How not to travel

After finishing off the pimms, and handing our luggage to Philipe we made our way to the train station by means of a noble stead. On arriving we bellowed our demands to the ticket instuctor, in English of course, non of that jap crap, it doesn't suit the tongue, you know. Oh dear, two seconds dear reader, I appear to have shat myself.

So where was I? Oh yes...I remember... yes, there was a mix up with the bloody tickets. "GOOD Lord!" I said, not meaning to take the Lord's name in vain, but we'd been put in with the commoners! And let me tell you dear reader, the conditions would have made Marx jump out of his grave and proclaim himself a facist.

How can I describe it? Well, imagine trying to fit Hulk Hogan and his oversized rucksack into a match box, then stuff 5 oriental folk in, add some oriental B.O. spice and reinforce the sides with wood. You get the picture. I got the picture...I also got two elbows in my side, a knee up my arse, and my head wedged in a bird cage.

If only I'd had my iconic and beloved 'Canada Goose'...

Seriously, though, I'm now having a magical time, following a trying start admittedly. Presently, we are in a place called Qufu, the birthplace of Confucius, enjoying some sage-like wisdom (writer strikes rodean thinking pose whilst perching on his chair, unfortunately the chair gives way which ruins the effect). So, as you will have inferred we have been reading a lot of wise words, but some words stand out above all, and they are the words of an "urban" sage, Mr. S. Cahill, "stop twating about and buy a pinapple suit"! Yes, sir!

ttfn,
TEB, Top Expert in Bogging... Yes the runs have caught up with me. After a long chase I acquisced outside a bus stop at about 2:15.