Fifteen years ago today, I headed out to the sunny climes of Malta in the late summer, with three new friends. It was a trip that marked the beginning of an incredible bond of friendship, which is celebrated throughout the Bandanna Club website.

For me, it was a life-changing time.

It had been a tough year. My younger brother had recently passed away and his birthday which had occurred a few days earlier, was still a sharp and painful memory. I had recently separated from my wife and partner of some 10 years in what eventually became an amicable divorce, but was at the time still stressful. We were both facing a crossroads in our lives, but this time to go in different directions.

Some months prior to all this, my wife persuaded me to attend a Sealed Knot banquet at the invitation of a work-colleague of hers, who was a long-time SK Member. We headed over to Farringdon, near Oxford where we checked into a local pub and duly dressed in the period costume that was kindly loaned to us.

For some reason, my wife did not enjoy the night...probably because I got rather squiffy, spent most of the evening meeting and chatting with lots of new people and was perhaps not as attentive as I could have been. The following morning, I happily signed up as new members of Sir Marmaduke Rawdons' Regiment of Foote, one of our locally-based SK regiments, with a reputation as hard-hitters on the battlefield and good-natured drinkers in the beer tent (mostly ).

I got some of my SK kit as Christmas presents and looked forward to my first muster in Easter (which, at Christmas time is a fairly long way off). But shortly after the New year, relations with my wife began to deteriorate and the next few months were a difficult time for both of us.

Easter and my offical separation from my wife happened on the same weekend; I spent most of Good Friday helping her shift into a small flat of her own and then returned home. I had a lot on my mind and I almost decided not to go to my first muster. But I'd promised I would go and the muster was just down the road. So I changed into my Pikemans kit, grabbed my pack and headed to the Old Basing common (where the camp ground was) in a taxi.

Much of the rest of the evening (and the rest of the weekend! ) is rather hazy; I remember the laughter, the jokes, the campfire, the people and a strong sense of companionship. We drank a fair portion of port from a bottle shared around the roaring fire and stayed awake all night to watch the pre-battle dawn. I had the sense that I had landed in the middle of something that was going to prove a turning point in my life.

Within a few months, I was a regular "Knotter", blagging rides with passing Knotters to various "musters" up and down the country and I remember almost all of my time in the SK with a great deal of fondness.

More important than the musters and the general SK culture of pub-based company get-togethers that happen between musters or off-season, were the bonds of friendship that we started to develop. I soon had a smaller circle of fellow regimental members, who I got on particularly well with and it was three of this group (Andy, Su and Tosh), that now accompanied me to Malta.

While in Malta, Tosh and Andy opted to do a diving course with me and shortly after arriving, we booked into a local dive club, based near our hotel in St Julians. The full story is on our Malta diving page if you fancy a look, so I won't rehash it here.

On our first day we even managed to arrive at the dive centre a little bit early, despite nursing slight hangovers. While waiting for the place to open, Andy and Tosh wandered into a nearby sporting goods store and minutes later emerged with broad smiles.

They presented me with a Nike Bandanna, in a deep crimson red with white logo. Andy had an identical one and Tosh had a white version with crimson red logo and lettering. Andy showed me how to tie it and did the same for Tosh (who - unlike me - got it sussed immediately).

A few minutes later, the Bandanna Club was born.

Our various exploits and adventures since that time are well documented throughout the Bandanna Club website. What is perhaps not so well documented is the extraordinary bonds of friendship that we share.



In the years since Malta, we have lived in different homes and places (sometimes in different countries). Young families are being raised and careers pursued. People move further apart or closer together. Time keeps ticking and our world keeps changing.

But no matter what the changes, trials and tribulations, all that it takes to get me to smile, is contact with the boys and girls of the bandanna club.

Happy birthday brothers and sisters.

You are the good souls

"So I turn to you and I say,
Thank goodness for the good souls,
That make life better,
As I turn to you and I say,
If it wasn't for the good souls,
Life would not matter."

We will shortly be amending the Bandanna club DiaTribe blog to celebrate our 15th Birthday. Watch this space!

This was written by an Air New Zealand flight attendant in Auckland.

I'm damn sure I'm not alone in agreeing with him...

I work, they pay me... I pay my taxes and the government distributes my taxes as it sees fit.

In order to earn that pay cheque I am required to pass a random urine test, with which I have no problem. What I do have a problem with is the distribution of my taxes to people who don't have to pass a urine test. Shouldn't one have to pass a urine test to get a welfare cheque because I have to pass one to earn it for them?

Please understand that I have no problem with helping people get back on their feet. I do on the other hand have a problem with helping someone sit on their arse, drinking beer and smoking dope.

Could you imagine how much money NZ would save if people had to pass a urine test to get a welfare cheque?

