London is in a darkness. The smog has come down again. People huddled against the cold, collars up, mood as low as their bootstraps.

This isn’t Merry Old England. It’s a depressed area, a no-go zone. Even the attractions don’t hold much attraction any more.

Look at the London Eye, turning a nagging doubt.

At the turn of the century The Eye was better than a nod and a wink. It was seen as brash and exciting. A real jewel to the Pearly Kings and Queens. But four years on, it’s half empty - and those that are brave enough to pay their tenner to go on it don’t look like they’re having fun.

They just look vulnerable. Duck-shoots suspended in mid-air. (more…)

It was late evening and the Bay of Alcudia was still a cauldron.

The tourists were wilting visibly under the red sky. Americans dabbed at their faces with kerchiefs as they steered their Winnabebagos of bellies through the crowds. Germans were scrupulously clean in their long shorts and red faces - and the Brits, well they were just the Brits, low-slung Bermudas revealing tourist cleavage, sweat breaking out like grease on roasting pigs.

But what can you expect in such a popular part of Mallorca? It’s Marbella, Torremolinos and Blackpool all rolled into one … the perfect place for sun, sex and sangria.

Something happened though, late that evening, as the street vendors turned fake watches into gold, the restaurant barkers handed out flyers, hotels pulsated to the Chicken Song, and the English bar’s neon donner kebabs flashed above their doors.

I was down at the marina, where millionaires walk on water and the hoi polloi dream of getting off dry land. (more…)