Where is my tickey? Isn't it strange that I had to get to the end of the road to be able to see the start? A road that never ends and where a stop is only made when it is too late and I travel sick, have already thrown up. A road shared with many. I had to turn fifty four before I could read the road ahead. The road up to fifty four was interesting. The road after fifty four an experience. Both roads were and are gravel roads; I am pleased. Ex-South-Westerners are familiar with driving on gravel roads. Not all the people who travelled with me up to fifty four could always keep up. Not everybody travels the same road; there are turn-offs and stalls. Also, one cannot always stop for every donkey, but one realises that only later on. Some people never appreciate that. There is, at the end of the day (or should it be at the end of the road?), more to live than only houses and money. Somewhere along the road, one stops for oneself. Somewhere along the road, one picks up oneself. It does not matter how many times one stops, or how many turn-offs one follows, all the little side roads eventually lead back to the main road. All the little roads bring you back to yourself. Somewhere along the road, one stops for oneself...