claytoncast

Today I am held prisoner in Limehouse. Not detained here by some global pandemic, or some new ridiculous measure by the Conservative party. Not held here by some Victorian golem, but surrounded by one of the most wonderful displays of humanity London provides each year.   Last October, I set off one Sunday to get my hair cut in Canary Wharf, oblivious to the fact that one of the country’s greatest sporting events was taking place around me. My hair may have become shorter, but my trip home was immeasurably longer as I tried to work my way back to my boat.   Today, forewarned is forearmed, and I’ve loaded the fridge with food and spent most of the morning, reading the Sunday papers and catching up on correspondence. It’s a dull, damp, rainy day and yet thousands of people have taken to the street for the London Marathon. Not just runners, but an astounding gallimaufry of supporters, cheering encouragement and filling the air with boosting catcalls and primeval cries ...

it’s been a little while, since I last took to these pages, and the year has moved on with alarming swiftness. It’s fitting, perhaps that I’m sitting at a hotel desk in Milan to write this, given that travel has played a very important part in my life for the last couple of months. Last year as a newly single man, dealing with holidays was a problem. I hadn’t really solved. They say going on holiday with somebody is when you really begin to know them, and I don’t think I’d ever been on holiday with myself. When I did, I realised was that if I’m not going to lie around on the beach all day and have a nice dinner in the evening, something I think that is much better done as part of a couple, then I needed things to do on my holiday So I planned three trips away centred around having activities. And the one part of a holiday that would still be missing-that of sharing it with someone-could be achieved by a daily blog post on social media. So my keen followers have been with me to the...