Directions

Amsterdam
 
For reasons never adequately explained, people have always felt the urge to stop me and ask for directions. Perhaps it's my purposeful expression or manly stride, but back in London lost foreigners inevitably turn to me when they need to get from London Tower to Windsor Castle Palace. Despite blatantly being a tourist backpacker, and sporting a suitably hangdog expression after four hours trudging round in Glasgow-like drizzle, I was called upon to do my bit once again earlier. "Are you knowing the way to Dam Square?" said the woman of the family as they pulled up in a van. Remarkably, I did, although it was only about 50 yards away. Or 50 metres, if I'd said yards I would probably have been run out of town or beaten with clogs.
 
Other than that, things are already looking up. The sun's come out, I eventually reached the end of Anna Karenina (who'd have thought she'd turn out to be a man?) and a trip to a supermarket led to a truly epic display of gorging on half a dozen very welcome cheese and ham sandwiches. I've even managed to make contact with the elusive Mr Sime, and we'll be meeting in one of those hilariously-named squares later on, so I can explain to him once again that not having a phone means I can't be contacted on it.