Let’s pretend we’re one of those Instagram families.

So… here we are.

The Knights have decided to travel and that’s why I’m writing a blog, after avoiding it like the plague for 5 years. This blog is essentially a way of keeping in touch with mum and dad and my friends (you!) and letting them know where we are in the world at any given moment.

But really I have delusions of grandeur and I imagine it might be stumbled across by someone big and important, by accident, at night. They’ll be shocked and stunned by the magnitude of our endeavour and then beguiled by my pithy reflections on the peoples and the sights we encounter. They’ll then leave flattering comments below the line and make a pledge to keep up with our adventures, despite their packed and arduous schedule of meetings and presentations, at the very highest level of showbusiness.

A pipe dream you say? Well maybe. But I have one last quill in my quiver – THE TRUTH. Where other travel blogs are essentially showcases of a particular disingenuous familial perfection (‘Constantino likes cold-pressed coffee. I know. Go figure. We let him have a syringe full after his oatmeal in the mornings because it helps him with his surfing practise. 3 year olds can be so eccentric!’), mine will be like watching 6 rats fighting in a carrier bag. I will show the whole, sorry, shebang right up to the point where the wheels fall off. It’s going to be bloody hard at times and I think I owe it to my audience to reflect that. Even if there isn’t an audience most of the time because nobody could give two shits what we’re up to.

I also – and this won’t come as much of a disappointment – won’t be featuring very heavily in the photographic element of the blog. Planet Potter is seeing the world through my eyes, not seeing my actual eyes. My eyes are nice, I like them. But you don’t need to see them. At least not that often. So it won’t be a ‘Look at me and how amazing I look in one out of 8000 selfies next to this sexy rock!’ but more like ‘Here’s a sexy rock that John shat behind’. I’ve got the opposite of body dysmorphia, in that when I can’t actually see myself, I think I’m gorgeous. It’s only in mirrors and photos that I start to wonder which bit to lop off first.

Right then. Let’s about it.

 

 

 

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