I'm a journey man, looking for arms at night, 20 years. Circling, London town. You might have seen me? Even got me. In and out, this way and that. I'm a black cab driver chasing his own tail, fishing late into the night with his yellow light burning bright, waiting to be taken into the blue, capture, with the meter running.

But wait up; me and my girls are off. We've already got bags. Different sizes for different backs.

"What about school?" "'What about there education?" The "what abouts" can stay at home. We haven't told the school yet. I'm going to walk in with a straight back, and clean teeth, like a gun slinger, with his smile. The head's going to be rattling on and on. And I'm going to say. "Hold up, were off." And gently close that door.

The girls are going to write journals and see what they see, eyeing different eyes. Swimming with dolphins, watching kick boxing, and stand by the side as Buddhas walk gently past. Beggars and bowlers, old and young.

My back's getting yoga, even though when I stretch I fart. We're travel on trains, and the back of trucks watching colours and heat go past with conversation as a friend. Slowly moving in Asia, this way and that, tip toeing feet. Thailand, Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia.

Then on to Australia and bloodstone boots. Buying a banger, hitting the dust. Kangaroos to hit, kolas to save. We'll have arguments and tears, but on certain days, we're going to be alive. On to New Zealand, looking at deco and tat, high mountains, clear water and clouds doing their thing. Then over the Pacific, to the land of popcorn bellies and chewing gum where winners take all. Giants of men, Sequoias reaching the sky. Down the coast to Mexico for Spanish, served up as a family dish. We'll learn and go to Spanish school. But we've got a ticking clock, I reckon that's the six months up.