I actually like to travel.

Lots of people moan about all the travelling they have to do, but I really love it. I don’t know whether this is a phase and I shall grow to love it in time, but I think given my childlike outlook on life that I shall forever enjoy a little frisson of excitement at another takeoff, or a cheeky hamburger in a service station, or the surge of freedom you feel as a road unfurls of you.

Of course, I still hate loathsome and unnecessary security checks at airports that instantly criminalise anyone who wants to go anywhere on an aeroplane, I gag at the deeply unsavoury toilet conditions at any motorway stop you care to mention, and the depressing thunk in your spirits as you turn a corner and see a winking trail of red lights signalling the queues ahead.

Do you know what would make it all better? Crayons and colouring books. I don’t know why they don’t give out more of those to children these days. Because they should, and then I would have to find a child to carry round with me all the time so that I could take the crayons and colour with them.