When you're in a hole ...

...stop digging. Or should that be drinking?

The hole in the wall was a favourite pub of mine in my youth. Nestling under the arches of the railway track opposite Waterloo station, it is one of the dreariest, darkest, and seediest pubs you will ever come across. Good beer, yellowed ceilings, surly staff, and clients who liked animated conversation (even when they were alone).

But let's not go there. Literally. Please.

I was in London for a professional event. The location was opposite Regents Park. As I came out of the tube I was stopped by two young women with Australian accents.

"Can you tell me what you have to do to get a cab round here?" they asked.

"Stick your hand out" I said.

"We tried that" they said "but none of them ever stop".

I looked up and a cab was coming down the road with its yellow "for hire" sign on. I stuck out my arm out and it pulled over. To hear the squeals of delight and the "thank yous", you would have thought I had done magic straight out of Harry Potter...

17 days to go ...