Principles...

You’ve probably heard of the old saying, ‘in the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king.’ I’d like to nick its underlying principle and apply it to a saying of my own;

‘In the household that is skint money is king.’

Of course I took the Libya job, and no, it was not because they doubled the rate of pay. I’m a flexible kind of bloke and I’m happy to say, my principles are too. I meet him this week to finalise the details, and agree dates.

Libya, of course, isn’t actually called Libya. It’s the Great Socialist People’s Libyan Arab Jamahiriya, or GSPLAJ for short. Catchy eh? It may have a creative name but that creativity doesn’t flow over into its flag design, which is plain Green. No insignia, no design, nothing, just green.

Other than that, and the obvious (shootings, bombings, etc.), I know very little about a country, that is, in square footage terms, the 17^th largest in the world. Which, of course, means nothing unless you intend to walk around it. And I don’t because a lot of it is Saharan desert where temperatures rarely dip below 40 degrees.

And it’s not only the desert that’s dry. The whole state is. They don’t even sell wine gums. This is good, because unless I want to watch the latest Libyan soaps, my evenings will be free for writing. By the end of my secondment I might just have finished my first draft.

But in reality editing the first draft is where the work really begins. That’s when I am forced to dispose of sentences, (previously hours spent in the crafting of), for the sake of a coherent book. I’ve lost some of my favourite words in this culling process, but you have to consider your readership. Take the ones that pitch up here for example. I like the word ‘Quidnunc’, but what would be the point in using it, because most of you have no idea what it means, even though, I know for a fact, most of you indulge in it.

So you see I’m not writing this book for me. I’m writing it for you. I’m sure you already feel a moral obligation to buy it.

I’ve now written enough material to send to potential publishers. Although I am likely to take a self-publishing route, I still haven’t given up on mainstream publishers, who to date seem determined to turn a blind eye to my efforts. On receiving a proposal on my train book, with sample chapters to indicate my writing style, one very famous travel writing publisher put it to me like this;

            ‘The thing is Mike, it’s a good idea, and I like your style, but you’re just not famous, and without that celebrity angle I just don’t think it will sell enough books.’

A sad indictment on their view of their readership don’t you think? I mean, I’ve read travel books that have turned authors into celebrities, but I’ve never seen it work the other way around.

So, my route to mainstream publishing may mean I have to grow a pair of 40EE bosoms, date a footballer, and have children that are photogenic enough for Hello! Magazine. Or perhaps I can get away with swearing my way to winning Big Brother, a show so inane, the OED are busy inventing a word that can adequately reflect the mindless drivel that it is.

So you see the English language, as rich and flexible as it is, doesn’t yet have a word that can illustrate a programme that assumes filming someone asleep is interesting.

I have a few suggestions, but I’m not going to tell you. What do you think I am, a Quidnunc?

Recommendations

It’s always nice to be recommended. It gives you a warm feeling and makes you think you might be doing something right. I get most of my work from recommendations. Recommendation is the most powerful marketing tool there is, but you won’t hear that from marketing professionals, because recommendations are free.

However, sometimes recommendations get passed down the food chain. As did the one I received whilst in Thailand. No matter, I’m not proud. At least I was recommended by someone who was recommended.

I met the Director of said company on Tuesday in the rather plush surroundings of the Marriot Hotel by Westminster Bridge. This is not my usual standard of meeting place, but he was paying for the coffee. I wore a suit and tried not to look at the price list.

The project was an interesting one. It would combine both my business consultancy and writing skills, a perfect combination. And it meant an 8-week secondment in Libya.

We got along swimmingly, had two coffees, which I calculated, cost him my train fare to London, and he offered me the work. Marvellous.

Then as he was winding things up he re-iterated how he wanted someone on this project ‘with a strategic business background and experience across a wide set of business disciplines, and I noticed from your CV that you’ve been round the block a bit.’

As soon as he uttered those words I knew I wouldn’t take the job. It irritated me all the way home. Did he expect me to have ‘experience across a wide set of business principles,’ by working in the Civil Service for thirty years?

It reminded me why I’m trying to replace my business consultancy work with writing work. I may be poorer in the interim, but at least I won’t have to deal with people who make a judgement about you from two pages of a CV.

Anyway rant over. Writing, ah yes. I’ve made a start on my manuscript, a little over 7,000 words in the last 3 days. I’m happy with the words but not sure they’re in the right order yet. Some of the sentences are so funny I have had to type them directly into a lead box so they won’t leak out and infect the world with laughter. Others I just threw in because I like the sound of them. For example, no travel book would be complete without the word ‘fungal,’ or indeed ‘squits.’

