The Mail on Sunday

My stint at the Mail on Sunday has almost come to an end, so I thought I'd share some conclusions.

• The subjects that the Mail on Sunday writes about are quite limited. In fact very limited. In fact, they only write about one thing. Which is the British upper class. The third earl of Bognor, Baron von Slough and Lord Blackburnshire seem to be of real interest to Middle Englanders.
• Leading on from this, the Mail is not as fascist as first thought. At least the Mail on Sunday isn't. It is quite apparent from reading it that the Daily Mail is every bit as fascist as first thought, if not more so. The Mail on Sunday just doesn't have enough space to be fascist because they are too busy concentrating on the links between Fergie and Richard III's dog's nephew's hat-making business. Which isn't fascist, it's just mildly ridulous.
• When I discovered that the Guardian has produced their free 'how to write journalism' book this morning, the features writers showed an undue interest in reading it and getting tips. One even commented that they should change the whole way that they write features based on it. Which is quite embarrassing really as it is supposed to be a book for lay people with an interest in journalism, as oppposed to features writers with several years of experience.
• There is quite simply nothing to do. Not for me, not for anyone. The percentage of time that I have spent on Facebook is high, which is understandable. The percentage of time that full time features writers spend on Facebook is more surprising. On average, they write less than one story a week each. Maybe I could go for a career as a management consultant and streamline the organisation to cut out the unnecessary staff, whilst still of course keeping a place for vital junior reporters. A role which I could conveniently fill.
• Either Gordon Brown is a schizophrenic or the newspapers seem to change their minds on a fairly regular basis. On Tuesday he was the greatest Prime Minister since sliced Tony Blair and by Wednesday he was incompetent becuase Ruth Kelly's kids took precedence over her cabinet role. Maybe we were seeing different sides of him (insert unpolitically correct joke about him not being able to see both sides), but the reality is probably somewhere in the middle.

Privelege and opportunity

Two days into my newly fledged journalistic career and already a whinge is twitching in my blogging fingers. Now that I am a professional whinger (as journalists should be renamed) I feel that it is only correct that I should express myself on this forum.

Britain's society is allegedly meritocratic. Yet famous names, members of 'journalistic dynasties' abound. I'm 100% sure that these great journalists are writing pithy articles that their fathers and grandfathers would have been proud of. However I am not one of the elite and am striving to reach the pinacle of my newly fledged career.

Therefore, less than two days into this career, I feel that I may need to change my name to fulfil my ambitions. Whilst Cooper conjures images of Scottish barrel makers and Fieberjiack, my grandfather's surname (even spelt correctly) would simply give the impression of Polish builders (however much of a valuable commodity Polish builders may be, particularly in this current economic climate), it is time for a name (and possibly style) change. Perhaps Rafi Bell would sound good, draped in white jacket. Alternatively Rafi McDonald, although a change of skin colour might be prohibitive.

Having also rejected Rafi Politkovskaysa, for fear of the Russian authorities, I have come to the conclusion that Raphael Simpson might be a preferable new identity, in honour of British war journalist as opposed to the rotund American cartoon character, despite the argument that the latter might be more relevant. I'll let you know how it goes down amongst the Dimblebys.

The Himalayas. Done.

7 people started my Himalayan trip. 3 finished. I was one of them. However the lack of mental and physical preparation of one of my fellow trekkers can be gauged by her first question at the initial group meeting before climbing to Everest Base Camp - "Is this trek going to be strenuous?" (the clue is in the word 'Everest', I believe)

Whilst Everest became an impossibility because of three frustrating and ultimately unsuccessful days waiting to fly to Lukla, it was decided that we would do another trek. It was not until the first day that it was mentioned that Langtang was considerably harder than Everest. It was also on this first day that we trekked 31 km (around 20 miles), having been told that we would have a gentle start. Trekking the Himalayas in the pitch black is an experience never to be forgotten. Or repeated.

To go through each day, each view and each photo would only invoke boredom (I'll do just that with everyone who cares to listen as soon as I get home), but I feel that some highlights and lowlights deserve a mention. Unfortunately Nepali computers are not quick enough to upload photos, but there will be some uploaded in the near future.

1) Reaching the glaciers and glacial lakes from which the snow covered peaks could be seen all around. Simply stunning.

2) Getting bitten 16 times by leaches. In one day. On my birthday. I've heard of birthday bumps / beats, but that is ridiculous. My pyromaniacal tendencies, never before discovered, were brought to light (a pun, geddit!) when burning the creatures alive. The photo of the leach morgue will certainly entertain, when uploaded.

