Being a tourist is such hard work. All those museums to visit. And major historical monuments to be photographed next to. And badly researched guff in the guide book to be taken in by. You just have to take one look at the crowds milling around Leicester Square in the part of London that few actually call “the West End” to realise how misguided the whole business is. That’s not London, you fools! The Angus Steak House is not a restaurant, it’s a time-travel machine back to 1973. And one doesn’t go to a “show”, not if one lives here. One goes out to dinner. Or down the pub. But that’s the thing about being a tourist. You’re always slightly helpless, slightly clueless, a hermit crab who’s left its protective shell and is fair game for any passing gull or over-enthusiastic write-up on Tripadvisor. It’s tiring and confusing and especially dispiriting in countries where they don’t understand the curative properties of a nice cup of tea. There are still vast swaths of the world where hotels fail to recognise the mini-kettle as one of the great inventions of civilisation. Get the full story at the Guardian