Introduction to Liver Destruction

By no means do I consider myself to be a world traveler as such. I’ve got a few stamps in my passport & I’ve voyaged across the Atlantic Ocean about 100 times but compared to the likes of Bill Bryson or Sir David Attenborough, I feel like I’ve hardly left my hometown!

People consider my life to be reasonably hectic at times, I’ve spent many years going from one gig to the next, and much like the stamps in my passport would suggest (or lack thereof these days, when I was a kid, travelling was such a hassle, a que at every turn, but these days, the boarding pass is on your smart phone and checking in doesn’t require you to show your ID or talk to anyone for that matter, but I digress), I’m always on the move, whether it’s to a aforementioned gigs, or just a long weekend away somewhere. Most recently to Colombia (more on that chaos later), but when I roll my eyes because I just paid 6 quid for a bottle of water at London’s Stansted airport, I remember the chaos in my life is marginal compared to people living in Gaza or simply having three kids and a doggo to feed on the daily.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy kids & dogs all the same, but they come with a 27-minute time limit and then Uncle Ken is officially off the clock. Strange how different people want different things in life eh?

Anyway, this is basically a long winded way of saying that I’m usually on the loose somewhere and I thought I should document some of my journeys a little better than just logging into Instagram and posting a picture of myself at the Arc De Triomphe (full loser tourist pose on that one I know).The frogs that witness us tourists all lining up to take the same photos must just laugh in their god awful accents and go on about their days sliding any object they can up their asses whilst protesting absolutely anything the government suggests.  

I will say two things about the French here: 1) I hate them, but weirdly, 2) I love them. They have somehow managed to perfect the art of protesting like no one else in the world. It’s almost instinctual, for example, when the CEO of Renault; George Besse, laid off 20,000 people in 1986, they didn't just protest, they shot him. Another one of these fine examples of their utter unwillingness to be governed was in the early 1990's when the government introduced a points system on their drivers licences, the people responded the only way they knew how and that was to get in their cars and go blockade all the motorways. This was also in the aforementioned 1990's so there was no social media to spread the message, hell, there was barely even internet. Like I say, it was just instinctual. Unlike the Pom's who just get fucked seven ways from Sunday by the UK government on just about everything, they have a 7^th sense, almost a knee jerk reaction to instantly stop the entire country at a moment’s notices whenever anything outside of what is, is suggested, like I say, I kind of admire their bloody mindedness.

So where is all this going? Well, I’m a simple bloke really, there are things in life I enjoy, so I do them. Wild concept I know. I’ve gone on record numerous times in my life to state my utter hatred for Jack White, so whilst I don’t consider myself to be a fantastic guitar, I do have a burning love for all things Rock n Roll (because whatever Jack White is doing, it ain’t Rock or Roll), and of course I am rather partial to a cold, wet pint of lager in a dive bar on a hot day. So, with this said, what is a “dive bar”? To me, the dive bar is an indescribable thing of beauty, it’s a place for the renegades and troubadours of world to congregate. No two are the same, yet they’re similar, the vibe, the feeling inside, the soundtrack, the stickier the floor, the better. Haven’t ran a broom around lately? Perfect. Lights on the blink? Good. I don’t want to see the place in the sunlight anyway, it truly is a thing to behold.

So since, I mentioned my utter love/hate relationship for the French, I’ll start there and make my way west. I should mention, I also quite enjoy a bit of history wherever I travel and since we’re starting in France, I want to take a moment to congratulate the French army on maintaining their frontlines against Hitler’s 7^th Panzer Division. It was an honorable defense, but sadly, it only took 3 days for them to literally walk through the French border having suffered not more than a broken fingernail and it was rumored one bloke had a headache, although I suspect the headache was caused by the comedown from all the Pervitin they were taking. If you’re not familiar with Pervitin, it’s basically Meth. Nice eh.