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.