There are some stock phrases too, ‘I heard the thwack of the rubber glove a full 30 seconds before the pain really took hold and I blacked out…’ And ‘a gash in the concrete, frankly, does not constitute a toilet…’

But I better not reveal anymore, salivating on a computer screen is so unbecoming.

I appear to have arrived home with a somewhat optimistic air combined with a prodigious output, and lets face it, we all need a prodigious output. This week I’ve sent out a writing proposal to an editor every day, re-written a website for a client, quoted to re-write a clients entire customer communications portfolio and marketing material, sent off a proposal to a publisher for a book idea I have, and found a pair of trousers I forgot I owned.

There’s nothing like activity to keep you busy. Mind you I can always do with more work, so if you feel like recommending me…

He hasn't got an ankle to stand on...

Last Friday I had this nagging feeling I’d left the iron on, so I came home. All travellers have to return home some time, or they’re called nomads. I needn’t have worried - I don’t have an iron…

My time between Saigon and coming home was spent with a large man in Bangkok who doesn’t have any ankles. He used to have two, one at the end of each leg, but they disappeared when he reached 146 kilos (that’s the equivalent of three double-decker buses or an industrial sized hamburger).

You may suspect gluttony, but in fact the reason he is so big is to do with his car. It’s called a Ford Mealtime and comes equipped with a unique function. The car automatically activates an emergency stop if the driver tries to pass a restaurant. The ignition system can only be re-activated after a break of 30 minutes, and only if the weighing machine in the driver’s seat registers the driver heavier than the last time he sat on it. Some people suspect he bought the car because of this function.

The other reason he has no ankles is his tendency to drink 10 gallons of beer in one sitting – this, he says, ‘helps him forget…’ and often necessitates him living like a monk for at least a week after ‘just till my ankles drop…’

Even so I had high expectations, we hadn’t seen each other for over 2 years. Surely I could expect a lively drinking session and high jinx. Sadly I arrived in a period of ankle dropping expectancy. So, despite my travelling 10,000 miles by rail, and diverting early to Bangkok, for the sole purpose of meeting him and having a celebratory drinking session, of the sort that sends you into a coma, we sat in and played PGA Golf on his computer for 4 nights.

Occasionally, to break up the excitement, he would read me the UK headlines from the BBC website. Knowing my investments had halved while I was away was so comforting, and it was so very thoughtful of him to update me of the UK’s forthcoming bankruptcy.

So my long trek across Europe and Asia ended with a whimper rather than with my head in a spittoon following an unsuccessful spoof for the contents of the toilet bowl. Ho hum…

By comparison my homecoming was far more exciting. After four days of listening to him denigrating my Country in comparison to his adoptive one, I landed back on it. Travel is great but coming home is always the best bit. I’d traversed 10 countries, all of them interesting, some truly beautiful, one inhabited by a 146-kilo, PGA golf playing monk, but none that can hold a candle to my Country. And the only people without ankles in this fair land are old ladies who smell of lavender and peppermints.

So now to work. Some of you may remember the whole idea of this project was to write a book and get it published. To help me get to grips with this I have written a ‘to do’ list on the white board in my office. I’ll share it with you:

1 – write book

2 – sell book

3 – do tax return

So, you could say, my journey is only just starting, and I hope you continue to follow it.

Oh, and if you have any suggestions for coaxing out a pair of ankles, I have a friend in Bangkok who would like to hear from you.

Easy come...

So today I stop being a millionaire. The mighty Dong gives way to the rather pathetic Baht, which is not named after a cartoon character.

My train journey has ended, but the rest of the project is only just starting, so don't forget to look back here from time to time.

Saigon was better than Hanoi. I only got run over twice, and each time they said sorry, which was nice.

I employed a motor bike taxi rider to ride beside me with directions to where I wanted to go. It is an odd way to get around a city but better than sitting on the back of his bike. It requires a little effort on behalf of the hirer but I can highly recomend it. I never came close to getting killed, and his directions were spot on. I think he'd done the 'knowledge'...

After a while I didn't need him anymore and tried to curtail his services. This rather upset him as evcn a rather poorly educated taxi driver knows when he's on to a good thing.

Then he tried to charge me 150 dollars. I laughed.

'I hired you, I didn't buy your bike'

'But I spend all morning with you - long time'

'I paid less for my hotel and I have that longer.'

He got 20 dolars which was bloody generous - God knows what he would have charged if I'd actually got on the bloody bike.

So Bangkok later, where the men are men and so are the women. I will be meeting a particularly large man there, which is handy, becuase there are a lot of people in Bangkok and it makes him easier to spot.

Tally Ho!

Moustaches

It appears I've stirred up quite a hornets nest with the Ho Chi Minh Moustache debate. The thing is I'm off to Saigon in a couple of hours and he's not quite as popular down there. So the Ho moustache has been replaced with a Magnum PI one, becuase despite everything, they still worship Hollywood - sorry I mean America - I get them mixed up sometimes - down there.

