But the thing about living in Australia – a country the size of Europe with the population of Greater London – is that it’s just impossible to have trains leaving every five minutes to every populated patch of land. You’d need more train drivers than there are people across the whole continent! And so it has finally become necessary for me to evolve from Driven to Driver and procure my own set of wheels.

If I have to transport myself around though, I want to have fun. I can’t afford a plane or helicopter, a boat is only practical for seaside destinations, jet-packs are still far too impractical and economically inefficient, so that left me deciding on a motorbike. With the words from Iron Maiden’s From Here to Eternity and Megadeth’s 502 running through my head I completed a few hours of training, and was then sent through the gates of the training centre legally allowed to make a mess of myself on the Devil’s Bend or under any of the 88 wheels of a road train. I was back on track for that big Rock n Roll crash ending I’d always half-expected!

I won’t bore you with details of any of my near-misses, minor crashes, or even the major ones, but one phenomenon I have noticed which tickles me is the exclusive club I seem to have involuntarily joined. When I first started riding, I would occasionally think that I saw another rider on the road nod his head in my direction, but the more time I spent on the road the more I realised this was definitely happening. Maybe they think they recognised me – we must all look fairly similar with helmets and leathers on – but no, that’s not it. I know they can’t be acknowledging the quality of my ride; it’s a scuffed-up 22-year-old Japanese shit-heap! But still if a fellow rider pulled up beside me at the lights, cruised by whilst overtaking, or came past in the opposite lane he would look across and dip his head.

Then I realised this was simply an acknowledgement that we were on a vehicle with the same number of wheels. We were part of a prestigious club, albeit one which has millions of members nationwide. At first I thought it was as ludicrous as waving to everyone that drives past in a car the same colour as you, and laughed and ignored people who I saw doing it, but somehow I seem to have been taken in by it! As bikers we all share something more than just a choice of transportation; it’s a choice of lifestyle and a reflection of our personalities. Excitement determines what we do day-to-day, not practicality. We are thrill-seekers. We all think we have style; maybe even that we are the elite, better than everyone that needs four wheels to get around! And it’s not just a nod, it’s more akin to doffing one’s hat as a sign of mutual respect, or maybe a secret hand-shake! We share a secret – and that secret is how f***ing cool and liberating it is to be screaming down the road, leaning in to the corners, sailing past endless lines of traffic with the wind in our… helmets.

I’ve noticed a trend that certain riders do it more than others. Anyone on a cruiser, particularly a Harley, will always do it. Maybe because they’re the most pompous of all bike riders (I can’t wait to own one myself!) and yet no one on a moped will ever do it. Maybe they’re ashamed. I like to think so. Now when I find myself nodding at riders coming the other way I get a genuine sense of pride that I’m a biker as well. And I hate myself for it! What’s worse is that I get annoyed if they don’t do it back! There seems to actually be some people out there with enough of their own cool that they don’t need other people to acknowledge them to make them feel special. Bastards. Who do they think they are? I doffed my hat at you, sir, and you do not do likewise?! You have offended me and insulted my honour! Prepare to duel!

Or maybe I’m just over-thinking this.

I packed for Welsh weather. Most of you will realise that this meant that my bag was filled almost entirely with jumpers and jackets, scarves and umbrellas. But we were lucky enough to see unprecedented warm weather whilst we were there. In fact I even got sunburnt one day! The first place we stayed in was quite central with stunning views over Swansea Bay, and from here we explored the surrounding area – walking through the barks down to the bay, and along into town for some Gower cockles, Laverbread or Joe’s Ice cream.

The first few days were spent visiting Sian’s family, going to parties and nights at the pub, and seeing a little more of Swansea. After a couple of days we decided to go for a trip along the Gower Peninsula to see some of the small towns and countryside that was on offer. The Gower was the first area within the UK to be designated an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty in 1956. We had only a vague plan, which involved getting to Oxwich and exploring that area, and then moving on to Rhossili before it got too dark.

