Because I'm a Traveller!

Because I'm a Traveller !

Pristine new bootlaces - I hate them! Better they look discoloured,
dirty and a little frayed, that's what I say. You see, I'm a traveller.
Not a holidaymaker. Lord, not a holidaymaker! Travellers and
holidaymakers are like chalk and cheese! Please don't confuse me with
holidaymakers.

You see, I have the well-worn boots, a blue three layered Gore-Tex
jacket that's been to three of the four corners of the globe and a
selection of woven badges sewn onto my rucksack -- one of course being
the Union Jack. In my eyes that makes me a traveller. Oh, and the
stubble. I go to great lengths to make sure I have the right amount of
stubble. Usually three days worth but sometimes four. Too clean shaven
and I could, God forbid, be mistaken as a holiday maker who's gone
astray from the bars, beaches, restaurants and the hotels with their
pools that the Germans monopolise. On the other hand, if I grow too
much stubble then I could be mistaken for a local hobo. Now that's fine
by me if you are one of those sweet persons that care about the down
and outs and tosses your loose change at them to feed themselves with
the local delicacy, but hobo's tend to get hassled by the police and
that wouldn't do at all, would it? Mind you, I do hold my hands up to a
little busking from time to time. The tin whistle I purchased as a
souvenir some years ago in Dublin, I always pack into my rucksack. OK,
so I can only play a few tunes but the melancholic 'Danny Boy' has
often brought tears to many a foreign eye. Packed at the top of my
rucksack, I can whip it out at a moments notice to serenade the local
beauties. I'm told that I play it beautifully and on one occasion it
earned me a full blown kiss on the lips from a gorgeous dark eyed
senorita with long, flowing black hair ? just like Carmen from Bizet's
opera. Oh how I fell in love! A marriage proposal was on its way ? if
only I spoke Spanish! Well a traveller has to mix with the locals
doesn't he? Besides, it can be a lonely life with just an old tin
whistle for entertainment. Oh, and I do admit to having a Sony Walkman
together with my David Bowie cassette and when I'm feeling a little
spiritual the whale music cassette is worth it's weight in gold.
Now I'm a map and compass man myself and I'm proud to say that I'm
getting to be quite an expert in their use. No doubt they will lead you
to where you want to go, or so I'm told, but nine times out of ten I
let my well-trusted instinct guide me. It sometimes works. So you see,
I've no need for these hi-tech gadgets like those Global Positioning
things. Wimps! That's what they are for! And for those who have made
more money than I have from their tin whistle.

I'll tell you something else ? no guidebook ever finds it's way into my
rucksack either. Wimps! That's whom they are for! Wimps and those who
can't get from A to B without questioning the geological significance
of the ground they are so honoured to be traipsing over, together with
other 'interesting' facts and figures such as the countries Gross
National Product, or it's area in square kilometres! Now, as a
traveller I do like to know the country's highest point ? in order to
avoid it! Like I say, I'm a traveller, not a mountaineer!

Well I must be off, but I suppose you want to know where my next
holiday, oops sorry, expedition will be. Well you tell me where to go.
I'm open to suggestion, but wait until I've treated these damn laces
with the mud and dirt that they deserve ? I wouldn't want to be talked
about now, would I? Auf Wiedersehen! Adios! Have a nice day!