There must be a word for people who spend most of their lives worrying about what epitaph they'll have written on their grave stone. "Here's Looking at You" or "What does it all mean?" are possible contenders but I could never quite decide.

Looking back it may have been in part to escape these nagging anxiety that I took to the road in the first place. I left England in 1995 to hit the road and have hardly returned since then. I hitchhiked to India with no money, burnt my brains on Lsd, sold fake Rolexes in Tokyo and helped friends get out of jail in Delhi.

I courted Jewish princesses in Israel, learnt to play the ney in Morocco, picked up Spanish from abusive girlfriends in Colombia and lost IQ points in Brazil in the haze of beaches and aguardiente.

When you're on the run you never want to look back and see what's chasing you exactly - it might catch up if you do. Still, travel has a lifespan for most of us and I'm near the end of the road. Just not sure where to stop exactly. After ten years of roaming 35+ countries I'm still not sure where to live.

The journey never stops but in order to grow it seems most of us need to plant ourselves somewhere for a while. I'm open to ideas. For now I punt in Cambridge, Uk in the summer and live in Israel the rest of the year.

Most of my current work can be seen on my new project Road Junky.