Oxwich had a huge flat beach by the water and hills leading away over unspoilt countryside speckled with sheep, pheasants, and churches. The countryside was lovely, and ranged from marshland to rocky outcrops. Blackberries were growing by the side of the paths and were delicious, and we wandered for several hours past huge fields, woods, a huge stately home and its immense grounds and a castle at the top of the hill. We got lost, as is obligatory when wandering around the country, and arrived back where we started after several very pleasant hours of wandering.

The next place we were heading to was Rhossili. I had hoped to get there for the sunset which was supposedly spectacular over the tidal island of Worm’s Head, so called because of its resemblance to a sleeping dragon as described by invaders approaching from the sea. But owing to our bus driving getting lost, crashing, getting stuck on a narrow road – and of course our own topographagnosia – we arrived in Rhossili to admire the sunset from a distance. There was no way we were getting to Worm’s Head in time. So after we settled in to our shepherd’s hut we were staying in round the back of a farm, we wandered in to town for a drink.

Like most of the towns on The Gower there’s not much to Rhossili. We walked for about half an hour down the small main road in to town, went to the pub for a couple of drinks, and then headed home. The shepherd’s hut was a lovely little wooden caravan with a fold-down sofa/bed and a little fold-up table, and a small log burner in one corner to keep it warm on the cold nights. I made sure I was awake for sunrise at 5:30 and lit the stove to get the place above freezing again! It was beautiful weather during the day, but overnight it was freezing! We spent a day walking along the cliff top from our farm to the town, stopping for a picnic overlooking a rock-strewn valley for breakfast, and continuing on to explore the beaches and views for the rest of the day. We eventually arrived back in the town after a long day of hiking and settled down to a big meal and a lovely beer!

After another night in the shepherd’s hut we headed off a little later in the morning having feasted on fresh fruit, cereals, sandwiches, and yogurts delivered by the famer. We decided to walk over the tallest point on The Gower, The Beacon on Rhossili Downs. It took a couple of hours to make it up and through the various obstacles, around the wild horses and sheep, and up the side of the hill – and the view from the top, along with the fierce wind – was breathtaking. We stopped for a small snack half way down the other side, and then continued on to the town for another beer.

The few days we had in The Gower were a great chance to spend a little bit of time in British countryside before we left the country again, but I was very thankful we hadn’t had a last taste of British weather. The days had been lovely and warm, and although the nights were cold – the log burner and beer blanket had kept the worst of it at bay.

And now it was time to head overseas….

Have a look at my pictures from Wales

It was a busy first weekend. Moving in to a new house in a new city and living with new people. I probably should have spent more time studying but instead spent most of my time exploring the new pubs that were on offer! And what pubs! Edinburgh is one of the nicest places I have ever lived. It is a stunning city of history and culture. The castle sits reverently overlooking the city, with the ancient cobbled lanes leading away down through the Royal Mile to the 900-year old Holyrood Palace and out from the Old Town to the newer parts of Edinburgh of equal character and comparable history. I initially live in Morningside, a famously genteel area of Edinburgh a little way outside the busier city centre, but after a few months moved closer to the action. It was after moving to this new place that I found my favourite haunts. I was close to the Royal Botanical Gardens, many fantastic old pubs, and some amazing restaurants including Dionika – where I found great food, wine, and friendship with the owner and his other faithful regulars.

There are a few particularly worthwhile times to be in Edinburgh throughout the year. Christmas and the weeks leading up to it are a time when it is great to be up there, and at times even someone as jaded as myself can get into the Christmas spirit. Princes Street is lined with sparkling trees of fairy lights, the smells of mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, and cinnamon can be smelt wafting from the markets on the street. There are bright flashing fairground rides on the banks of the park, frequently a dusting of snow or frost on the lawns and bushes, and everyone rushing around in brightly coloured scarves, hats, and puffy war jackets. New Year can be a lot of fun as well. The party starts three or four days before New Year’s Eve and typically involves bands in the street, music in the bars, and lots of food and drink that culminates in a spectacular firework display set off from the castle (if there isn’t too much wind, rain, or snow.) The aftermath is generally considered to warrant a considerable period for recovery, and so Scotland has two public holidays after New Year’s Eve. One is rarely enough to get over a proper hangover!