3) The tortoise beating the hare. The one person in my group whose mission it was to go as fast as they possibly could, ultimately got altitude sickness and had to be carried down the mountain. Which gave me an enormous sense of smug self-satisfaction, despite the fact that this is not very friendly.

4) Finally finding a cheese factory. Cheese factory vs Everest. It's a tough one.

5) Squat toilets after a leg ache inducing day. Enough said.

6) Chilling with yaks. Such friendly animals. I might bring one home with me.

7) Reaching the lake at Gossaikunda. Legend has it that if you take a dip all of your sins will be cleansed. No need for Yom Kippur for me this year.

8) Walking through fields upon fields of Marijuana. The pictures of this have been censored. I don't want my previously cleansed sins to be reset.

This is the last blog (for now) as I come home tomorrow. If anyone knows of a job going on a national newspaper, please get in touch!

My Laos adventure

Monday 18th August. 15.00. Book flights to Laos. Excited.
Monday 18th August. 18.00. Informed that all trips to Laos have been cancelled for the past two days due to flooding. Excitement reduced.

Wednesday 20th August. Arrive Luang Prabang, Laos. Raining. Heavily. Excitement evaporates.

Thursday 21st August. As the rain stopped, my three day trek started. A happy coincidence of timing. The only problem being that my trekking route was knee deep with water. All in all a soggy start to my Laos adventure.

However, things picked up when we eventually arrived in the local village that was to be my home for two nights. We started drinking the local whisky - Lao Lao. However, banter was restrained by the lack of a single word in common. Therefore non-verbal communication became essential. The only problem being that their non-verbal communication consisted primarily of commenting on the fact that I was larger than the average Laoitian (family, perhaps). We may have shared a common appearance of a slightly protruding belly (although the politically correct amongst you might find fault in comparing overnourished with malnourished), yet their gentle ribbing became slightly over-the-top when they made me climb onto a set of scales to gauge exactly how many Laoitians my body weight is similar to. Alternatively they may have simply been remarking on how slim I am looking at present, but I can't be sure.

Therefore (slightly drunk) I decided that I'd resort to what the English know best. A game of football. Or football voleyball as it seemed to be. My talents on the pitch seemed more appreciated than in the drinking circle, though communication remained an issue. My cries of "on me 'ead, son" and "send it to the back stick" were greeted with mere bafflement, although I am sure that I heard murmerings, regarding a recent match, that "the forth Cambodian goal was miles offside". It might have been lost in translation.
















Waking up to a breakfast of river weed was an unexpected treat on day 2, but the day's cuisine adventures had barely begun. As I watched lunch being served, I could not understand why they were catching beetles and removing the wings - the ground, mixed chilli certainly had an extra spice. Snails at dinner was a step too far for me (a little too French, perhaps).

The activity on day two might come as a shock to friends and family, but I actually did a hard day's work. Manual labour. In the rice fields. Cutting weeds. However, I did a hard day's work... Laos style. For every hour work, there was at least an hour's break. When this is added to the two hour lunch and siesta, as well as finishing at 3pm, some might question the work ethic of the people. Yet I salute them, having spent three years in employment attempting to bring in similar working practices, albeit to no avail.



















On day three I rode an elephant. Accusations abound that I am simply doing these 'touristy' activities, but if you saw my elephant turbo-charging over waterfalls at hair-raising speeds, I can guarentee you that I would seem like a local. Almost.

The New Vietnam

Proclaiming that a new idea, place or invention is 'new' carries with it inherent dangers. Particularly when a place is prefixed with the word 'new', the risk of it rapidly becoming old or established is omnipresent. The lack of foresight displayed by those naming 'newfoundland', for example is astounding. Also, those naming New York did not perhaps envision the lack of resemblance between the twenty-first century metropolis and its humble predecessor.

However, 'new' does give a flavour of a place and I have therefore designated some 'new' places and ideas based on my experiences in Vietnam.

1. 'New Goddess'. See below, need I say more.

2. 'New Kosher'. My fairly strict adherence to a 'no pig, no shellfish rule' was tested to its extreme by a Vietnamese cooking course in which both Wonton and shrimp were on the menu. However, whether or not I tasted this cuisine, it can be safely assured that its audience apprecaited my efforts.

