The world from my window

They say you should never go back. But I did at the weekend, going back to where my grandfather was born in 1891 and where, in 1979, I began my training as a journalist. Gramp was an adventurer and a spinner of yarns. I imagine him as a small boy gazing out across Plymouth Sound and wondering what lay beyond it. He ended up in Australia where he was a sheep drover and tamer of horses before becoming an ANZAC, fighting at Gallipoli and the Somme. Plymouth's not everyone's cup of tea but I like it very much. Five years ago, my old trainee colleagues had a thirty year reunion, which I wrote about here . There's even a picture of me on that blog post at my New Romantic best. There were fewer of us this time round, with various people bottling out and giving excuses, but it didn't matter, I enjoyed every minute of it, starting with the train journey to Pymouth. And then a feeling of euphoria as I alighted from the train. I checked into the hote...

Well, it's been a month since my last blog. And after saying I was never going to blog again, three things have happened: * I feel guilty because so many people tell me they miss it * I just saw the film Julie/Julia * I'm in the most incredible place right now So while the world from my window is as misty as ever, it's not Crowman I see going into the village shop for fags and beer or even Celebrity Farmer for a loaf of bread or Mr Grigg for a Ginster's pasty. Outside my window, on the 23rd floor, I can see lots of human ants scuttling around below. A sea of Chinese faces on the underground, all of them different. In the land of the very short people, Mr Grigg, at 6ft tall, is king. We are in Hong Kong on our way to Australia and New Zealand to see family, friends and go to a wedding. It's also a bit of a personal quest - Australia is the place to which my mother and father nearly emigrated in the 1960s, I nearly emigrated in the 1980s and it's the place where ...