21 June 2008

The bees have come back into my life. Outside my shed there is a bush with purple flowers. The bees congregate around it, taunt me and plot my downfall. The bees cannot be trusted. I despise them and all they stand for. Occasionally the bees send in one of their number to circle me in a menacing manner and make stupid buzzing noises. As a retaliatory measure I have cancelled the word bee. Henceforth they shall be known as ‘the little black and yellow bastards.’

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22 January 2008

When I began systematically setting out my conclusions about the world (a.k.a. writing a book) I thought of it as an addendum to my grand tour: spend two years exploring, then a few months writing it down.

That was naïve.

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20 September 2007

Arriving at Gatwick airport was like being hit by a cultural wave. The dress sense was sharper, the attitude more purposeful and the music just that little bit funkier. Britain is more techno than when I left, GPS is now standard on mobile telephones, we’ve swapped Prime Ministers and everybody wants to save the planet. Damn it I love this country.

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