Just call me 'el Disgracó'

So ND is thinking of leaving the country. It's not personal but I just gotta go. Like James Joyce, the Duke of Wellington and Barry McGuigan, I think my cause will be better served if I took it to the globe. I hope you understand.

I'll do up a knapsack, pop it on a stick and take to the highway. It'll be feverishly romantic. My clothes will have the distressed look of a drifter, with a dash of hero. Strangers, will be high fiving me from passing trucks. I'll beat the dusty paths and cross the locomotive trail to the strains of Crosby, Stills and Nash. Dogs and goats will gallop along side me as I gather pace through the council estates, and will sleep beneath the stars with me, gently unrolling their tongues on my sweaty brow. I may or may not hire a Peruvian boy to carry my laptop and CD's. The days will become weeks and the weeks will become, strangely, days. I will know the stars by name, and each night I will serenade a different one. Wolves, will be repelled with ease and would be rapists will be invited to discuss their problems. Ticker tape will greet me in each town, the mothers will send their young with baskets of fresh bread. There'll be many a frothy one waiting for me in the bars. Local broadsheets will refer to me as the 'Mr Drift' and will count down my arrival. Flags will half-mast as I leave, the name 'Disgrace' will be a popular one for newly born kids for many a year to come.

Either that or I could fly Ryanair