… in every mans life when he has to leave the shelter of his parents wing and fly into the wilderness to find his own worms. Over the last few years I’ve been camping in my parents house in the hills in Portugal – acting as part time janitor, surly estate agent and general loitering squatter.
So a few weeks before my 40th birthday I figured the day has finally come to cast aside my mothers apron strings and let go of my fathers nurturing (yet protective and quite manly) hands – so I grabbed my pair of bags (luckily I hadn’t ever really unpacked) drove the 3 minutes down the hill to my new house where my new caravan (that’s trailer to all you people west of the Azores)Â is nestled between some olive trees on my lower terrace. All I can hear at the moment are birds singing and the constant rush of the river at the bottom of the field below.
They say that moving is one of the most traumatic expereinces in your life (along with death and divorce or should that be life and marriage?) but the whole 2 hour experience has been very mellow and I now have a strange feeling of calm and serenity. Of course tomorrow I set off on my epic voyage to Asia with the loverly Tango (woman of my dreams) so hectic will soon be upon me again…
I didn’t surf today. Did I mention that we’re going to Sri Lanka?