I think I’m going to explode. To paraphrase Bob Dylan, I can’t see, I can’t hear, my head is busted, stomach cracked, feet splintered, I am bald, naked… lucky to be alive though.
That’s where so-called modern travelling gets you. Two weeks ago it was Ghana for a long weekend, then up at 5am to go to the Midlands, then on Thursday a flight to Copenhagen and a long train journey to Karslkrona, a prison in Sweden. Continue reading →