don't touch the dog...

Its my Mums best advice when I start looking around for my passport the moment any sort of deposit lands in my bank account.

She looks at me intently and says " don't touch dogs whilst you are away, esp. if they are foaming at the mouth".

If only she knew this was the least of my problems as I hung on to the back of the death trains as it picked up speed through the jungle. I had thought in my wisdom that I could have a "panama" moment and sit on the foot plate with a beer/cigarette/book etc and look well travelled/adorable/cute/ artist or down right stupid as the bastard thing picked up speed and I got smacked in the face with some over grown prickle plant.

The journey was quite uneventful if you exclude the biscuits that tasted of tarmac, the elephant that only I saw as the others were buying donuts, the many war hero's, with their beautiful young wife's, the bench seats that made your arse bleed, and me jumping off the train and running down the platform and waving at the children whilst the train was moving out of the station or any of the other shenanigans that kicked off.

We ended up in a clearing where most people when back. We however took a truck taxi to the main road and waited for a bus to Burma!