Ooo-oo, I'll get by with a little help from my friends...

Evenin' Sires...

OK, pissed blog alert! I've been out with some friends tonight - Joanne, Pete and Kirsty. To the pub. Which means from here on in it gets a bit messy/slushy. Joanne is best mate number one; known her since school (our friendship has lived through the time we threw 'Teeny Terrapins' at the school corridor ceiling to the time she sat on my knee at the youth club and told me she wanted to be my girlfriend... bleeeeuuuurgggh!... to the countless times we have dragged each other through major life crises in adulthood... i.e. every other week) and she is one of two people I couldn't live without. Feel closer to Jo than anyone else in my life. We are truly each others' rock. She means more to me than I think she knows - she is an amazing person who I draw a lot of strength from. She'll laugh at that, but it's true. Pete is best mate number two. Don't even know where to start with Pete. Met him at college, went to Uni together - became inseparable. And that's where I think that sentence ends. You know when you just KNOW you will NEVER be without someone? Well that's me and Pete. He is my best friend and someone who I could trust with my life. The greatest thing is, Pete got married a few years ago. There's a song by Soul Asylum - can't remember if it's called 'We Three' or 'The Three of Us' (you get the message). Anyways, it's about a guy whose best friend meets a girl and he just phases his bessie mate out, which I guess happens a lot. Now, I'm milking my best man's speech here but... when Pete got hitched, I didn't lose a best friend - I gained a new one. I mean that now more than ever. Kirsty - you da BE-ATCH, girl! That means, I'm rather fond of her.

Anyhoo, pissed or no, tonight I feel a really deep stab of pain for my friends. I sat in the pub tonight and it really punched home, how much I will miss you all - not just Pete, Joanne and Kirsty (who remind me every 20 seconds how selfish I am for leaving them) but for all my amazing friends - you know who you are. You have always been THE most important factor in my life. You have been there for me when I needed you most and I love you all dearly for it.

Now - form an orderly queue. The most loyal / agile and dirty in a fist-fight will have the best crack at my personal belongings...

Mwah!

John

PS) It seems to have escaped most people's notice (except yours, Miss.Creant - thank you) but you can actually post comments to this Blog. I'm not so bothered now, but after a ten day trek in darkest Peru with n'ery a hot shower nor a copy of 'heat' magazine in sight, a wee message from home wouldn't go amiss...

'Buenas tardes. Como estas?' 'Ey up, cock - I'm champion thanks!'

The ball isn't so much rolling as careering downhill at lightspeed. Saying the last ten days have been a bit stressful is like saying Jordan is slightly over-styled. And things are starting to seem so REAL. The deed is done; I have handed my notice in at work. My last day 'with the business' is Friday April 8th, which gives me about three weeks off before I'm really 'off'. I felt sick when I did it, not because I was having anything that even came close to second thoughts but because every little action like that just cements the whole thing. The news - and it must've been a bit of a shocker to people - was met with a mixture of genuine interest/good wishes and feigned interest/good wishes. Any doubts I may have had (and if I said I hadn't had any I would be a big fat liar) vanished within an hour or so of actually clicking on 'send'. Ol' Bob has also handed his notice in (his parole date is April 22nd) and since then we have spent countless hours round at mine on the internet trying to agree our itinerary and find cheap places to stay. Oh, and looking wistfully at five star hotels in Rarotonga. Planning major hub-cities for a round-the-world trip may sound easy but trust me, wars have been fought and won with less tears and tantrums (I'm ashamed to say, all mine). It's even more difficult because we will be together sometimes and separate sometimes. I sit here surrounded by the evidence of last night's strategy meeting; boundless scraps of paper covered with (completely illegible) scrawlings, a stack of empty Stella Artois bottles (me), an empty wine bottle (Bob, with a little help from me) and screwed-up Creme Egg and KitKat Kubes wrappers (both, dulling the stress with a chocolate fix). It's been worth it - we now have a plan! I am off to Manchester in the morning to chat to the nice travel agent lady at Trailfinders and double-check that each stage of the trip is do-able (there are so many bleedin' restrictions on our five-continent air ticket you would think we were trying to infiltrate MI5, not organise bloody flights...). I would love nothing more than to blab all about it now but Bob (being ever-cautious) has forbidden me to mention it until it's booked. Trust him to piss on me chips...

