Give this man a lift
Posted on Saturday, February 21st, 2009 at 11:04pm. #
Paul Smith, that is, up there. Strange chap. But very nice, I hasten to add. If ever he asked you for a bed for the night, you couldn’t ask for a nicer guest. You also couldn’t ask for a worse chef, if I can be frank – sausages aren’t good for you if they’re raw in the middle, and this appears to be the way he cooks them after a few beers.
But he is a strange chap, as I mentioned. In the supermarket queue a few weeks ago, he hit on a strange idea: he wanted to work out how far he could get away from home based on peoples’ kindness alone: not just anyone’s kindness, either; just those that follow him on Twitter.
He’s not set himself a small goal exactly. No, he wants to get all the way to Campbell Island, New Zealand which is the furthest landmass from his house in Newcastle somewhere. And while he does it, he’s inviting donations for a good charity – charity:water.
I reckon he’ll be lucky to leave the UK, being honest. I mean: who on earth is going to give a likeable but stunningly bald man a free aeroplane/Eurostar ticket? And what happens if he gets into France? Do the French use Twitter? Do they understand Geordie? Will they boycott him from going any further because they’ve heard that he still owes me a fiver?
There are two things you can do. First, after reading his website, follow @twitchhiker on Twitter. It’s only there that he’ll be giving you updates and letting you know where he is and how you can help. And second, donate some money to the charity he’s supporting.
And third, on no account let him cook you sausages.
Image stolen with no permission at all from The Guardian’s story, but I think it’s Paul’s anyway.
Well. Where to start with this sorry tissue of lies.
a) Those sausages were cooked to the chef’s satisfaction. It’s not my fault you’ve got wonky eyes and they looked bleedingly red raw. I am in fact very good at cooking. And at least my kitchen doesn’t appear to have been kicked down a hill.
b) I’m from South County Durham, not Tyne & Wear. I’m more Yorkshire than Geordie. I’m as likely to speak whey canny pet man as a gentleman in Dover is to speak fluent French.
c) I think you’ll find you owe me five pounds, as I’m certain everyone will verify.
d) It is indeed my photo, but under no circumstances do I grant you permission to use it.
e) You’re calling me strange? Seriously?
That is all. Goodnight.