The World According to Spaz The ramblings of a man from a place going to another place completely different to the first place.

If you know me, you'll know that I love walking like Superman loves Kryptonite sandwiches. People who walk everywhere are scum. They're fit. They're healthy. They smile all the time. They say things like "Oh I must tell you I feel SOOO much better after my morning walk". I, on the other hand, do not. For the past week I have been picking a spot on the tube map, figuring out which way is north, and literally marching the high street.

Monday it was popping out at Oxford Circus and walking the city centre, Tottenham Court rd, Leicester Square, Soho, across the Thames then back to Westminster. Tuesday it was up to Camden Town for a sub zero meander round the disgusting hippy-ville then into Chalk Farm. Wednesday it was out to Notting Hill Gate, through Holland Park, into Shepard's Bush then through Kensington to Hammersmith. Thursday it was the Northern Line down to Clapham North, across Clapham Common into Balham. Friday was Islington up to Highbury, then off to northern side of Notting Hill, Portobello rd, Ladbroke Grove and Bayswater. And finally Saturday over to Old Street, tube to Mile End then walking back west through Bethnal Green and Shoreditch.

OH I MUST TELL YOU I FEEL SOOOOOO MUCH BETTER AFTER MY WEEK OF WALKING.

I now have a physio looking after my failing knees, a Mr Joe Shotbolt, who is very nice and stuck electrodes on me and made my leg muscles spasm. Actually that was pretty cool. Basically he has his very own legal torture device, the things I could do to a cat with that thing. Sort of like Mel in Lethal Weapon when he's hanging from a chain on the ceiling with water dripping all over him and that bad asian dude who plays the bad asian dude in all 80s Hollywood movies that needed bad asian dudes electrocutes him with sponges and a car battery. Come on they hate the water anyway, adding 4,000 volts to the mix shouldn't matter.

So far the game plan, though tiring and detrimental to my health, is working. London is a bloody big place, and now I feel confident enough that if someone were to drop me anywhere in the joint, I could pretty much figure out how to get home without having to ask too many questions. I think it took me about 20 years to figure Sydney out - drop me near Coogee and I'll hit Uluru before the beach. Although I still have a bit of trouble around Brick Lane - each time I go there I swear those little dudes from the Labyrinth come round and move the street signs around when I'm not looking. The trick with this town is that just like nature, London does not make a straight line. You'll happily be walking east down a street, but by the time you're at the end of it it's elusively skewed you 90 degrees and it takes you a good five minutes of fighting your pride to crack the AZ out and figure out just how far off the map you've come.

The end game of course, is not only to understand how this jigsaw puzzle fits together, but to find out where I would like to live, then where I can afford to live. So far I have my preference, now I've just got to find out how much the Australian peso can buy me. Any Aussies who have previously lived in London may start laughing now.