My favourite time to be in Edinburgh however is over the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. The festival lasts just over four weeks these days, and has thousands of acts performing each year. I generally go for the comedy and some of the music, but the theatre, dance, and more unusual shows offer a bit of relief from the continuous laughter.

In August 2009 I went up to see my good friends Fatts and Amy who live just down the road from my old place there. It was a few weeks before I was going to be leaving the UK, and I wanted a last chance to catch up with my friends in Scotland and to go to the Festival. We saw so many performers in just over a week that my head was spinning. A few favourites put on excellent shows as always: Sean Hughes did a show largely about being old, and Richard Herring did one about his troubles with being taken seriously when he had decided to wear a ‘toothbrush’ moustache for three months and reclaim it, from Hitler, for comedy. I enjoyed Laura Solon’s character-based monologue Rabbit Faced Story Soup, and the Pajama Men’s character-based physical comedy. And the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre Goes to Hollywood was a great summary of the greatest moments in movies as performed by socks in kilts.

If you’ve not been to the Edinburgh Festival before – go now. Even if you don’t like socks you’ll find something to laugh at, I guarantee it.

Have a look at my Edinburgh photos.

It was with much sadness that I left the wonders, warmth and whimsy of Australia behind me and returned, prematurely I felt, back to the UK. I had made so many friends, seen so many fantastic things, and been to so many exotic places that the previous year had swept past me with the speed and force of a tornado, leaving me a little dazed and dizzy in much the same way.

The plan was to arrive at the beginning of October 2008, find a job as soon as possible, and be back Down Under three months later. I was determined to make that happen! I spent the first two weeks mainly locked away in the eaves of a barn with Internet-based recruitment portals as my only friends, and took the first role that was offered to me. The money was average, the project was vague, but I could work remotely, and that would give me plenty of time to catch up with my friends!

Rather than live in Leigh where I had been immediately before I departed, I was staying in the countryside of Burnham-on-Crouch, as my family home had been sold in my absence (parents are like toddlers when they get to a certain age – you should never leave them unsupervised!) And Joe, my mother’s partner, very kindly agreed to take me in. So in a back room of his converted barn I worked away on my employer’s website during the week, and returned to civilisation at the weekends to catch up with the friends I had missed whilst I had been abroad.

I managed to balance my life pretty well. I was saving money by not having to travel to work and by sponging off my mum, and so fairly quickly I had paid off my debts, paid for my next visa for Australia, and had money in the bank for the flight back.

Realising time was short, I was keen to resurrect Super Monster Destroyer – the greatest comedy metal band to ever wear Christmas lights and stuffed turkeys on stage – and we organised a Christmas Spectacular, rocking loud and long into the night, and even managed to have Santa Claus deliver presents to all the good (and bad) boys and girls that came to see us. This was certainly the highlight of my first few months back in the UK – to play again with some of the most amazing friends and musicians I have had the privilege to be amongst, and get royally wasted in the process.

After Christmas, for various annoying reasons, the return trip to Australia was not yet ready to happen. So I postponed for another three months, and decided a change of strategy. I had my money, I had worked hard and been far away from my friends, so now was the time to start celebrating being back in England throughout winter and spring.

I sensed that my mother and Joe wanted their space, and I would be omitting all the facts if I said that it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind too, so I moved in with some great and longstanding friends back in Leigh. The house was large and very comfortable, the entertainment was always on hand, and the pool was freezing cold. What a daft time to live in a place with a swimming pool! It really made me miss Oz and the warmth! So before long I was planning some trips away! If I was going to be stuck in the Northern hemisphere, I didn’t have to remain in England!