Please pass this along if you agree or simply delete if you don't. Hope you will pass it along though, because something has to change in this country!

...and soon

Well, it's almost time to fly again.

I've spent the last 5 days in Hong Kong, braving the drippy-wet humidity levels, the bursts of torrential rain that are always a part of the Typhoon season and for some reason a large influx of extremely fat, loud, crass aussies, in their "best" clobber (i.e. grotty old bermuda shorts, tank tops and floppy sandals...Jeez, what's with that?)

That aside, it's been a fun trip as always. As well as the previously reported trip to Macau, I also found time to visit the Avenue of Stars, visit the Wong Tai Sin temple and the Hong Kong Museum of History...in between the usual window shopping on Nathan Road and the great food at any number of restaurants, cafes and street stalls, all located just off the main drag.

Although my hotel room was a little bit small, the hotel itself was fairly reasonably priced, had all the usual facilities, along with a few small extras (like free bottled water at reception and free internet cafe access) and was located conveniently close to Temple Street, home of some excellent seafood restaurants and the night markets. Also within spitting distance was a 7-11, a foreign exchange bureau offering reasonable rates, an airport shuttle taxi stand and a decent wee cafe/bar. They also gave me a reasonable deal on a late checkout. Excellent!

Despite the still-reasonable hotel prices (especially compared to the UK!) I couldn't help but notice that prices in general have risen significantly in the last year or so. Hong Kong seems to have shrugged off much of the recession doom-and-gloom and is enjoying something of a mini-economic boom...which inevitably leads to increased property prices, rents and - eventually - increased consumer prices across the board. That, plus the extremely shitty GBP value has made the trip more expensive than expected, but not hugely so.

There are also other subtle changes; a few more elderly homeless people are visible, especially at night. A significant portion of the previously rather straight-laced market area has been taken over by adult entertainment shops, flogging DVD's by the score. The copy-watch and tailor touts are more prevalent than they were, but hey - this is Nathan road after all.

Still, the place remains clean and tidy - much more so than it ever was under British rule. The TV abounds with a whole range of public-service ads, broadcast during prime time and which deal with everything from fire prevention, to rodent control, to new anti-smoking legislation and cultural heritage preservation. Citizens are invited to take part in a range of public consultations on a variety of planning issues which will affect their lives and everywhere, there are PR campaigns expousing the benefits of physical fitness and a good education.

By western standards this may seem a little nanny state-like, but it's not pushed down your throat. The authorities seem to have found the right balance between stick and carrot and for every issue that involves a penalty, there seems to be one which expouses benefits.

Perhaps it's the humidity and the heavy rain, or perhaps it's other thoughts on my mind (or just the aussies), but this trip I never quite seemed to "click" with Hong Kong, in the way I always have done before. I can't quite put my finger on it, but for the first time in all my trips here, I'm looking forward to heading out.

That probably says more about me than Hong Kong though...

I've been to Hong Kong a number of times in recent years and every time I visit, a trip to Macau is usually on the to-do list. But somehow I always seem to run out of time.

This time was different. After getting settled in to the Eaton hotel on Nathan road, I started looking into the best way to visit Macau.

While the TurboJET looked interesting, it did involve a longish taxi or MTR ride to the terminal on the Hong Kong Island side of the harbour. And since I was in no particular rush, I instead opted for the regular ferry service, run from the Hong Kong China ferry terminal, about a 15-minute walk from the Eaton Hotel.

Since Macau is an autonomous territory (much like Hong Kong) you have to take your passport with you and go through a sort of cut-down version of the departure / arrival procedures that most airports have. This includes the completion of departure cards, check-in, stamping of passports, but not the x-ray, metal-detector stuff so much. A round trip ticket on 1st Ferry cost me HK$270 (about 22 quid) and trip took about an hour each way. The seats were spacious and comfortable and once the ferry cleared the harbour, it picked up speed and soon we were doing heading briskly across the south china sea.

Once you clear Macau passport control and customs you have to run a little bit of a gauntlet of special duty-free offers, rickshaw and taxi touts and the inevitable casino shuttle buses before you can head on down the main drag, but if you put your smiley face on and just stroll past them all, you won't be hassled too much.

I had picked up a tourist map at the ferry terminal and after having a brief look at a handful of the harbourside casinos, I sat down to study the map in detail. It was a hot and very humid day and I soon realised that in order to see some of the more interesting locations, I would need transport. So I wandered back to the ferry terminal and negotiated a deal with one of the local chaps who spoke passable english, to take me to several of the World Heritage sites in the historic centre of Macau. We agreed on a 2 and a half hour tour for HK$650 (about 55 quid), which wasn't overly cheap, but seemed the best way to see a reasonable chunk of Macau without walking my feet off.

