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Newcastle, United Kingdom It was as I bent over I knew it would happen. And then it did. A ripping, tearing sound, followed by an immediate blast of fresh air to sensitive parts as my trousers ripped from very front to very back. Oh no, why me? I had travelled to the north of England, Newcastle, to help the locals with an operation and was changing out of my theatre blues into a jacket and tie, ready for my journey home. It was a day trip and I had not a stitch[...]

Paris, France I am sorry but I must complain. You see it is all to do with Paris. Paris, that Mecca for all travellers, certainly a centre for romance and a capital city so close to London we Brits could almost call the place our own. The problem is simple. Paris has changed, actually France has changed, and not always for the better. I remember the days - OK I am as old as time - when I could wander the Parisian streets, ride the Metro, even get on a wobbly bicycle[...]

Engelberg, Switzerland I have caught them out. Easy really. Caught the Swiss red handed. I can only hope the nation handles its finances more honestly than their cattle control.You see it is all to do with electric fences. There’s me, sauntering down a Sound of Music slope fit, almost, to burst into song. Mind you, you have not heard me singing; it is not something I would recommend. Meanwhile from the field beside me drifts the dainty tinkle, occasional clang, of cow bells. I cannot see the animals as it is misty but when[...]

Weggis, Switzerland It really is the last thing I expected of Switzerland. I mean they are so terribly clean, aren’t they? Everything is tidy, everything is precise and everything, well almost everything, is so terribly punctual. Switzerland is definitely the type of place anyone would wish to live until…until…well until the fly. For reasons that escape me the Swiss appear to have mastered most things in life but, for whatever reason, they appear not to have mastered the house fly. Once is bad luck, twice is misfortune but three times or more?[...]

Cape Town, South Africa What is it about custard? I just love it. Not cold, you see, but warm, even piping hot. And when it develops that thick, slimy skin on its surface, I immediately enter my second Heaven. It is probably the years spent in boys’ boarding schools thanks to parents who lived overseas, or perhaps even my time in the Army. Yet custard and I are best friends. I simply cannot have enough of it. So when I came across a vat full of the stuff in a South African[...]

Nalut, Libya It is my birthday. Lying in the primitive intensive care unit of this hospital, deep inside an area of rebel-controlled Libya, are three young men. None is over 25 years old. They look almost identical. Each has perfectly cut, military-style short hair, each is sedated, each is dripped and catheterised, each is in pain, and, yes, each is a pro-Gaddafi soldier. They are Libyan, not central African, and they are most certainly not mercenaries. Each has a mother, each has a father, and each demonstrates the futility of war.I should know all[...]