Twinkies

Well pals, i'm in London now and the true wisdom of carrying life's essentials in a suitcase with no wheels has manifested itself in some nifty blisters on both hands. Dan and Jack have gone to his sister's engagement party and i'm sitting beside the window looking out over a fox-addled back garden and a belter of a terrace where we sat and had a beer earlier. London is rather sticky at the moment, and the bus journey down was a brutal 9 hours of being sunburnt on one side of my face only, but i'm on my way to Colombia now! All the goodbyes have been said, and all i can do from now on is send you all shite postcards and save up the crap patter for when i see you all again.

Yesterday i was thinking about my 4 hours hanging about Newark and how to spend them. Newark isn't even in New York you know, it's New Jersey. What a swindle. Anyway i think i'll devote those 4 hours to eating American things you always see in films but don't get in Europe. Like Twinkies. What is a Twinkie? Tomorrow we'll find out.

On Monday i'm hopefully meeting Grace, a jammy fellow assistant who's going to hot, Caribbean, home-of-Shakira Baranquilla, and her Colombian pal for a spot of turismo and a few cups of Colombian coffee...