I took the Starbus from the Gare du Midi to Victoria. It runs from Oslo to London, so by the time I board in Brussels, some passengers have been on the bus for a good 20 hours. From the look of them sometimes, I can well believe it. The security at the Channel Tunnel seems stricter each time I cross, with French and British customs to go through and sniffer dogs searching the bus. We were held up when no one would claim a kitschy chandelier found on the back seat.

I got talking to a music journalist from Venezuela, who'd lived in New York and Canada and was looking for work in Brussels. He told me about Caracas, and dished the dirt on various singers he'd interviewed. He was very interesting and knowledgable, but oddly uninformed about his trip to the UK. He was surprised to hear that we were going to be travelling in a tunnel under the sea, and asked whether London was in the North or South of the country. He had never been to England before and wanted to know if it rained every day and did people have afternoon tea? I wondered if he was taking the mick, but he was serious. I found it strangely reassuring.

Already heartily sick of my backpack, I dumped it at the Left Luggage room and wandered over to Buckingham Palace. I peered at the guards through the railings with all the other tourists and was privately thankful that whatever else happens in my life, I shall never have to stand motionless in the heat wearing a busby. I sat in St. James' Park and listened to the chimes of Big Ben.