may as well stick with the truth (its not like lying got me anywhere) - I didn`t cheat on her once, or double or 3 times, the distinguished look of my Neolithic adultery stood at four - by the time Jean found out. At this period of my travels I`d made it in a clapped out old van to the metropolis of Darwin, hooking up with one of my best friends from home, Chris. We`d discovered a casino whilst hunting for work; shortly we stopped looking for study and started gambling instead. By the end of that week I was left with a broken relationship and a broken wallet. I had to head home and try to fix things.

After much talking, me taking a few punches and paid for a full many meals, Jean and I managed to separate things out. Before I went to Oz, we`d decided to fill up in Thailand for a month during her summer holidays. We went on with that programme and spent an amazing time traveling around South East Asia`s top tourist destination. We discovered temples, Buddhist statues, beach bars, caves and waterfalls, along with the fact that our relationship just wasn`t meant to be. Shortly afterwards we got home it was decided that we should split-up.

Even though I was the one who cheated on her, thus causing the relationship to crumble quicker than a cookie at a charity bake sale, it hit me hard. I`m not going to say that I cried - I`m far too much of a man for that. Ok, I`m lying, I cried, but in a manly way. Well, if you consider listening to `I will ever enjoy you` on repeat, whilst passing through old photos and sobbing into a pillow as being manly, then I was exceptionally manly!

Life went on, I`d learnt a valuable lesson the laborious way. It was time to get myself a calling and separate myself out. I moved into a new house, after travelling Australia I needed independence from my parents, I was my own man and as often as I loved them I couldn`t be at home. Even though I moved into a sign that my parents owned, I even felt freedom, that impression of office as you learn to be your own life aside from the sleepless eye of your mum and dad! It didn`t matter that I`d only moved next door, that I divided the same car park with mum and dad. Or that mum would cook me dinner and dad would cause me tidy my room - I was my own man!

I followed in dad`s footsteps, the same profession as that of my grandmother and his father before him - I became a scrap metal merchant. Learning the tricks of the trade, I presently became a commercial manager in Dads business, Guernsey Recycling. Life was sweet, I had money in the bank, I drove a beach buggy, watched TV on a 50" screen and had numerous games consoles - things couldn`t get much better. Until one day my best mate Adam walks in, explaining how he`s split up with his Girl and inevitably a home to live. Life just got better.

And so, for a few months, we lived happily together. Adam being a policeman meant that he was frequently at work whilst I was home. I liked to appear at us as partners, me being the civilian who didn`t always observe the rules and Adam being the officer who went by the book - although we never actually fought crime together it was exactly how we were perceived - by me.

The fridge was never abandon of beer, the slump was seldom empty of washing up. Posters of women were strategically placed so that people wouldn`t get the incorrect notion of two guys living together. The manliness of our combined DVD collections was matched only by the pure sense of man that greeted every visitor who dare step over our threshold. Practically over night we transformed the family into a bachelors dream.

Life was at a complete balance, I enjoyed my job and got paid well for it. My interior life was a perfect mix of beer and Indian takeaways. But something was missing, and it took me a piece to put my thumb on it. I thought it might have been the demand for a good (or bad) woman in my bed at night, after a few attempts at dating, it turned out this wasn`t the case. Deep down I knew what was up, my curiosity of early cultures wasn`t satisfied, my thirst for adventure hadn`t been slated - my want to travel required to be acknowledged.

Which brings us to the hither and now. I`ve sold all that I own, quit my job and engaged a one-way ticket to Asia. What happens from here, only time will tell. As we tread into the inky darkness of uncertainty.

Guernsey

05/09/10 - written in Bangkok

There`s a certain nonchalance about my small island in The Channel. D-day had arrived and so came a 30-hour journey, startingwith the Guernsey/Gatwick leg. Making sure I was at the face of the queue for boarding, I led the way onto a tiny inter-island aircraft. I`d chosen a place at the rear, right hand side of the plane - hoping to relish a spectacular 7am sunrise. Finally I made it to the airplanes rear and began scanning above the chairs for seat 21D. A little problem occurred when the place numbers ceased at 20. Casually, I asked the flight attendant where my seat had gone, he looked at my slate and replied in a mysteriously husky voice "there is no seat 21"my mind raced as I thinking about what this could mean, perhaps I`d been granted a particular seat away from these other `normal` people, maybe I had to pass through the fence like Harry Potter at platform 9-3/4, maybe I was on a hidden camera show or there was still a slight (I daren`t really hope this were the case) chance that I could get to sit in the cockpit. Disappointingly, none of these thoughts came to fruition; instead I was asked to hold until everyone was seated before choosing from the left over chairs. Being the beginning to board meant that the relief of the cabin took their sweet time about sitting down. An awkward ten minutes passed as myself and the overly camp fight attendant stood toe to toe in the cramped rear galley. Looking back "do you fly here often" probably wasn`t the best question to ask him. The remaining passengers finally found a seat, and luckily, there was yet a right-side window space available. I plumped my arse down and looked out of the window_the aeroplanes wing obscured 90% of the view. At least I didn`t get blinded by the other morning sun - ever the optimist.

