I have been in the UK since I lost my passport last November, before then I spent two moths in Ireland, three months surfing in Newquay and the best part of four years in Munich, Germany.

When I lost my passport last November I was extremley pissed because I didn't have fond memories of the UK and this was the last place I wanted to be.

But being a firm beliver in "everything happens for a reason" I decided to at least try to make a good thing out of what I considered a bad one.

I spent the winter in London trying to save up enough money to get the hell out of dodge. Yet by April, all I had was £100 and enough of being stuck in a city of 16 million grumpy brits, so I packed my sack and headed back to the only other city in the UK that I knew - Brighton.

Although it had been five years since I had last been here not much had changed and I was able to get my old job back in an Italien restaurant in 'The Lanes' and moved onto a campsite in a small village called Hassocks.

The plan then was to work my arse of and then start my journey to Australia with a German friend of mine called Klaus. Fortuanally the plan took a different road.

At the end of June I went up to London for a weekend to visit my family and to do a much needed clothes wash when on the way back I got on the wrong train. Instead of getting on the train to Brighton I was on my way to Bournemouth.

And so began my most memoriable summer so far..............