Here we are, Peter and I in what was Yugoslavia. No idea what’s going on, except that Peter is in full on The Cure mode. I spent most of the holiday listening to Licensed to Ill, reading 1984, and lusting after a leggy local girl. We had one terrible date, with an ex-pat acting as interpreter/chaperone. Bad idea. Otherwise the holiday was great, with the hotel at the head of a fjord – if you can have fjords outside of Scandinavia – where we swam and canoed and hiked. It was the first time I flew anyplace. Martin probably took the photo.