My parents always used to go on really boring holidays. Their idea of a great holiday was to find a house with a pool two miles down a dirt track, which was itself 2 miles away from the nearest village. So, while I travelled quite a bit when I was a kid, it wasn’t until I was 15 that I actually went somewhere to see things. I went to Turkey with school. I was 16 when I went to Greece. I was 18 when I went to America, and 21 before I went back and did the parts of Europe I’d missed the first time. Mark’s done them all already. And he’s only 15. Bastard.