The seasonal post goes underground
Jason Cowley visits Europe's nearest approximation to a classless society, and asks what secrets lur
Don't trust anyone who professes no interest in living near a cathedral
Film - Philip Kerr discovers magic in Peru, but fails to fall under Harry Potter's latest spell
With the world in turmoil, tourists will have to realise that to carry on partying or trying to "fin
In Yorkshire Monopoly, at least the Jail is free from sponsorship
It's all in the body language
The Gotan Project brings a mongrel dance to Britain
A lesson in how to light a cigar with a death-ray
The morals police are ready with whips. But Iranian lovers know how to stay out of trouble
Rumour had it that Tony Blackburn was going to turn off the lights
Seven Ages of Paris: portrait of a city
Alistair Horne <em>Macmillan, 520pp, £25</em>
A trip around Liverpool's bay
Driving with cooking oil is frowned on by the police
Batter and chocolate melting in my mouth. Where have I tasted that before? Asks Andrew Martin
The Thames Barrier looks like a line of stepping stones, or perhaps conch shells. On most days, there is clear water between the shells, to let shipping pass. Today, they are threaded by a chain of metal, the barrier's movable gates, and there are raindrops on the screen of my computer.
They're very good, the flunkies and major-domos at the Dorchester, but then, for £2,500 a night, they ought to be.
My memories of Bradford amount to once missing a train there
London Orbital: a walk around the M25
Iain Sinclair <em>Granta Books, 482pp, £25</em>
Observations on campaigning
I've found something brilliant. Honest, I really have
The miners who are digging for light
Aside from love, few activities seem to promise us as much happiness as travelling: taking off for somewhere else, somewhere far from home, a place with more interesting weather, customs and landscapes. However, it also seems that few events regularly go as wrong as holidays.
If I were editor of Hello! magazine, I wouldn't know whether to be writing my letter of resignation at my stylish but businesslike desk, or giving thanks on my knees from my hard-wearing yet elegant carpet.
A BMW, a big house and a powdered wig - they all could have been mine
In Dublin, you are more likely to find Caesar salad than honest Irish stew
If you want to see the eighth wonder of the world, you have to pick up the keys from the ticket office of an Underground station in east London. Not that they'll part with them to just anybody.