And so in February I visited my family in the Prague. In March I visited my friend in New Delhi, and we spent some time in Manali in the Himalayan foothills. And in so doing, being unable to return to Australia wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

Truth be told, I loved being back around all my friends. Most of whom I had known for so long that the time apart was like it had never happened. I was able to see friends’ bands, like Scratton Road and Dark Matter Transfer; Meet new additions to the various social circles I had left behind like the new role-players and photographers I met. We had some excellent reunions in familiar and homely locations like the Leigh Seafront and The Elms pub; and had I not so often been drinking a little bit too much, I would probably be able to categorically say (rather than assume) that I had some very deep and meaningful conversations!

Those three months passed quickly – and instead of getting straight in a plane and returning to the place I was still thinking of as ‘home’, another delay scuppered my plans. Spring was now here, and summer was approaching as fast as it could in England, and it seemed silly to delay another three months just to disappear as the Australian winter was in full swing and the British one just beginning – so I decided that I would wait out the summer. Before I left Australia everyone had told me that if I went back I would be gone for at least a year but I refused to believe them, and here I was making plans that would ensure I would be doing just that.

I was determined to make the most of my time in England though. I arranged to go to the mighty Roskilde Festival in Denmark to see some astounding bands, and meet with some very beautiful people; the new Dark Mills alternative festival in London, and I was also keen to have another Edinburgh festival before I ventured to the other side of the world.

In between these various trips I spent my time working for the same awful company, and tempering the irritation that came with that by role-playing with my friends, visiting shows and gigs, photographing anything and everything I saw, and trying to meet new people.

I ended up living in Burnham on Crouch again. For a while back at the barn – which in just the few months I had been away had transformed into something so drastically different it was practically palatial – with beautifully tended flower beds, large daisy-speckled lawns, newly planted trees and pot plants on a newly constructed patio, and decking around the swimming pool which was just crying out to be exploited on a long summer evening. When I had out-stayed my welcome again [or maybe a few weeks after that point] I moved into a cottage down the road where I could have my own space, leave my mess around the house, cook stinking foods in the kitchen, and not worry about disturbing anyone with the screeching noises coming from my guitars or computers.

Moving to this place was more of a blessing than I had expected. I was further away from the expensive temptations of the town, and so began slowly to save up some of the money I had spent on my too-frequent overseas trips and jaunts down the pub, and met several new people who really made my time there fantastic. The sort of people that made sure they were around to see me off before I finally left the UK, and brought more wine than sense to make sure that we had a fantastic night to remember (through the little windows the booze left us to look back through). I learnt to shoot traditional longbows, made by Joe, and even cooked my first bit of road-kill (if you want a recipe for worm-stuffed pigeon give me a call!) The evenings by the water were as stunning as those spent cycling through the corn fields, and to have that last glimpse of quintessential English life before I left was just what I needed to temper my normally all-too-jaded outlook.

So sincere thanks and love goes out to all who made that year more than bearable (and apologies for including such a corny ending to my first blog in a year.) Thanks to all of my family who I know made sacrifices to bring me much happiness. Thanks to Robbie, and Darryl for being so much fun to rock out with; Gaz, Vince, Mark, Matt, Stu, and Jim for being very entertaining role-players and great friends; Chris, Liesl, Jeni, Keeley, Tina, Joel, Leo, Pete, Dan, Hayley, Jeff, and many more for being wonderful people to talk to and to listen to me – in and out of good times, and in and out of the pub! Steve and Scratton Road, and the crew from DMT for making my ears cry with joy and scream in pain (respectively); Fatts and Amy for their generosity and humour when we were up in Edinburgh, and Juan for his amazing cooking and unparalleled cheerfulness; Ian for being a constant source of provocative thought, inspiration, technical and spiritual guidance, Mike and Dave for being wonderful friends I would love to have known for longer, and everyone else (I know there are many of you) who I have not mentioned here but who I will always love very dearly.