My previous two books, Go Away and Mostly Fun have described the pleasures and pitfalls of travelling solo, travel with a partner, and group travel. In my latest effort Quicker Than Walking, I've added a fourth option - travels with imaginary friends. But these aren't just any old invented souls, dragged from the dark recesses of my mind. I was accompanied, in my head, by some of the greats of literature.
I checked in for my flight to Bangkok with non-other than Henry Miller for a travelling companion. I took early morning walks, once I'd found the beach, in Hua Hin with Franz Kafka. And I had a massage with D.H. Lawrence himself.
Soon though, my heroes left me to my own reality. In Bangkok I was happy enough in my own company. Then on to Hong Kong and mainland China where my nephew took on the role of translator and tour guide. Eventually I was back in the saddle exploring the delights of hilly Northern Thailand - an e-bike helped me here. Sweating the lowlands of the south - beer my only solace.
