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Ich bin eine Berliner – just for the week

Ladeez und gentlemen, wilkommen in Berlin, a city of grand grafitti and decadent dog dirt, big cakes and long sausages; a city that loves to shove a stiff finger at the establishment yet tut tuts if a pedestrian crosses the road willy nilly on a red Ampelman. Other...

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Sleeping with insects

A few weeks ago, at about 4am, something landed on my head. It was lighter than a hamster but heavier than a sequin. Still half asleep, I batted if off and returned to my dream where I was making chelsea buns with Kevin Costner in the celebrity version of the Great...

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My hell in a sweat lodge

On the final day of my Icelandic sojourn, the girls suggested we go to  a sweat lodge. Now this is not a particularly Icelandic pursuit but in the spirit of doing everything once, apart from incest and drinking your own wee, I agreed to take part. The sweat lodge was...

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Fish heads and shredded feet

After Akureyri, we caught a boat to the small island of Hrisey. Think Hitchcock's The Birds but without the pecking - although there were a few irritable ptarmigans owing to my rambling off-piste into their nesting area. Things to do on the island (population 120):...

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Russell Crowe likes yoghurt. Shock news.

Russell Crowe is currently in Iceland filming Noah and his Ark - the movie. Apparently, when not escorting zoo animals up and down the fjords, Russell likes cycling around town with his beard and eating Skyr yoghurt. He has not punched anyone so far. This was the...

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Pants on fire

After the tear-jerking and pant-wetting that was the opening ceremony I popped down to Horse Guards for some beach ball action. Top tip: do not put your dirty knickers in your mini manicure bag because a small soldier with pimples will want to examine them in case...

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Blisters, Beethoven and Barenboim

I do love a Prom and last week it was Daniel Barenboim's turn to wow me with the fabulously-titled West-Eastern Divan Orchestra. Ooh, thought I, men in silky turbans casually strumming their instruments while lying down and quite possibly smoking opium. Instead, it...

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Torchure – flames in the rain

Yesterday, I went to greet the Olympic torch as it arrived at Brighton's cricket ground. Note to self: do not wear skinny jeans in raging precipitation while peddling a sit up and beg; chafing will ensue. I'd taken a detour to drop an old, ravaged bra into the bra...

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Jazz, wheels and bumps-a-daisy

I got stuck in the London to Brighton bike ride last weekend. I had a car load of design gurus making a pilgrimage to some Arts and Craftsy, National Trust pile just south of East Grinstead, quite close to where I'd once spotted Tom Cruise filling up at the Texaco...

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