I've been practising my room entry - essentially you stand outside breathing heavily, then kick the door in and leap in pointing your finger at anyone who might be there. It sure surprises the locals...

Naturally I can't stretch to a Ferrari, but I have managed to soupe up the cart I use to carry my money around with. The two stroke engine may not have the acceleration of a supercar, but it is damned efficient - I'm getting 100 miles to the litre. which is just as well, as a litre here can set you back 10,000 Dong.

But having learned to be inscrutible, I've modified the engine to take Chilli oil, this is only 2000 Dong a litre and available in even the smallest foodstall.

I pleased to be leaving Hanoi, not least because I avoided a sure fire collision with a motorbike last night only to be run over by another on the pavement. The only truely safe form of travel here is dreaming.

Anyway, got to go, but before I do, I'll leave you with a local saying:

Hello Mister where you from? England? England my favourite country - I like football - Manchester United - where you go? You want to buy postcard? Travel Guide? Map? Fan? I can be your tour guide 1 Hour very cheap - You Buy from me? I like England Very Much...

OK, it does go on a bit - I'll maybe give you ther rest in my next Blog - Tally Ho!

Ding Dong...

I read with interest (that is to say I read) the comments from an erstwhile friend, who comes from the West, where banks are crumbling faster than short crust pastry.

Here in the Orient they don't have such troubles, and titter gently when you produce a tentative Dollar to exchange for the mighty Dong. But once 'Donged' up you get the sort of respect that is so important in the East.

Since becoming a Millionaire I have developed a new found swagger - the sort associated with someone who has so much money he's run out of pockets to carry it in.

I have taken to pushing it about with a barrow, not only is this pratical it helps me to blend in with the traffic and narrows the possiblity of my being robbed by poor people. It does, of course increase the risk of serious injury but its a risk wiith taking.

I have also grown a Ho Chi Minh moustache, and following hours of practise, can look inscrutable at the drop of a hat (conicle one).

All these things ensure my safe passage throught the city I now call home.

And now away - I need to do battle with Johnny America, his Dollars, and the bank.

Still money talks, at least mine does, it draws quite a crowd...

Traffic

OK, Beijing had a lot of people. Hanoi has a lot of people too, but they come with motorcycles. They are mental. Crossing the road is like being shot at. They come at you from all directions. The only possible way to get across a road is to drink a lot, close your eyes and sprint.

At least I will die a millionaire. I always knew, one day, I'd make it. I went into the bank with 50 quid and came out with 1.5 million Dong, so not only am I rich I,ve finally got a big dong.

I celebrated with a few beers - 40,000 dong, a hand held fan - a snip at 50,000 dong, and later I'm planning to purchase a tee shirt - this may set me back 75,000 dong. I dunno where does all the money go. I remember when a dong was worth something.

Had lunch today - the waiter asked me if I wanted the sinister menu - this you eat with joy for 2 hours like marriage - with a happy finish...

I had the soup instead which pretty much cleaned me out.

Off to play with the traffic now, literally...

Will be in Saigon in a couple of days - my receptionist said ' oooh, Saigon, traffic dangerous, better stay Hanoi, more quiet...'

Mind you she also told me I was tall, proving that, in life, everything is relative...

Shiney

China,
At last a country where someone smiles. I got another janet on the Moscow Beijing train. He went to bed on the first night, got up at Shenyang, 500 miles from Beijing, 6 nights later, and left. He must have had pants like cardboard.

He did cough at me once, well it may have been me, he had a wonky eye. It was hard to tell.

Beijing is brand new, just out of the box. I have never seen anywhere so clean in my life. If a leaf falls off a tree a street cleaner will catch it before it hits the ground.

Its well known that there are 1 billion Chinese in China, 25% of which were in Tiann'amen square with me this morning. Its like swimming in a sea of people. There get everywhere, up your nose, behind the crease of your knee, I even found a family in my turn ups. Taking photos is impossible. As soon as you see a worthy shot someone stands in your view. I have 200 pictures of the back of Chinese heads.

I had to stop getting my map out as half a dozen people rush up to ask you if you need help with directions. 2 Million people made sure I got back to my hotel OK.

There are 16 million people in Beijing and 13 million bikes. I know this becuase a man trying to sell me Mao's Red Book told me so (of course I bought it). Which makes you wonder why three times the population of Manchester don't have one.

Also seen my favourite sign so far just outside the Summer Palace;

'Please be a good tourist and behave in a well-mannered imagination...'

Sunday I take a train to Hanoi, from where the next instalement will be provided. Thank you to those who left messages, keep 'em coming.

Have to go now, there's 6 million people waiting to use this computer.