I was actually sunburnt. I’d expected to spend the weekend coping with such British staples as a sopping wet tent inner, blistered feet from drenched socks and that guilt we get from just wanting to give up and walk into the nearest hotel.
As a London commuter, I’m constantly trying to arrive somewhere as quickly as humanly possible. I scour tube maps to establish the most direct route, shout at taxis that miss my slightest gesture and curse buses, only three minutes apart that deign to shut their doors on me.
My trip to New York came at the end of a tumultuous year. It wasn’t a holiday that was wanted, but needed. I couldn’t wait to escape and breathe different air to bring in the New Year.
In early autumn, Canberra’s political and cultural centre takes on a different hue. Even the deep reds and picturesque rustiness of the trees encircling Lake Burley Griffin can’t compete with the vivid glow of the annual Enlighten Festival.
At the beginning of Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood, a voice breaks through the silence: “Time passes. Listen. Time passes”. Such a clever line, if acted properly, really does make time stand still.
In a small village on the outskirts of Cardiff, the past is not quite as it seems. When you walk into this outdoor National History Museum, you’re taken back in time.