The other noteworthy thing is that I have started Spanish classes! OK, it's not really a proper language course - it's actually called 'Holiday Spanish' and runs for ten weeks at my local college. I'm hardly going to be fluent when I'm done but it's a funky little intro that covers conversation essentials. After just one two hour class I can order ice-creams and introduce friends of multiple nationalities. Which will come in SO handy when we are lost in Peru or have a medical emergency in Venezuela. Other than the obvious benefits of having a bit of the lingo, the class itself is actually pure comedy and worth attending for entertainment value alone. Apart from one guy who is moving to Spain next year, the group is made up exclusively of middle-aged couples who spend a few weeks every summer on the Costa Brava and posses an inexplicable desire to 'interact with the locals' and 'feel part of the culture' (their words, not mine). My favourite is Mavis, who turned up last week with her best bingo drag on, full 'Labour Social Club' Miss Mary of Sweden make up and hair that was so back-combed she had to stoop to get through the door. Mavis was with her husband Dave (who said two words all night, neither of which were Spanish) and they are thinking of buying a timeshare in Alicante. When Mavis found out during the obligatory 'ice-breaker' that I wasn't there because I am going on a lads holiday to Benidorm, she was seriously impressed. And when I told her that I wasn't actually going to Spain, I was going to South America, she said (after taking a moment to compute)... 'why are you learning Spanish then?' You couldn't make it up. Needless to say me and ol' Mave got on famously and even sat togther at coffee break.

Anyways, it's Friday night and I have things to do. Mortgage transfers, visa applications and finding cheap travel insurance being some of the more exciting ones. Joy.

Hasta luego, mes amigos!

Juan x

Meet.... me!

It's not easy being cheesy...

It just occured to me that although I have embarrassed the other two by posting unflattering photos, I haven't yet posted one of myself! A more intelligent person would probably be able to insert it into the first post but hey, I never claimed to be that bright!

Meet Bob!

Nice...

I think it’s fair to say that the biggest dilemma facing any traveller is ‘how the HELL am I going to live out of one tiny back-pack?’ To some, it’s not that big a deal. A few carefully selected exclusions, some strategic packing and - voila. Bring on the chicken bus. To others (i.e. me and Denise) it is a thought that brings on hives, restricted breathing and panic attacks. What, no Clarins? Not even a cute travel-sized pack? And what do you mean, there’s no room for my John Frieda Tea-Tree and Camel Dung Alpha-Hydroxy Quadruple-Action Root Nourishing Hair Mask?

And then, falling into neither camp, there’s Bob. That’s him in the picture above, just after I’d begged him to let me straighten his hair. Bless.

It may not seem quite so obvious at first, but Robert was born to back-pack. I have never, EVER in all my life met anyone who can manage money like this man, and live quite happily off so little. Robert could live off £10 per week. And that would include mortgage, utilities, food shopping and perhaps even a night on the town. With drinks on him. I’m serious. When children hear the Bible story of how Jesus fed the five thousand with five loaves and two fish on the Mountain of Galilee, most are in awe. Robert’s reaction? ‘Five loaves? I could have done it with three…’ Bob likes to call himself ‘frugal’ or ‘money-wise’. But I prefer to use ‘tight-fisted old gimmer’. Joking aside, it’s a gift – and one that if I’m honest I’m quite envious of and certain will be a Godsend over the next few months. I just know that when he gets back at Christmas, Robert will write to ‘Lonely Planet’ and tell them that the $15 per day budget they suggest for Guatemala is complete nonsense, and he managed it on $10 thank-you-very-much…

There’s so much to say about Bob I don’t know where to begin. So here’s the heavily edited version. He’s from Cumbria, he’s 36 and has an accent so thick you could smear it on with a trowel. He grew up there, started his own business, got married, had a baby, decided at 28 he wanted to go to University… and then realised he was gay. Oops. I met Bob in Preston (post-divorce), where he was doing a Psychology degree. We hit it off and ended up spending seven fantastic years together. We had the house, the jobs, and the lifestyle – but somewhere along the line we grew apart and we ended up splitting up (amicably – on a Maldivian paradise island of all places) in the New Year of 2004. After a weird year, during which we went our separate ways, bought our own houses and both had a relationship with other people (both of which have recently ended) we have found ourselves at the beginning of 2005, one year after we split up, closer friends than ever and – rather bizarrely – about to embark on our biggest adventure yet. I guess Bob is my soul-mate and I hope he would say the same of me. He is my bestest friend and the person I trust more than anyone. I can’t think of a single person I would rather be starting this with. Except maybe Lisa Scott-Lee from Steps. Bet she’d be a hoot… The plan is to start off together and then see what happens. Whatever may be, I'm glad to be starting this thing with someone I know so well.

OK, so now you've met the intrepid trio. The ball is rolling. It's gathering pace. And I am realising with every passing second that THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING!!!! Stop the ride! I want to get off! Then after a couple of Vodkas I want to get right back on!

Stay tuned - and stay cool!!!!