3. New History. I think the 'Hanoi Hilton' prison in Hanoi deserves a special mention in this blog for affirming everything that I learnt at history GCSE. Propaganda does exist. The propaganda in the museum was particularly unsubtle. Even I managed to see through it. Whilst one section of the exhibition explains the horrendous atrocities committed against the Vietnamese, this picture below shows two American GIs laughing over a game of chess. I feel (and I believe that John McCain might well back me up) that the reality could have been significantly different.

4. New baseball camps. I thought making a Vietnamese hat with one arm was particuarly impressive.

5. New Scotland. The picture below showing me in traditional Vietnamese costume maybe deceptive. I managed to see through this facade as the two 'traditional Vietnamese music' events that I have attended have both concluded with a rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne.

6. New England (I suspect that this might have been used before). As I was giving an impromptu lesson in English, having gained the students utmost respect, I suddenly realised that my version of English might not have been the correct one to teach. As I encountered the word 'wall' in the textbook, my London twang became apparent and I feel that their promunciation might have eclipsed my version of a wall (waw).

7. New Communism. The middle of a cave in splendid Halong Bay provided the perfect setting for these two noveau communist girls. Starbucks T-shirts and Vietnamese communist hats, the perfect juxtapostion that represents so much of modern Vietnam. Worn with a complete lack of irony, which I felt was the beauty.

The "Rafi Look" (patent pending)

For years, I have spent the majority of my waking life perfecting the "Rafi Look" (patent pending). The "Rafi Look" appears to suggest an inner state combining bewilderment, confusion and puzzlement. General confuzzlement, basically. This facade has for years lulled people into a false sense of security, meeting me and believing that I am 'dopey' without discovering my hidden intellectual (!) depths.

Since arriving in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), the "Rafi Look" has been inadvertently practised frequently. The first occasion was at the presidential palace. The wonderous oblivion with which I ignored a huge 'don't step on the [very expensive and historically significant Vietnamese - not stated, but clearly implied] carpet was confounded only by the fact that there was a group of passing tourists who I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye laughing at my misdemeanor.














Not a problem, I thought, as the advantages of travelling alone are the enforced brief interactions with people. I'll never see them again, I naively believed. Later in the day, it almost goes without saying, I found out that those 5 gigglers made up precisely half the group that I will spend the next ten days travelling with.

The "Rafi Look" has become common on the roads of Saigon too. There are over 2 million motorbikes in Saigon, each of which, I believe, is individually trying to shake me from my daydreaming. None have succeeded, despite coming at me from all angles, cutting across traffic, riding on pavements and the wrong side of the road etc. Traffic lights are a general principle to be followed when it suits and ignored at leisure, rather than a hard and fast rule. So I decided if you can't beat them (and two million vs one is not great odds), join them:




















Other occasions in which the "Rafi Look" has been brought out have been:

When meeting the Viet Cong for the first time:














When firing an AK47, in training to join the Viet Cong, who wooed me with their communist bravado:















When burrowing my way through the Chu Chi tunels, having become a fully fledged member of the communist revolution:

Phnom-enal

It's hard to write a pithy, witty blog having spent the day at killing fields and a genocide museum. To do so would be inappropriate to the millions of Cambodians who lost their lives to the brutal regime of Pol Pot or those whose lives have been destroyed by the landmines laid down by the Khmer Rouge. Hardly a soul in this country has been left untouched by this human disaster.

However (and there was always destined to be a 'however') I feel that to question other people's lack of respect is not itself disrespectful. After all, as I trawled around looking at numerous skulls and hearing tales of mass devastation I was quiet and respectful. I didn't chat loudly, cheerily, on the phone and in French (possibly the worst aspect of that combination). I also didn't write graffiti on the prison walls. Simply unbelievable that someone could plaster their name on the wall of a prison in which only 7 people out of 20,000 survived. The fact that John from California visited in 2007 is of no interest and immense disrespect to all concerned, methinks. And lastly, I didn't smile. This wasn't a smiling matter and I was told not to smile. I think the very fact that there was a no smiling notice perfectly exemplifies the aforementioned situation.

You Watt?!

So often the levels of sophistication, development and international standing of a country can be measured by its architectural achievements. Look at the Colosseum standing tall in Rome, the Harbour Bridge dominating Sydney or the Western Wall casting a shadow (in more ways than one) over Jerusalem. So I have decided to compare and contrast some architectural achievements that I have witnesses in the past few days.

