Something to Declare

Heat magazine editor Sam Delaney pens his final column for us… Illustration: Spencer Wilson / Synergy Art

I’M NOT A GOOD TRAVELLER. I LIKE THE IDEA of being a good traveller. I picture myself as a debonair globetrotter, breezing through foreign lands in crisp linen suits and jaunty sun hats, communicating with the locals in their native tongue, sampling the indigenous cuisine and haggling with gusto in some exotic, faraway bazaar over half a kilo of fancy olives and some sandals. But you know when people tell you that you can be whatever you perceive yourself to be? That’s bull.

I may perceive myself to be like Indiana Jones crossed with Michael Palin, but I am resigned to forever be more like Bernard Bresslaw in Carry On Abroad. I’m that guy who spills the miniature plastic cup of orange juice all over his pale chinos within moments of take off. The one sweating and panting at arrivals as he clambers around the carousel wrestling his dog-eared, studenty rucksack onto his trolley. The one blaming his wife because he can’t work out how to fit the child seat into the back of the hire car at the airport car park. I’m the bloke who contracts an embarrassing stomach complaint just by looking at a plate of paella. It’s a shame because I love “abroad”, with its lovely weather, mysterious womenfolk, and interesting churches and delicious-yet-heart- healthy food.

So why do I muck it up so badly once I actually get off the plane? Am I unlucky? No, I’m just English. And, like all Englishmen, I am simultaneously enthralled and intimidated by the dazzlingly relaxed, refined and generally not uptight culture that seems to exist everywhere beyond the borders of my drizzly and grey little island. I have no way of ever acclimatising to the superior lifestyle of Johnny Foreigner; I am destined to always admire him from the sidelines, dressed in my knotted hanky and itchy nylon football shirt, wondering what it’d feel like to have a tan.

What little I do know about travel I’ve already given away in this column over the past 18 months or so. If you haven’t managed to read them all, it basically boiled down to this: don’t bother with sightseeing, it’s a waste of time, and don’t dawdle in WHSmith at the airport without checking how long the walk is to your departure gate. I’ll leave you with my one remaining nugget of travel wisdom before signing off for good: pack zipper bags. Loads of them.