And its this easy going "whatever/no worries/if you haven`t got a bottom just waiting and we`ll see if we can get one" ethos of Guernsey that distinguishes it from the ease of the developed world.

After 50 minutes my feet touchdown on London soil, Unfortunately Guernsey doesn`t fly to Heathrow (my departure point) so, upon arrival in Gatwick I made my way to the National Express coach for a 20 bus ride round the M25. It was here that a solidus of luck struck, through cunning, wit, intelligence and charm I muscled my way onto a flight leaving 10 hours sooner than my original ETD.

Sooner than expected I was airborne once again, so long England and your cold drizzle. It could be months before I hit upon another English person. I was flying off into a sunset of self-discovery, with all reminders of home left in my jet stream. Well, this would have been the face if I hadn`t been sandwiched between two English scoundrels. My "sunset of self-discovery" became a sleepless flight of riot with John to my left telling rude jokes and Vikki on my right ordering gin after gin - it wouldn`t be very British of me not to get involved now would it.

Thailand

09/09/10 - written on the travel between Siam Reap and Battambang, travelling via riverboat. 7 hour journey costing $10

Bangkok flew by, mainly due to the fact that Thom and I speedily establish a bar to phone home. By the way, Thom`s one of my best friends from home. A day before departing, the 24-year-old ex journalist turned creative writing student, decided to unite me for two weeks. He arrived in Bangkok twelve hours after myself, which allowed plenty of sentence for a pair of cheap beers - The local poison being Chang, which is poured at about 1.50 a pint. Soon afterwards his arrival we headed to the well-known Koh San Road, a load of tarmac where you can free yourself in the backpacker vibe. The place certainly doesn`t make you a piece of Bangkok life, which leads some travellers to hold well away. In my opinion, it is what it is. A situation where travellers of every age, race, sex and creed come together as they go through Asia. Allowing people to have carefree, cheap fun before or later a trip around South East. Unfortunately Thom and I became a bit too carefree, had a bit too much fun and I even managed to degrade myself. Stumbling through the streets at 3am its difficult not to get heckled by the "hey young man, you wanna come possess some happy time?" to a 22-year-old drunk man it`s an offer that`s hard to resist - so I didn`t. The ensuing story is one that has left me with a just few nightmares. The story begins with one that Thailand`s renowned for, sun soaked pristine beaches, lady boys, Hill trekking, the trinity that number to mind. Unfortunately, there are no beaches in Bangkok and the nearest that I got to hill trekking was stumbling up my hostels stairs - which I did at 3am and promptly woke Thom with "you prick" the sole words I could speak before going out on my bed - for it had been Thom who`d proclaimed, with an air of certainty I may add, "yep, she`s definitely a woman" - If you can`t see out the balance of this level you probably should spring up on the stay of this book.

After a much-needed four-hour sleep the person searching trip that I`d envisaged began in earnest - with more alcohol. Over a pair of beers we spent 3 hours deliberating where to travel next, eventually settling on Cambodia. We took into score the hills of the north, the aloofness of Myanmar (Burma) the beaches of Thailand`s south, the monsoons in the Union East and the idea of floating down rivers in Laos. Temples, rivers, beaches and the opening of monsoons meant that Cambodia came up on top, with a trigger that Thom and I could dispatch in less than two weeks. To keep our decision we went to our new temporary home - Happy Bar. It`d made a big effect on us due to the mob who run it and the set back atmosphere which is strictly enforced. We`d only planned on having a pair of beers as our minibus was due to gather us at 7am. But alas, Mae, the bars Rastafarian looking owner, soon thwarted our cleverly laid plan. Apparently it wasn`t only the bar that had made an effect on us, the spirit was mutual. A few free drinks later and Thom was in the humour to party whilst I was in the humor to forget (bearing in mind what had happened less than 24 hours ago).

Three Israelis and a hot band later meant that those "couple of beers" were ruined at 6am with the startling realization that our bus to Cambodia`s border departed in an hour`s time. You need your wits about you to traverse the border; crooked officials go out of their way to build a horse or two from unsuspecting tourists. A holdover from sin and no sleep certainly isn`t advised. Non-the-less we made it across the ring and into a new country - very small is remembered from the trip.