Firstly there is Angkor Watt, Cambodia. Built by the Khmer empire between the 9th and 13th centuries, this is one of the modern wonders of the world, surviving in wonderful condition. Elaborately levelled with stunning bas-reliefs, yet built with limited resources and no modern machinery, this is truly a breathtaking phenomenon.















Secondly, the twin Petronas towers that dominate modern day Kuala Lumpur. Whilst Malaysia is not regarded as a first world nation (yet) these towers were until recently the world's tallest building with 88 floors, a lift that moves at 5 metres per second etc etc. Pretty impressive, in other words.




















Thirdly, I spent at least an hour looking for Britain's centrepiece of Kuala Lumpur, a colonial masterpiece that would make me proud of my homeland. Having built such wonders as the Milennium Dome and Wembley with such efficiency and prudence, I presumed that I would be in for quite a treat. Merdeka Square is regarded as the centre of KL, the sight of Malaysia's independence and something (for once) that Britain could be proud of in the empire. And here it is...














Yes, that is really it. A former cricket pitch. With a flag at the end. Britain's total architecturtal contribution to the region seems to be a cricket pitch. And not even a good pitch with swinging wickets, barmy army shouting and beer flowing. Just an empty cricket pitch where apparently they play once a year. And that was it. Rule Brittania!

Singing along...

In the last few days in Singapore I have thrown myself enthusiastically into the kind of activities that Londoners could only dream of. Pub quiz, aquarium, drinking, shopping etc. It's just a different world out here. Tonight we might even go to the cinema.

For all its western tendencies, Singapore has a major difference from London... it works. Trains don't break. The cleaners clean. Taxis arrive when you book them. Things get built, on time and on budget. No fun in other words.

The benevolent dictatorship that runs Singapore (or at least they would see themselves thus) has decreed that everything has to be unashamedly kitsch. Plastic animals roam plastic beaches. It only dawned on me the extremes that they went to when we walked past 'Clinic bar'. The distasteful hospital themed bar took this phenomenon to new levels with wheelchair seats lit by dental chair lighting. Seriously.















At the aquarium there is a killer whale, which you can see here eating me. A thoroughly frightening experience for all concerned. Apart from the whale, I guess. It's blurry because of the speed of the attack.















And worst of all, people don't walk up or down elevators. Which is annoying.

Overriding any negatives about Singapore - the lack of heart, the lack of chewing gum, the slow people on elevators and the whale attack...there's a shop called Wanko. Need I say more.

Skepticism and feet

This week I have done quite a lot of thinking, which I can see many of you remarking is quite a first. Not all of these thoughts were my own original thoughts, but by definition the fact that I have thought and recorded them makes them mine. Perhaps.

I was considering the nature of evolution and the fact that within human potentiality comes the power to mutate positively (known more commonly as evolution). I have been considering the evolution of fish into human beings.

Imagine the first fish that grew feet. Must have been a) quite useful and b) pretty surprising. I wonder whether this fish was an outcast from the fish community or a trailblazer for fish kind.

What would this fish think if he could think forward however many billion years to the time of Jesus. If the fish could see Jesus having a nail put through his feet, the very feet that this fish provided him with. And this nail through his feet coming as a punishment for having a schizophrenic discourse with a God, who was created by man to explain the existence of feet in the absence of the knowledge of the existence of the evolution of the fish. It's all pretty crazy (albeit somewhat fishy) stuff.

Character assassinations

The group in which I have been placed for the last ten days has been great. All friendly people enjoying their various travels and maximising their life experiences. However, with my usual gossip network removed, I have become increasingly in need of a forum to gossip on. So I have decided to tell you about three things and people that have really driven me to distraction over the past ten days. I hope you find them as amusing as I have found them infuriating:

1) Firstly, my sometime roomate, let's call him C (his name is Craig, but C sounds more mysterious). C is a man of incredibly nervous dispoistion. Coming from someone who panics at the smallest incident, this may seem hypocritical, but you'll have to trust me - C is a nervous man. C doesn't like to be late. Therefore he will wake up two hours before the time that is strictly necessary, in order to ensure punctuality. Even when we had to start trekking at 2.45, he was alive and kicking by 1.30. Which some people might find annoying. Additionally, C has a fascination with making sure everything is contained within plastic bags. Incessantly rustling plastic bags and unnecessarily early mornings make for a frustrating combination.

