Before I was 20 I had been escorted off a plane in Kabul at gun point, solo back-packed round northern India, and lived by the mantra “I’ll try anything … twice”. I could play a number of musical instruments, and paint and draw well enough.
But more importantly, thanks to 20/74th Boat Road Scouts, I could get into a locked car without a set of keys, teatray sledge, absail, canoe, swim a kilometre, and survive things that had cost others their lives, such as hiking around the infamous Coire na ciste for days, with little more than a tin of Cremola foam and slab of marzipan. I had been to Denmark and discovered that some Danish scouts were females. I could also tie more knots than I have yet found use for. Before you ask, I have never tied up anyone who didn’t ask me to.
Years 20-30 were a let down, but in my thirties I got married and the arrival of my son heralded the end of my smoking habit. A few other vices have since dwindled, but I reserve the right to pick my toes and my scars in my own private time.
This blog takes account of my search to rekindle the sense of adventure I had when my heart, lungs and knees were bullet proof.
There will be blood, there may be badges.