I WILL give almost anything a go.
Motor bike - tick. Frog leg entrées - tick. Mechanical bull ride - tick. Unsecured extension ladder - tick.
But despite my usual open-mindedness there are some major exceptions to my carefree attitude towards life that are non-negotiable, and they are as follows: skydiving, bungee jumping, eating a Dagwood Dog, or tasting a chicken nugget.
Yes, really. No, I'm not kidding, and no, I don't want to try any of the above now, or ever, thank you very much.
This "never-ever" list will remain as is unless I happen to lose my mind completely, or fall for some bewilderingly attractive, thrill-seeking carny. But I think we can safely assume that at least one of these options is highly unlikely, and that those specific sensations are not going to be enjoyed by yours truly during this or any other lifetime.
But despite this rigid attitude, last weekend I did something unfamiliar; not exactly on my "never-ever" list, just something that I usually left to other people. People with dreadlocks, who perhaps ate mung beans.
People who juggled fire sticks, wore hand-knitted jumpers and played with hacky sacks.
The people who protest.
Townsville Bulletin
No comments:
Post a Comment