However, the thing that I find most disconcerting is C's lack of discretion in the bedroom. One might expect a nervous man to have certain issues with flaunting his (unattractive, it must be said) body. But not C. C will happily walk around completely naked, even after a bout of particularly loud diarrhoea. My gaze has been, and will continue to be, averted.

2) Swedish honeymooners. There was nothing wrong with the Swedish honeymooners in our group. They were lovely people with a dry, typically Scandinavian sense of humour. They took part in all the activities willingly and kept their clothes on at appropriate moments (take note, C). However, my issue is that they were honeymooning on a GAP adventure. With me. Would you want to honeymoon with me (calm down ladies, this is not a proposal via blog)? Me and 12 other mainly twentysomethings. I can understand the desire to step away from a beach if this does not excite, but I struggle to comprehend the desire to re-create a GAP year feel when enjoying wedded bliss for the first time. Each to their own, I guess.

3) Failings in the Australian educational system. For some of you, the phrase 'Australian educational system' might in itself come as a shock. However, I'm reliably informed that it does exist, although it appearantly has fatal flaws. The four Aussies in my group were all great people, typifying the Australian fun mentality. However, there was one specific comment that I found hard to comprehend. We were at a war memorial commemorating the death marches that the Japanese forced upon POWs during WW2. Only 6 survived in one of the most infamous and horrendous cases of torture that I have ever heard of. As we were leaving, an Aussie (she will remain nameless, for the sake of her entire nation) piped up "My grandpa escaped from a POW / Concentration camp, but I can't think which one". We then proceed to name the most famous camps. None of these ring a bell. She then exclaimed: "oh yes, that's it.. it was called the Holocaust". Which left me as bewildered and dumbfounded as you are now.

Apart from blog writing and hoping that no-one from my group reads this, I have today been snorkeling and lazing on a tropical paradise island. As far away from Finchley as one could imagine.

Entering the pantheon..

One experience this week - the climbing of Mount Kinabalu - the highest mountain in South East Asia has, I feel, placed me in a league with some great British sportsmen.

Paula Radcliffe, Jimmy White and Tim Henman are three names that spring immediately to mind. Radcliffe has won numerous titles, sports personality of the year, pooed by the side of the road and still won the London Marathon. Jimmy White, the cockney geezer, has moved from a highly successful snooker career to become world poker champion and one of the world's leading pool players (as well as changing his name to Jimmy Brown in a bizarre promotional tie-up with HP Sauce, although that isn't strictly relevant here). Henman is loved by all as the epitomy of fighting spirit, a true whiter-than-white British champion. He is now a popular commentator and mentor to our younger tennis players.

So what, you may ask, have they got in common? And what has Rafi got in common with these revered names? The answer, of course, is a complete lack of bottle when it comes to the key moments. How many Olympic medals has Radcliffe? (0) How many world titles defeats has White (Brown?)? (6) How many Grand Slam semi-final defeats has Henman? (several, 7 I reckon although this may be wrong) When it comes to the crunch, these elite British sportmen were never able to keep their nerve, to last it through and achieve their ultimate goals.

After 8km straight up on day one and a further 1.5km straight up starting at 3am, I was left with 1.7km to go (that's just over 1 mile in Brit-speak). The final straight of the mountain. A final push. But I choked. I couldn't do it. Altitude sickness and an affinity to British sporting heroes past and present took over and I stopped and came back. And I was still sore the next day.

The story has a happy ending in that everyone who did make it to the top got absolutely zero view due to clouds (although I'm guessing their sense of achievement is slightly greater than mine). Like Henman's commentary, Radcliffe's popularity and White's lucrative sponsorship, I have prevailed against adversity despite a failure of nerve at the crucial moment.

This week I have also:

• Got bitten by a leach - Having received detailed instructions of exactly how to take it off, squish it and flick it away, I screamed like a girl and made the tour guide take it off
• Seen elephants and orang-utans. I can now relate to the story of dumbo in a way that I always struggled to when I was a kid. Once you see an elephant flying, it's quite a spectacular site
• Wondered why people are so obsessed with taking photos. They are simply capturing an 'experience' that they are simply not experiencing. It's a bizarre facet of postmodernity that I will leave you to ponder

Some bad news... and some good

I hate to disappoint. I really care about everyone reading this blog. Dearly. But unfortunately for the next week I will be unable to blog, as apparently up mountains and in jungle they don't have internet. I told them that that was pure selfishness, depriving my readers of their daily fix, but they would not budge. Therefore, this is the last blog for a week.