We headed off in his air-conditioned people-mover (ahhh bliss!) along the main drag, while my erstwhile guide gave me a few simple factoids; Macau has a population of over half a million people, crammed together in a space of just under 30 square kilometers. It's known first and foremost as a gambling mecca. Other chief economic activities in Macau are export-geared textile and garment manufacturing, banking and other financial services.

10 minutes later, we arrived at the first agreed stop, the A-Ma temple situated on the southwest tip of the Macau Peninsula, which is one of the oldest and most famous temples in Macau. Built in 1488, the temple is dedicated to the goddess of seafarers and fishermen Matsu. While my guide found a shady spot, I set off to have a closer look.

As temples go, it was interesting enough and had a few things of note. Chief among these was a bronze bowl about the size of a large meat dish with two brass handles, one on either side. When someone dipped their hands in the water and then rolled their hands over the brass handles in a smooth arc, the bowl spouted a tiny fountain, much to the delight of all onlookers.

The next stop was the historic centre of Macau, which included some interesting examples of Portugese architecture, all well maintained and painted in a variety of interesting colours. These included the Senado Square, the Na Tcha Temple and the Ruins of St Pauls.

Despite the heat, the place was pretty crowded with visitors and part of the square was adorned with large overhead nets, filled with giant paper lotus blossoms, remnants of the 9th Macau Lotus Festival, held earlier this year. Everywhere, street hawkers sold what appear to be the chief food specialities of Macau; freshly baked almond cookies and a range of spicy beef jerky.

After wandering round the square, the Moorish barracks and the Mount Fortress, I paid a brief visit to the Museum but time was running out and I didn't get a chance to spend a lot of time there.

While there were no shortage of people around, parts of Macau have quite a run-down look; grafitti adorns the sides of many buildings and there were a number of almost derelict buildings around the periphery, which were in stark contract to the smart-looking town centre. The overall impression was of somewhere that had known better times, but was still trying to put a brave face on things.

With my time up, we headed back to the Ferry terminal and after obtaining my return ferry ticket (by exchanging a transfer voucher supplied to me in Kowloon) I headed back to Kowloon. As Macau fell away into the mist, I decided that I definately had to come back. You can't really get a sense of any place in just a few hours and there were enough interesting places on my map which I didn't get a chance to visit this time, to justify another visit.

So long for now Macau.

See you again sometime...

Book burning is something that sticks in our craw a bit.

Most of us are taught that the burning of books is a bad thing. Ditto for flags. And world history during the last century has been littered with ominous events of hatred and intolerance, in which the burning of books or flags has played a central symbolic role.

Witness the mass book burnings in Nuremburg, during the rise of the Third Reich, the burning of the new testament by orthodox Jews in Jerusulem, or the burning of copies of Salman Rushdie's The Satanic verses in the cities of Bolton and Bradford, in the UK. No matter whether it's many copies of one book, or piles of different books, the image of book burning is one that tends to disturb anyone with even a modicum of education and tolerance.

Hell, even Harry Potter isn't safe.

And it's not confined to any one school of thought or religion. The extreme ends of all the tribes of Abraham; Jewish, Muslim and Christian have publicly burned books at one time or another.

This weeks' story about previously unknown, small-time, small-town self-styled pastor Terry Jones and his plans to burn copies of the Koran on the 9th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks provoked a storm of controversy around the globe.

Which was exactly what this little non-entity wanted. Now this mustachioed moron has a world stage in which to broadcast his medievil mutterings.

The media - as is so often the case - has frantically fanned the spark into a full-blown frenzy. I mean, come on - this nowhere man had a congregation of less than 100 like-minded simpletons. The protests in the Muslim fringe were likewise very small in number, but media reports made it look like some places were on the verge of nationwide uprising.

Regardless of the outcome of this particular story, the best lesson we can all learn is this:

Sometimes the best way to deal with fucking idiots like Jones, is to either ignore them, or better yet, laugh at them.

I dream of a world where this is the standard reaction when someone burns books or flags.

Laughing for happiness and world peace

...and the best way to do that, is to re-examine our attitude to book burnings.

After all, books are nothing more than paper and cardboard, with a bit of writing and binding. The book itself is not important. What is important, are the ideas that the book expouses.

And if the ideas are worthy, they remain in the hearts and minds of all those who understand and believe them.

What we should feel for those simple-minded fools that have to burn books to make a point, is not anger or outrage, but pity for their ignorance.

And in doing so, not only do we demonstrate our better nature and superior belief, we also take away the power that book burning has to hurt us.

The worst reaction we can display is precisely the one we have displayed in this instance; presidential pleas, government pressure, media coverage and flag-burning in mosques, all of which justifies and validates the actions of the moron minority and which in turn gives them power over us.

Screw that!

A book is just paper. A flag is just a rag on a pole. The real value of both is inside us.

And it's somewhere safe, that can't be burned so easily.