After a month away, what better reintroduction to England than Luton airport with a hangover. Actually, I could think of many better introductions. Having fish and chips fired at you with a leaf blower at a refugee camp in Dover would be an improvement, as would being immersed in a seven foot deep pukka pie. […]

Why do I always forget that sleeping on overnight buses is impossible unless your body is the right size for the seats, (about 4 feet tall) and you have your own gravity system which makes the reclined seat appear something less than vertical? Ah well, going between Spain and Italy at night meant I didn’t

I was multiply surprised when I was awoken this morning. The first thing that surprised me was my mysterious landlady’s voice. I opened my eyes in terror, and found that she wasn’t in fact standing over my bed with a megaphone. She was in an entirely separate part of the building, but her armour-piercing voice