However (and at this point you can quickly dry your eyes...) I have come up with a list of 10 things that you can do and ponder until the next blog. Perhaps you can do one a day and a couple on the weekend and one when you are feeling a little low and missing me especially. Or you may want to do them all at once. Or you may want to do 5 now and 5 later. It's a bit like a cream egg of a list - how do you read yours?!

1. work out what this is...

I can tell you that from a foot away it looked pretty intimidating

2. Abolish slave labour. I think migrants in Britain are treated appalingly. Southern Europeans have the worst paid, most degrading jobs and they are not even allowed to move around simply to better themselves, to move up in the world, to make a meagre living for themselves and their family. So come on, let's Free Christiano.

3. Give Phil Muncaster a job. Since I have started travelling, news has surfaced of the tragic decline of IT Week. Phil Muncaster, the erstwhile section editor is now on the dole, begging any tech publication that will take him that very niche tech IT is something that he should be employed to write about. It may not excite everyone, but give him a break. Employ Phil.

4. Ponder the demise and subsequent rise of Jeremy Beadle. No one finds cats falling into ponds funny. They never did. Beadle was mocked but then he did the one thing that could restore his reputation. Died. Now he is seen as a charity-loving former 'funnyman'. There is hope for us all.

5. Shut Gareth Barry up. He's only in the England team cos he's got a left foot. I've got a left foot too. He's not very good. I'm not very good too. I'll give anyone who can arrange his sale in the next week a percentage of the transfer fee to shut him up. I have these kind of powers. This also applies to any other mind-numbing summer transfer saga - Berbatov, Keane etc.

6. Measure the orangeness levels in this picture of me snorkling... I'll give you a clue, it's very high!

7. Decide whether you'd rather be a one hit wonder or a one album wonder. Chesney Hawkes vs Alanis Morrisette. Whigfield vs The Verve (I know... but come on, who really cares about the rest..). I think one hit wonder because you get known as a one hit wonder which has a retro-cool, as opposed to being considered a failed pop star, or even worse, a failed Canadian pop star.

8. Tell me when it's going to rain in Kote Kinabalu. It's likely to be 3pm and 9pm from my experience. But if someone could send me some kind of warning signs I'd be appreciative and stop getting so wet. Thanks.

9. Create world peace. Or at least peace between Jews and Arabs. Here's a stolen ditty that will start you off...

You don't eat pigs, We don't eat pigs, It seems it's been that way forever.

So if you don't eat pigs, And we don't eat pigs, Why not, not eat pigs together?

10. Worry. This especially applies to my parents although close friends, colleagues etc are encouraged to worry to. I'm doing something VERY DANGEROUS. I'm climbing a mountain and then going into the jungle where any number of things could happen. So please feel free to spend the next week pacing from one end of the room to the other awaiting the next entry. It would make me feel better and inevitably it will sooth your nerves. It is the most important of the ten.

A massive thank you...

Sometimes you need things to be easy. 20 hours into a trip from London to Kote Kinabalu is one of those times. Sitting in my 6 hour break I wanted something convenient and Starbucks provided necessary sustenance. But 20 hours into my trip I was also in desperate need of some comedic banter. I didn't believe that the most generic of eateries would provide that too. As I looked through the menu I found the usual options ranging from Mocca Frappacinnos to croissants. Starbucks of course has built itself on global consistency. Until my eyes wandered to see an option that I had not seen before...




















Yes, that's right. An ugly chicken puff. Which I thought was absolutely hilarious, until I saw...






















An uglier chicken puff. Starbucks in Soho would be so much more entertaining with these kind of options. After 20 hours of flying, this comedic gift was necessary so I'd like to thank Starbucks for handing it to me (almost literally) on a plate.


Apart from that, I'm in Kote Kinabalu, which is remarkably unremarkable. It's the Finchley of South-East Asia. There's nothing to do except visit the Islands (which I'll do tomorrow). There are no islands in Finchley. That's where the main difference lies. And it's a bit more humid than Finchley. Apart from that...

Much love to all..

xx

Absolutely stunning

The sun is shining, birds are singing and there is fantastic wildlife everywhere. Finchley is looking pretty good nowadays. My travels start tomorrow, flying from London to Kote Kinabalu via Singapore. I will write blogs progressively for the next two months (and maybe beyond, depending on the popularity), letting everyone who cares know how I'm doing.