I haven't read Phil Hogan before, but his Guardian piece on a walking holiday in Sicily will set me off on his trail. He's got that chatty, easy-going style - part Bryson, part Moore - that I enjoy so much:
Next morning we're up at 3am. Yes, three! How else are we to get down to the harbour in time to sit in the bus in the pouring rain without breakfast and wait till 7am for the first ferry to Stromboli? Ah, Stromboli is the mountain of God, Luca tells us, though he adds that because of the stormy conditions there's a slight chance we might end up in Naples. Not for nothing is the Aeolian Sea named after the god of preposterous winds. Sure enough, we are soon pitching and rolling and all the other descriptively colourful heaving movements that make you ill. Hours go by. Are we nearly there, yet? No, not until we've stopped off at every other island on the map.
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