To boldly go where just about everyone else except me has gone before!

There comes a time in every man's life where he has to go out there, face his fears, throw himself headlong into an adventure which will take them to places they had not dare dream of.

For many this occurs during O-Week at university, when the nice chick adroned with the ample bosom whom you have been chatting with whilst looking oh so suave and sophisticated (in an undergraduate kinda way) hands you a leaflet letting you know when the next Christian Union meeting is.

Others break free from the ties that bind early in their 20s and leave ma and pa behind to boldly enter the share house and find out what it is like to live in a house whose refrigeratory device carries 6 peoples names written on 6 different milk cartons and each one of the 7 days past its presonal "best"

For I however, for I do things in ways that others do not... For I ... I thought it best to wait until aged thirty and five before leaping headlong into the bosom of my heritage and embracing the opportunity to walk around an entire continent, my most prised posessions strapped to my back and enter small cafes and places of beverage worship and utter imappropriate phrases to locals thus giving them the opportunity to guffaw.

and lord knows how rare such opportunities are in life.

Today, armed with nought but my good name and hefty visa card credit limit, i did enter the Carlton Flight Centre and within its walls did i commence the negotiations of a worldly contract that would transport me bodily towards my loinage. And within this centre of flight, aided by my trusty and loyal customer service representative i was provided with hefty brochures outlining ways i can part with local currency for exchange of lodgings and transport in the mutterland.

I am choked with fear and images of foreboding but I must go on, as the tickets are ... non... re ... fundable.