A rebel without a clue.

Born to two working class parents from Rawmarsh, Rotherham, South Yorkshire in Bishops Stortford on the second of February 1972. My father was a company chauffeur and my mother a housewife and dental technician. I remember nothing of my first two years in Saffron Walden. We moved to Easington, near Whitby where my father bought his own fish and chip shop and my mother had my sister. We had a dog called Sam. He got run over. I played behind the garage, pebble dashed prefab, and got ill. This might have been a first migraine or a fuller episode of the sensor and visual disturbance I used to have regularly. I remember being sick. I didn't eat any dirt, but I did dig deep. My father built a bed with planks, we had bunks in my room. Bright blue curtains. I used to put turquoise felt from a blanket up my nose. our toilet was near the front of the house on the ground floor.I used to think the rust on the screws holding the wooden seat was dried on excrement. I had a teddy bear that had a...

Glancing at the routes away from here and destinations I have trouble pronouncing. Dra gon ya Por to rož Po reč (this could be the Porridge I heard a couple mention in Piran) Krun či či Opcinà Limski kanal Eating out last night our host in Galeb - Salvo - reminds me of Enoch Powell ... but served lovely soup. It seems to me that Japanese tourists are stereotypical. We arrive at a shocking shocking bus station in Poreč and there is a reason to take a photo? Getaway! Maybe they are seeing something worthy of megabits and mega-pixels? On the campsite trail. I come upon my first naturist camp. 3km from Poreč. Rotel tours - www.rotel.de - arrived alongside me in Rovinj. With great advice I arrive at Porton Biondi How many days shall I stay here. I have to chill out tomorrow and stuff. Then perhaps move on by third night. It needs to be value for money. Maybe move the tent to a less bumpy plot or get a better under roll. Actually I feel better already. The facilities ar...

Don't believe the hype. For the past 5 years I have worked in a vast array of kitchens, from huge operations like the one at Royal Ascot to the ones seen in pubs and bars, but never once have I gone to work in a kitchen where I almost bolted instantly akin to a skittish mare, however today I saw something that I never though I would: a properly presented, 250 head bistro, in the centre of affluent York that was living very close to bone in terms of hygiene and creative passion; and never mind flair. Maybe this was just a bad day, but this was a Friday. There was a sense of urgency in the place which had created a huge mess: not enough time and/or people to create the correct environment to produce food to the highest standard; the first 2 chefs I met looked tired and unhappy, the 3 rd took it for granted that I knew where everything was in this huge and very disorganised kitchen. In my day I saw just 2 green boards for all food prep done on-the-fly(where is your mise-en-place ?...

These things happen Which are not too nice And blinking unnatural Politicans say and speak Blunt of commiserate Desperate for votes Desperate of a tragedy. Did so need Hain, Cameron and Miliband: Homing in are we Eyes like switches, On result in rattling Platitudes battling Windy spoken twitches These automatics drone On and on for votes we sue. So sorry: a neighbour cries Because this is worthy copy But I forgive him their loss Maybe in the great mine Up in the sky Look to the big coal dipper And the coaled graves there?

Aren't we all aware of the #1 satire of the 1960's: Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. Brown Shoes Don't Make It, etc. understood the dark mystery of suburban existence in the TV dinner generation of post war baby boomers. Didya get any onja? discusses the prewar tensions of harassment in Tchermany? the human discord and paranoia of questioning

Why do you so refine your mouth from trash to snob, when you're really a sham. In you I see fake and forgo yourself, But you grace our threshold with eyes that look to find a way to suck; Forced out of a gentle spinster hands: you never change. Under that address you are trash and valueless. You have more than you need, yet thrown you coins against the drain and show you friendless palm: Away! Break off this carping bullshit. Shut the door behind your relentless device: That mammoth lustful sloth and a voice so squeezed in corseted accord And I leave, exeunt stage left to a lofty height. Take you bag of bones and stash of coins hence you witch, Begone on your broom to be burnt by the sun as you are taught a lesson much too late. Take the mismatched pooch and swap it quick!

Had my first nightmare for years last night: I witnessed a barbaric act on four women by 2 dismembered 'hands' and 1 bodiless 'penis'. I recall it was in China some time not too long ago, but maybe was during the Japanese invasion/occupation: Shanghi. Basically the 4 women, 1 in her 80's, 1 in her 50's and 2 in their late teens, where raped 1 by 1 by this dismembered penis until the two hands appeared and set fire to them. As they were already hysterical: they screamed horridly as they burnt, hair first. The only person who understood the gravity of the situation was the 50 something. I think they were all drugged, but maybe not the one in her 50's. The eighty year old was very gummy and docile. Horrible scene: I woke up at 3.35am with a start. If dreams are somehow cathartic: was this?