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'No, sorry, we haven't got a Turin guidebook'.

So said the chap at Waterstones Piccadilly.

'What about Stanfords?' (Specialist travel bookshop in Covent Garden, for those unfamiliar).

'Sorry, no, not them either' (said as though he had been asked this question a few times).

So why would Turin be a tourist destination? Answer: it has a lot going for it, and because it is not prime tourist territory air fares (in a normal world) are reasonable, flight time is 1 hour 20 minutes, and hotel prices are competitive. What's not to like?

There is a semi-plausible literary reference in the title, but I will come back to it.

Writing on the current debacle runs the risk of being relevant for 10 minutes before the next twist. But still.

I voted for Labour in 2024. I thought that Starmer would be strong and purposeful, with Labour driving through change that would benefit all sections of UK society. The stonking General Election majority only amplified my expectations. How wrong was I to be so optimistic.

'Ducks and pigs and chickens call/Animal carpet wall to wall/American ladies five-foot tall in blue'.

You will have to be older to have recognised these lyrics without a prompt. Graham Nash wrote Marrakesh Express in 1969, based, it is said, on a 1966 train journey he did from Casablanca to Marrakesh, where he abandoned his First-Class seat in order to join a carriage filled with animals and locals, and experience the 'real Morocco'. What the American ladies five-foot tall were doing down there I do not know.

He's coming down the road. Fast. Towards you. He may be on two wheels, but he is as intimidating as any car, van or truck. It is hard to judge exactly his distance from you, or speed. You would be unwise to risk crossing the road when he is in your sights.

There has to be a sense of gloating self-satisfaction in escaping the UK in January, even more so if your journey out and back is not disrupted by weather, industrial action or mechanical failure.

I have never thought that I suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I have come to dread this month, and in 2026 the Gods have served up the UK with a delicious and unremitting cocktail of snow, rain and freezing temperatures, like an interrogator waiting for a suspect to break.