oh dear...

...it's kicked off in Kenilworth too.

the man who thinks Coventry is a concrete jungle

so read the teaser in the local paper. My heart sank when I read it, but I felt better when I read this.

concrete Cov

The Lonely Planet Great Britain guide was launched this week. I may steer clear of the local tourist office for a while after this

Racing round Silverstone

This was racing of the two-legged, self-propelled variety rather than the turbo-charged F1 variety. Runners in the East Midlands Grand Prix loop twice around the famous 5k racing track. And yes, it really was as grey, bleak and exposed as it looks. But with around 1000 participants - many just to take part in an event on the track - there is almost always someone in sight to keep you company along the long straits and chicanes. Fortunately, no one decided to make car racing noises as they went round (as far as I know).

Picnic in Streatham Hill

Jo and Kate enjoy the fine Bank Holiday weather in South London, on the high street down the road from Jo's flat.

Before the heavens opened I managed one personal south London discovery, the West Norwood Cemetery, one of London's Magnificent Seven. A peaceful, somewhat chaotic oasis, which helped sooth the effects of the previous night's bout of this.

Groomsman vs usher

When my oldest friend called me to ask me to be a groomsman at his wedding in Melbourne, I didn't really know what I was saying yes to, guessing it was the antipodean equivalent of usher. It was...but better. It's being an usher without the 'To Do' list. The most onerous task I had to do all day was ask people to board the bus to the reception. Other than that, I had the tiresome duties of dressing up to the nines, being chauffeur driven round the city in a vintage Jaguar, sitting up at the head table, eating exquisite food to the backdrop of Melbourne's city lights, posing in a few photos, and, of course, quaffing bubbly.

In the end, I made up my own duties:

-- Purchasing the nervous bridegroom his final beer as a bachelor (a more demanding task than you might think – apparently, he would not have been a happy man if singledom terminated with a Foster's).

-- Winding up the best man up about his speech ("that's a great gag, no of course no one will be offended"). Oops.

And, well, that's it.

A great do. Excellent to see my oldest friend and meet his new wife Emma. Since I have been in Sydney, I have actually ended up a lot of time with them. They have now headed off for a 7-month trip through Africa, no doubt gutted I am no longer sharing their honeymoon with them.

Other Melbourne highlights: Eating kangaroo and crocodile on my first meal out. Crocodile was strangely normal in a spiced sauce. Roo was very tender, quite gamey... sorry Skippy (and vegetarian friends).

- Catching up with my cousin Ed who has the biggest TV screen I have ever seen.

Am currently in the NSW coastal town of Terrigal, which has a flock of pelicans on the beach just around the corner from the little hostel I am in. More very soon (instead of the epic pause between this post and the last).

Hoo roo.

Tom Parkinson

I was inspired to take up travel writing by a group of authors who attended a guidebook author workshop in spring 2005. Tom Parkinson was one of those authors.

Last week I learned of Tom's untimely death from a heart attack while writing up his latest research on Madagascar. Colleagues and friends put together this tribute to his short life.

His hilariously written blog on what guidebook writing is really like had me laughing out loud in recognition. You get a sense of just how talented a writer he was from the entries.

Tom was still in his 20s when he died.

Caffeine highs

C-O-C-A C-O-L-A: the huge letters are propped proudly in the mountainous jungle that dominates the west of San Pedro Sula. They spell the city's commercialised answer to the giant Hollywood sign in California. You can make a pilgrimage to the biggest advert in town from the city centre. You just keep following the main road through the wealthy districts, then swing a left and keep climbing the mountain for about an hour.

It's worth doing. You leave behind the last exclusive residence and suddenly you are in the jungle. People who do the walk regularly say they often come across snakes and exotic birdlife. There were quite a few day-trippers out on a Sunday stroll when we climbed so most of the wildlife was in hiding. All we saw were a lizard and a squirrel. But the real reason for the climb is the view. You climb a few hundred metres above the city and look down at the surprisingly lush urban scene below. Houses and roads seem to poke out from the jungle. You don't realise how green the city is when you are at street level.
We climbed at the height of the day's tropical heat. My water bottle was almost empty by the time we reached the giant 'C', so we headed a bit further up the hill to a modest little pulperia (general store) selling cold drinks to day-trippers. And, of course, there was only one caffeine soft drink on sale: Pepsi.

they dined on mince

I had loyally carried around a box of mince pies given to me by some good friends from my running club (whose backpacking days I suspect might be behind them). These mince pies had been through a lot to make it to a dinner table in the El Salvador highlands. Flown across the Atlantic, stored with boxer shorts, ferried across to the Caribbean, thrown onto the top of a chicken bus in my backpack which then promptly fell off (my first thought was for the mince pies NOT my digital camera...work that one out), they weren't in the most pristine condition when they were unveiled late on Christmas day ('how long did you say you had been on the road?' one peace corps volunteer asked). But they were a welcome hint of Christmas anyway.

On Boxing Day I was back to Honduras, over the border into the highlands. The bus journey was a stunner through the mountains, although my mind was taken off the view when a Honduran soldier sat beside me at the back of the bus, his rifle casually slung over his lap pointing at my ankles as we jolted and bumped over the unpaved road. Thankfully his colleague suggested that he point the barrel toward the roof and keep the gun secure between his lap... which saved me a a pretty nervous journey.

Anyway, here's a quick glimpse of how stunning this country can look, taken in one of the main national parks, where we saw precisely no other walkers all day. The only down side was the person supposed to be my guide had drunk my $10 deposit the previous evening and failed to show up the next day.

It's the final leg now and I am about to celebrate new year with some new friends in Copan Ruinas, where some famous old mayan ruins are. Feliz Ano Nuevo and see you soon!