"We wander for distraction, but we travel for fulfilment," said writer-historian Hillaire Belloc, and as I add to this blog, I hope you'll find plenty of both.
Travel is my one great enduring love, from last-minute jaunts to Paris, to long-haul journeys with military-style planning. I'm partial to the odd long weekend of chain-drinking sangria, but far more eager to learn something about a new place and, dare I say it, about myself.
Dear readers, I'm in no danger of spilling over into a high tax bracket any time soon, but determination, saving and internet savvy have taken me to some beautiful places (and to some godforsaken hotels in those beautiful places). Give me a choice between forgoing Wispa bars for months and a bottom-rung Ryanair flight, and all the obnoxious Michael O'Leary quotes in the world couldn't dissuade me from the latter. It's the reason I work, it's the reason I wake up, it's the reason I lose so many hours trawling Skyscanner and Travelzoo.
So come along with me as I share the frustration of knee-grazing economy seats, hotels that turn out to be hospitals, and last-minute overweight luggage scares. And share equally as I describe the joys of an authentically musty Moroccan cafe, where I sip a freshly blended orangeflower milkshake...that inevitably gives me food poisoning. Arm-chair tourism and Schadenfreude make excellent bedfellows, I promise!