So I return from London after bidding my friends a fond farewell. Admittedly I've had more farewell tours of London than The Stones, but it's justified if I keep finding new things about the place...like The Intrepid Fox. A rock pub that was f***ed By Rock that very night (well, every last Saturday of the month). A good time was had by all, but a bad hangover was had by me the next day. Even taking a sachet of oral rehydration powder - tastes like salty Lemsip - didn't help. The poor little sachet. It was supposed to travel with me to India to help cure me of the squits, but it never got past Holborn.

It's funny but every time I come back I realise how much I'm really not that fussed about Manchester. I've tried liking it, but I'm not really a Manc at heart. With my mixed up genes I'm more a product of nurture than nature. Somewhere out there is my country and my city, but it's not here in the UK.

Roll on Nice on the 4th and a visit to the Bear. If we make it as far as Italy I'll see how many belle donne occhi are splendono like the old cielo di notte.

I'm hoping for a clear night that night, I can tell you!