Sebastian Terry - 100 Things: Whats on Your List?

About the book

Have you ever allowed yourself time to think about whats really important to you? Something you have always dreamed of doing?

In a moment of reflection after the loss of a friend, Sebastian Terrys answer is a list of 100 things, the things hes always wanted to do.

Sebastian embarks on an incredible adventure which sees him Get Shot in Colombia, Crash the Red Carpet at the Cannes Film Festival and Cycle Through Cuba all in an effort to ensure he lives a life without regrets. Now more than halfway through his list, Sebastian has realised that his journey is part of something so much bigger...

100 Things is a humorous, action-packed story for anyone whos ever dreamed about living every day like it was their last.

For a journey that started out as my way of finding happiness, I really cant believe the positive effect its had on people around the world.

To anyone whos ever dreamed

Contents

SEBASTIAN, DO YOU TAKE Chevali to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you vow to treat her right and to be her Tiger Man?

I do.

Chevali, do you take this hunk, a hunk of burnin love , to be your husband from this day on?

I do.

Well, then, by the powers vested in me by the state of Nevada, I, Elvis Presley, now pronounce you husband and wife. Sebastian, you may kiss your bride.

Considering Id only met Chevali three days ago, you could say that wed decided to tie the knot quite quickly, but if the truth be known, I was only marrying Chevali because my intended bride, Crystal, had stood me up twenty minutes earlier. Id only find out later the horrific reason why this was.

Let me explain myself. You see, Id always wanted to marry a stranger in Las Vegas. Im not sure why exactly, but I guess it was just one of those things that Id always wanted to do. Thats the sole reason I was in Vegas at the time; I was wife hunting.

As it happened, it only took one day to find someone willing to marry me once I touched down in Vegas, but never in my wildest dreams did I think Id end up marrying the receptionist at my hostel.

The funniest thing was that when the Elvis impersonator asked us to kiss, this would be the first and last time we would ever do so. I had to leave the country the next day to return to Australia. Luckily for me, Chevali had a great sense of humour.

Two nights prior to spontaneously marrying Chevali, Id found myself at a bar along the infamous Strip of Las Vegas. The sign out the front read Dirty Girls Mud Wrestling and, since I was looking for a potential bride, it seemed like a good place to start my search. Inside, as you might expect, was a bar full of blokes drinking and shouting; by smell alone, it appeared that they hadnt left the bar for the better part of a week. In the middle of the room, on a sunken level, was a big inflatable swimming pool, filled to the brim with mud. This was why everyone was there.

Typically not being one to go to a bar by myself, I bought a beer and stood inconspicuously at the back of the room, where I felt the most comfortable.

Then came the announcement: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Im your referee for the evening.

The man who had just announced himself to the smoky room via his microphone was indeed dressed like a referee and as he circled the pool of mud, he went on to explain the rules of the evening. Apparently we were in for a dirty night of wrestling whereby the only rule was that photos were not allowed. This was easy enough to understand.

Before we start though, I need a volunteer, said the referee.

Like a badly timed Mexican wave, every hand in the room went up as one, mine included. None of us knew exactly what we were volunteering for, but even the slight possibility that it might get us nearer to the ring was enough for us all to jockey for attention. The atmosphere immediately changed from excitement to one of fierce competition: men pushing, yelling and jostling for eye contact with the referee. Given I was standing at the back of the room, my hopes werent high, but this was Vegas: anything was possible.

You, sir, at the back of the room, come on down!

As unlikely as it seemed, I had been picked. Every other man in the room instantly turned to look at me with envy as I began to push towards the ring. I was the chosen one. Moments later I found out what this in fact meant: I had been given the honour of circling the ring and pushing the girls back in, should they stray too close to the edge during battle. Things were falling into place just as I had hoped; surely Id find a bride this way.

As I familiarised myself with the ring dimensions, the referee then beckoned two scantily clad girls from the nearby change rooms into the arena. The crowds response was ravenous, to the point where I questioned if any of the men had seen a girl since the mid 1980s. The room was worked up, to say the least. The girls, ever the professionals, jumped into the ring and flaunted about as if performing at a gentlemens club. As it turned out, when not mud wrestling these girls were indeed strippers.

Ding, ding.

Seconds out, round one.

Before the bell had stopped vibrating, the girls sprang from their corners, sliding on all fours into the centre of the ring. Mud sprayed everywhere. Glistening, bouncing and contorting, the girls certainly werent holding anything back and with each moan came an even louder cheer from the crowded room. Some men, so affected by the sheer beauty of the sport, were unable to make a noise of any type.

Again circling the ring at the end of round one, the referee who sported a cheesy smile and a horrible moustache was successfully whipping the crowd into a testosterone-fuelled frenzy. As he walked past me, a sudden idea filled me with excitement. I had to act quickly. All I had to do was ask the referee to make an announcement on my behalf and see if there were any takers. This he agreed to enthusiastically.

Okay, everybody, listen here now! Ive got an announcement to make for this young fella here.

The crowd, as well as the half-nude wrestlers, all fell silent. It was perfect. I had everyones attention.

Now this guy is from Australia, and hes come here tonight for one thing.

Everyone leaned in, curious to hear what it was.

His name is Sebastian and hes flown all the way to Vegas searching for a wife!

The room began to applaud, but as I looked around there were no girls with raised hands. This didnt surprise me. But I hoped that Id at least planted a seed. Only time would tell.

Ding, ding.

Seconds out, round two.

As the rounds progressed, the wrestlers, like the crowd, became dirtier and by the end of the night I was covered in mud. Somehow amid all the mayhem, a mud-wrestling champion was announced; her name was Crystal. Though this didnt seem to matter too much to the crowd who, shortly after applauding the decision, all left the bar. The masses were satisfied.

The referee, who since announcing the winner had switched off his microphone, then walked over to me and offered me a beer. He liked Australians and as such showed me to the bar, handed me a Budweiser, and left me there to plot my next move.

As I sipped my beer and wiped the mud splatter from my clothes, a girl approached from the change rooms and introduced herself. It was Crystal, the newly crowned champion of the ring. I could tell this because she still had mud on her face.

So, were you serious about wanting to marry someone? she asked with a curious smile.