Some say I'm burning the candle at both ends.

So this is 2012? As I sit here in the office on a Bank Holiday Monday morning, once again up at stupid o’clock, with just one other person insane/desperate enough to work overtime today, I must say 2012 feels an awful lot like 2011.

Except this year is going to be my year. Not because I think it will be, or because I’m due a good year. No. This is going to be my year because I’m going to bloody well make it my year. I have 9 months until I leave for my travels and in those 9 months I am going to be working like a little bitch to get as much saved as possible. I'm also going to go out, party hard, dance to dubstep (despite harboring an irrational hatred towards it), get smashed, sleep with random women and wake up with some of the most disgusting hangovers known to man. Some say I'm burning the candle at both ends. To those people I say: "Fuck you". Politely, of course.

So as expected, I have a plethora of crazy, exciting ideas for my travels, and trying to fit them into one solid itinerary isn’t easy. Over the next few weeks or so, Martin and I need to decide where we want to go and in what route. I’ve ordered a giant World Map poster for my bedroom wall, and I have this great vision in my head of this poster being covered with post-its and pins and looking proper beastly, although in reality I tend to fail dismally with anything arts and crafts-related. The infamous flowerpot painting of ’08 springs to mind.

New Year’s Eve was… different. What a great time for a club to have a powercut. The music in the main room cut out at 1am and didn't come back on until around 3am, but by that time the only people left in the club were the stupidly drunk and the embarrassingly desperate. I was still there.

It was good to see Peppa though. She looked absolutely gorgeous, better than she’s ever looked. For a moment, I wondered whether I made the right choice by not dating her, but I guess you need some sort of spark and we never had that. But it did lead me to realise that every girl I date gets substantially better looking when we stop seeing each other? That's not fair. I'm looking at you Sarah. What the fuck. Where did those breasts come from? 


So I’ve had some time to mull over my resolutions for 2012 and I think I’ve got a pretty good list coming along.

Stop smoking

I hate this because it is purely for financial reasons. I bloody love smoking and I shall miss my lovely little white cancer-sticks.

Pass my driving test

Because guys who drive are hotter than guys who walk.

Complete my Cert CII and TEFL courses

Get as qualified as possible before I pack up and leave town... just in case.

Learn the art of sealing the deal

The ongoing joke that I am unable to ‘seal the deal’; In short I get a girl home and get her into bed and for one reason or another do not have sex with them, be it overly-drunk, refusal to depart with virginity or wrong time of the month. This affectionately led me to inherit the nickname ‘Captain Cuddles’. So 2012 is the year I get the job done. 

Find a new haircut

Which will more than likely mean ‘Shave head in the hope I look more badass’.

Get out of the UK

Because everyone knows this country is going down the shitter and who doesn't love a chick with an accent.



That should do nicely for now. I may add more as the week goes on, but right now, I just can't take my mind off that god-awful smell in the kitchen. Filth. I hope you all had lovely New Years celebrations and the 50 or so photos you were tagged in the following morning were considerably better than mine. 'Photogenic' is not a word I would use to describe myself.


Much love, 
Luke

Sometimes we spend life wondering when we should be wandering. Explore life and all of it's great mysteries.

Welcome to Wallow Central.

Population: Me. 

And Sean, I guess. But I call dibs on Mayor. Chief Wallower. The Archbishop of Wallowing. 

So here's a quick sitrep. Turns out there may be a slim chance I suck at dating. There also may well be a fairly large chance that I am completely dire at any sort of games (playing hard-to-get, making her jealous, Modern Warfare 3...). And finally, there's a massive possibility that I should never, ever, under any circumstances, be allowed to use a phone or a laptop after 3 bottles of red. 

No seriously, this is ridiculous. I seem to have somehow inherited the need to ring, text and message people when I'm mangled. It's not something I've ever been renowned for, yet two nights in a row now I have been an absolute pest. Take Saturday night for example. It's 3am. I get home and the room is spinning. I make myself some pop tarts and a glass of milk and sit on the sofa. Then, for some ungodly reason, I decide to take out my phone and call someone. Not just anyone either. 

First call goes to Tasha. I knew she had been out already, so I had hoped she was still in the area. No answer. 

Second call goes to Emma. Despite not having spoken properly for a good few weeks, I decided she would be the solution to my problems. It's a good job Emma didn't answer, because she was the person I wanted to rant about. 

Third call goes to Ella. In Boston. THANK FUCK she didn't answer. My phone bill would have not been pretty. 

Fourth call goes to Sarah. She answers. Of course she does. The same Sarah I dated on and off for almost a year. I'm sure she really appreciated me spending two and a half hours ranting about women and dating. Ahh she's such a doll, that Sarah.

Anyway, I think in future, I'll be giving my phone to my housemate at midnight and telling him not to give it back until the following morning. So things with Emma are done, we can draw a line under that whole saga. And God doesn't close a door without opening a window apparently. And my window happens to be in a hostel in Thailand. Yes, TRAVELLING LUKE IS BACK! 

And this time, he has his trusty sidekick Martin to spur him on and keep him on the straight and narrow. It's time to kick-start that Standing Order, jump back on the overtime train and dig out my little blue book of dreams. In February, we book our flights. And then in September, it's time to pack up and set sail to a magical world of mysterious places, dodgy hostels, very convincing Thai lady-boys and Sydney beach parties, surrounded by bikini-clad women catering to my every sordid whim. 

Today, I officially take myself off the dating market. If you want me, it's purely coitus. Do not expect breakfast in the morning. 

Now let's not try to get attached to anyone this time, shall we Luke? 

Luke