The 1980s were probably the last decade of absolute freedom for any wild-minded, free-spirited, young guy or girl to go out into the rawness of the nation of Australia and do pretty much anything they wanted to do. The Toilet Book of Rogan the Nomad captures roughly six years of such wild-minded, free-spirited nomadification after leaving my home city of Wollongong on the east coast of Australia at the tender age of 19 and 11 months.
With no set destination apart from "I'm going that-a-way at the moment", each day was both a gamble and a surprise. No deadlines, no obligations, no bedroom to clean and no desire to settle anywhere. Civilised society was dropped off at a bus stop and told to find its own way home.
As some gnarly nomad, who bears a striking resemblance to me, once said, and I quote; "The pilgrimage to nowhere in particular does not come without its peril, its laughter and its lost underwear."
Not recommended for people who choose to go through life with the stick of perpetual seriousness jammed fair up their clakka.
