Not me.

I have never ridden a unicycle across the Ganges

Or been catapulted out of an aeroplane.

I have never sought hidden treasures in Mongolia

Or voyaged boat-wise, round the tropics in monsoon rain.

I have never bridged the Gap of the Isthmus

Or traversed icy crevasse in hail and snow.

I have never battled through encroaching jungle vines,

With blade in hand, to cut and hack and mow.

I have never attempted to climb the Inaccessible Pinaccle

On Skye’s foreboding, distant Black Cuillin peaks.

I long to do all these things and more.

Yet here I am, on the 22 bus

To Evington and home.

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