Possibly the most terrifying meal of my life took place in Paris.
Those of you who under the age of 40 who have seen Murder on the Orient Express would imagine that any travel to Paris in pre-Eurostar days involved personalised leather suitcases, glamorous travelling companions and silver service dining on a sleek machine-missile headed straight to the heart of lovetown. And murder.
It's often the case that it's only when you move away from a place that you appreciate the finest things about it, which until then you'd either been ignorant of, or had taken for granted. Such was the case with Romanas in Ferryhill.
There being no opportunities to practice being a lounge lizard or a Roman Emperor in 1990s County Durham (or that's what Miss Roddam said anyway) I put in for sixth form work experience in a bookshop.