“…when a man is tired of London…”

It’s not the first time I’ve noticed it, not by a long shot, but perhaps, as I get nearer the end, I’m becoming more sensitive to it. It’s the ironically titled “Aldgate (Fast)” service, stuck outside Baker Street, and I look around at the people and faces that surround me. Perhaps I’m projecting my disdain for the rat race on to them, or perhaps I am not alone after all. Everyone certainly seems to be of the same temperament, the glum faces, rain spattered free newspapers and ubiquitous white earphones working overtime to drown out the general air of melancholy.

Perhaps if Samuel Johnson had experienced London Underground, Excel sheets and Outlook contacts, not to mention the conveniences of modern air travel, he would have felt differently about leaving London. Me? I think I’ll follow Boswell’s example, to whom Johnson was talking to when he made his famous quote. I’m off back to Scotland.

But first, however, I’m dusting off my conquistadors’ hat and am off to the land of the Incas. Dig out your Lemsips South America…