mightymark

Update. I left my old faithful bike in a damp cellar, put all my other wordly goods (as opposed to other-wordly, that would have been far too odd) in a big rucksack and headed to Amsterdam for the next 5 months, where I found another bicycle, it was destroyed by a garbage truck, I found another which had emotional problems (continually breaking down), worked in a book shop, learned to salsa dance, moved house 5 times, learned Dutch for 'plastic bag?', 'thankyou' and 'see you soon,' met mostly good people, missed Sinter Klaus and finally came back to Bristol to begin a glorious new career in advertising. Without a job. In a recession. I have rather a lot of free time on my hands as a consequence. It's like the Andes all over again - embarking ... read more

Voila, my first blog videos and pretty darn fine they are too. Oh yes. Well, all it does in France is rain, which is good for the slugs, which are still hunting my bicycle shorts under the flysheet at night, but, but, maybe it's beginning to change. I got mosquito bitten last night, which I believe is a positive omen for better weather. I am, the barman tells me, in THE SMALLEST TOWN IN EUROPE!, though I can't remember what it's called right now. It's full of boats, has a big river, rains a lot, is near Dijon (where the ketchup comes from) and is just the place for a wee rest. I've been here 2 days, doing nothing, 'cause I was knackered. I've been flying up all sorts of big mountains (the Vercors and the ... read more

There's a funny smell in the cyber cafe, and I realise it's me. Stale armpits, yummy. But that's not the worst of it. 2 days ago I stop for a little chat with a french cyclist with a green tarpulin over his rack and he calls me a fatty! I explained I'd just eaten a banana, but it didn't wash. I'm not a fatty, just well proportioned. And then it's been loads more rain, thunder, lightning and a change of route up into the Vercors mountains, slug trails on my cycle shorts, many peanuts, loads of cheese (fattinesses), Phil Collins on the radio (the musical equivalent of a slug in your nether garments) and shamelessly delaying setting off today, as it's up up up, then down down down, followed by another up up up. I think ... read more

After cycling again in Italy, I got bored and took several trains from Florence to Aix-en-Provence, while someone else took my camera. Merde. Bad news is the vomiting monster shape I saw on the road outside Siena will now never appear in my photo album; good news is I've done unfeasibly huge cyclings in a big circle up Mont Ventoux, through gorges, up into the Provencal Alps, lots of rain, lightning, thunder (though not la tonnerre de la derriere), really enjoying it again, while waiting for replacement camera to come in the post. Which it now has. All the photogenic stuff happened before, so for now it's just a table footballer with a couple of snails. 8,685 kilometres on the clock. Lumme! ... read more

Hands up at the outset, I have had a little bit to drink and no food and I've done heaps of cycling, so. I'm in a most extraordinary place. Matera. Little Mel Gibson was here first, apparently, and filmed Christ being crucified (usual quip about being well hung....) and there's this area called the sassi where folk pretty much used to live in caves. Me too. I've slung the boat out (there being no camping) and shacked up in a hostel, which is one of the caves. I've had a little dilemma today. For the last week I've been heading this general direction, intending to catch a ferry to Corfu, in the assumption that it will be warmer and cheaper, but now I'm on the brink I've got a little confused as to why exactly i ... read more

Oooh, my little legs are tired. 300 km in 3 days and a thunderstorm outside of Napoli and up a big hill. So, for a rest, I'm at Pompeii, mulling (a la Frankie Howard). Not much of a rest though. I was expecting a few crumbly columns, maybe a statue, not the great big town that it is. Packs of screaming school kids accompanied by frumpy teachers. Soooo glad I'm not a teacher! I should have done a little research before embarking on that waste of a year. Italians are so vain. Sat opposite a white shellsuit bum fluff moustachio'd youth on the metro patting and preening his hair every time we went through a tunnel, so his reflection was just so. He'd have liked Priapus. There's a charming picture of him in Pompeii weighing his ... read more