When i think of that island

i think of that night

i think of us

four ink splats

dancing on the sandy canvas

spreading out in our own

hypnotic state


we weren’t allowed in the water

not that we listened

the fear of sharks couldn’t stop us

shedding our clothes

our inhibitions

for one small moment


in its deep blue palm


everyone else was at

the camp

better known as

the home we’ll never forget

with its long wooden tables

and burnt out fire

not forgetting the toilets

you didn’t dare enter


it was a funny group

i guess

looking back, i mean


we two, forever connected

and the boys

we’d barely shared a word


but there we were


the guitar was our soundtrack

(there was always a guitar)

lit up by

the firefly

sitting on the end

of your cigarette


(sure, cigarette she said)


we sung

from the depths of our heart

so full

that the words

spilled over the edge

tip toeing away

right over to the



and i’ve seen your flag on the marble arch

and love is not a victory march

it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah


and then the second

we all looked up

in unison

it seemed

ready for our own private show


because the stars

had come out to play

the milky way

easing in and out

of the sky’s gentle clutch

her curves

her lines

her beauty


ours for the taking


her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you


the clearness

the overwhelming sense

that we were witnessing

something out of this world

a glimpse

ours for eternity


and every breath we drew was hallelujah


Sailing through the Whitsundays.

Sailing through the Whitsundays.

We wanted the world

every last inch of it

wanted the azure waters

with its curls of

pure white sand

and the sunrises and sunsets

that seemed to fall off

the edge of the earth


we wanted our own

secret paradise

swept away from reality

every moment

an adventure

a gift waiting to unfold


for three days

we sailed through

our personal nirvana

followed turtles

as they left their mark

before disappearing into

the unknown


we watched dolphins

at night

as they danced through

the gentlest of waves


ran across

quiet islands

climbed to their

intoxicating hideaways

before surrendering

to the ocean

letting ourselves slip

into its delicious embrace


and yet

for every sight

every taste of the sea

and every touch of the sun

there is one moment

that truly carved its tale

across my heart


the moment

I took your hand

and together

we fell into the most

enchanting of skies



by the blanket of black

painted with

the milky way


silently engulfed


silently in love


silently at one


and as the stars fell

like raindrops

leaving patterns across

our skin

we knew we would never forget

the moment

the world was ours.

A Minute on Magnetic Island.

A Minute on Magnetic Island.

There’s nothing quite like

finding your own little place

on an island


nothing like knowing

you are that speck on the map

the one only visible

when you really squint


yeah, that’s the one


surrounded on every corner by

the ocean

it twisted around us and wrapped us in

its glory

its magic

the many secrets we all let slip

way beneath its surface


it was the perfect group

from Byron Bay all the way to

Magnetic Island

the camper van with its torn back seats

and delicious tales had carried us

brought us

back together


we’d never seen rain like it

that night I always remember

the night that whispers its memories

like fingertips down my spine

such a simple memory

and yet here it is, time and time again


the guitar was playing

wasn’t it always?

and that little stick of laugher was passed

from tanned hand to tanned hand

the smell so familiar

to this little group of dream makers


palm trees on one side

the pool to the next

drenched in the waterfall

of an Australian downpour


the pool under the cloak of night

seemed only fitting


we swear it made us warmer

better floating in the water than succumbing to its

avalanche, right?


it felt like a lifetime

although perhaps it was only minutes


but sometimes a minute is all you need


a minute to feel as if

in that moment

everything was right

surrounded by love and beauty

giving yourself in

to its intoxicating kiss


your world a dark canvas

but for the moon

lighting up each other’s faces

faces that say

I found my place

and I never want to let it go.

Why Travelling Ruins You.

Why Travelling Ruins You.

I’ve been home for two months now.

Two months of being reunited with my loved ones… some of whom I haven’t seen for next to two years. Laughter, tears, endless reminiscing. Beginning to make the plans that were just daydreams before. “See you soon” really means soon. The thousands of miles dissolved into but a line in our story.

Continue reading “Why Travelling Ruins You.”

Love in All the Right Places.

Love in All the Right Places.

As the plane dipped through the clouds and the miles and miles of British greenery all of a sudden spun out into the horizon, it finally hit me. That I was coming home. That, for now, my travels had been folded away neatly into my diary, pinned to the pages as a memory. A surreal picture of my past.

I didn’t know how I would feel. Would I be sad? Deflated? Numb? Would I cry? Would it even feel real at all?

Continue reading “Love in All the Right Places.”

The Importance of Travelling Alone.

The Importance of Travelling Alone.

It was going to be an apology. A desperate plea to make them understand, make them see where I was coming from. Why I gave everything up just to “keep on moving.”

Of course there was guilt. How could there not be? When you make a promise to commit the next six months of your life to share with another person, an important person, how can you not doubt your decision? The impact it has. The repercussions.

Continue reading “The Importance of Travelling Alone.”