He is not missing ...

He, being JB, is currently in Florence, more than halfway through a Contiki tour. Despite a steady diet of amber fluid, good times and limited sleep with new found mates, it can be revealed that JB is fortunately alive and well, but he just doesn't have time to report from the many countries he has seen over the last week or so.

Stay tuned for many pictures and anecdotes upon his return from what has, so far, been an awesome leg of the tour to end all tours.

Traps for young players ...

I couldn't let this go through to the 'keeper. I've been kicking back (code for saving money) during my week in London and not doing a hell of a lot. But on a rainy Wednesday, I went to Harrods in nearby Knightbridge to see what the fuss was about. Talk about over-priced and over-hyped. Indeed, I'm a sucker for tourist traps such as this. Yet I couldn't resist the urge to splurge and I bought a couple of presents for the peeps back home. I just can't say what they are yet, as it's a surprise. In the meantime, they - like you - will just have to accept this photo.

Also on Wednesday, I went to The British Museum. Despite its awesomeness (geez, words are really failing me at this stage of the trip), there was simply too much to absorb during one visit. The Lonely Planet aka the traveller's bible informed me of this and who am I to argue with them? The best thing about this architectually sound museum was the fact that it was free, although they recommend you donate £3. I sort of did. The lion was wicked too!

One day to go ...

By the way, that's not my jacket! It belongs to Geezer, my broad shouldered colleague from the Melbourne broadsheet who I had the fortune of catching up with last night for a few pints of - as he describes it - the brown booze. Having a limited wardrobe, I borrowed the swizzy coat for this photo op, but I think you'll all agree that it looks much better on me than him. He's such a cool dude. Real debonair! It was fun to get some gossip from back home and to hang out with this affable lad and his Pommie mates. Midnight closing time was the only sour note.

I'm not sure how long I would have lasted out on the tiles anyway. Friday was huge. Firstly I went to Scotland Yard (for questioning, but no charges were laid) and then the guard changing at Buckingham Palace, which I missed out on last time. Then I went to see if the British PM, Tony Blair, was at home in Downing Street but I didn't make it past the armed guards. London is a swell city for sightseeing, when it's not raining. I had a look at the London Eye, Westminster Abbey and Big Ben as I'm not sure when I'll see them again. The thought of it makes a tear well in the eye.

I then decided to go on the Piccadilly Line out to Arsenal, home of the Gunners. My chances of going to see a soccer game (I refuse to call it football) are next-to-none, so a tour of their home ground at Highbury was the next best thing. For £5 I got inside the stadium and close to the hallowed pitch. This picture was taken in the players' dressing room. Considering this is their last season at the ancient venue before they move to the larger state-of-the-art Emirates Stadium nearby, I'm glad I was able to see it first-hand. I didn't see any action, other than grass growing under artificial lights. That was more exciting than, well, watching grass grow.

In between all of that, I picked up my Contiki tour ticket. There was jubilation then desperation earlier in the week when I missed out on another tour run by a rival company after seemingly having my spot on the bus assured. But my travel agent got me the last spot on Contiki's 16-day European Encounter (not 18 days as I blogged earlier this week). The bus leaves London first thing tomorrow morning, hence the subject line. First stop? Amsterdam!

It's pronounced Brighton, darling ...

I'm back in London after escaping the city for a weekend of R&R in Brighton, on the south coast of England. My gracious hosts in the big smoke, Cousin Slugg and Can't Stop The Rush, couldn't be stopped from joining me on the megabus.com journey (let it be noted that The Life And Times Of JB is not a promotional vehicle, except if your name is Captain Morgan). We all had a smashing time sitting on deck chairs, drinking in pubs, walking along a beach devoid of sand (but had plenty of stones instead) and marvelling at The Royal Pavilion, which looks Indian on the outside, Chinese on the inside and was once the home to English royalty.

That was confusing but captivating, much like the photo taken of JB and Cousin Slugg on Brighton Pier. Despite the marriage certificate and the abundance of rainbow flags adorning various establishments in this "happy" coastal place, I can safely report that we were merely hamming it up for the cameras and are both perfectly straight. To his or her own, though.

For the next week, I plan to be in London, where I'm happy to report the weather is nice and warm. And fingers crossed, this time next week I'll be in Amsterdam as part of an 18-day tour of various European countries with other like-minded travellers. The fun, for now, doesn't stop.

Good craic was had (part two) ...

Ah yes, the good craic. I don't think it's possible to have bad craic, even in Northern Ireland, which forms part of the United Kingdom and is separate from Ireland. That's what the Irish Republican Army is all about.

After my night in the car, I fortunately heeded the words of the Lonely Planet (yet again) and took the coastal road from Belfast to Derry via the Giant's Causeway. It didn't disappoint and would be right up there with the Great Ocean Road as one of the world's most beautiful and awe inspiring drives. It was hard keeping my eyes on the road.

The rock formations at the Giant's Causeway - more than 40,000 of them - are unreal. Words might be able to describe them, it's just that I can't at the moment. Instead, here's a photo of me with some of them, although the picture hardly does the causeway (or yours truly) any justice at all.

Then it was off to a nice bed and breakfast on the outskirts of Derry. The thought of sleeping in the trusty Toyota had again crossed my mind, but my back and other people's noses applauded the decision to have a hot shower and somewhere comfortable to sleep.

The road signs actually refer to the city as Londonderry. The name is a subject to the long-running dispute between nationalists and unionists (read my IRA comments above).

True to form, I took heaps of pictures of the many murals in Derry providing reminders of the country's violent past, which was just as well, because on returning to Belfast later in the day, I consequently got lost and ran out of time to see the other murals there.

It was a costly side trip but one that I don't regret making. Now, I have to make the decision where to go next as from a month today, I'll be back on a plane to the United States of America. Pardon the pun, but time is flying.

Enjoying the good ol' Irish crack ...

Don't worry everyone. I'm alive and well and contrary to the misspelt headline, I didn't develop a drug addiction during my week-long visit to Ireland. Pronounced crack, craic is an Irish word for enjoyment, usually when mixed with a combination of friends, alcohol and music. Most of you probably knew that, especially if you've seen Jimeoin's film. Expect to hear terms like "the craic was mighty" or "it was great craic" when you see me next. It will be a craic-up. Haha!

So here's the breakdown: after spending a bit too much time in Dublin, I embarked on a three-day tour of western Ireland over the weekend and made plenty of new mates (and had a few Guinness also). Apart from seeing the inside of an Irish pub, we witnessed the magnificent beauty of the Poulnabrone Portal Tomb, Clonmacnoise, The Burren, the Cliffs of Moher and Dingle Bay. Here's one of the many pictures I had taken with me at the famed cliffs. I'm suffering from a bad case of hat hair.

On Sunday we went to the Blarney Castle and I didn't kiss the famed stone. K-Beezer said it is meant to give you good luck for the rest of your life, but our awesome Irish tour guide said legend has it that you get the gift of the gab and I have that already. You could probably get "the gift of the scab" seeing how many people have kissed it. The castle was not worth the €7 entrance fee, but I got this funny photo.

Rather than spending my remaining time in Dublin when we got back on Sunday night, I headed straight to the airport to hire a car and hit the road as Northern Ireland awaited. I'll do a separate post on this. While I reckon I poured the equivalent of $A130 into my Toyota Corolla last night before returning the car to Budget (and that figure doesn't include their rates), I had a great solo adventure. The trusty car also provided me with accommodation in Belfast for one night after pulling to the side of the road to get a quick kip. As they say, a 15-minute powernap can save your life. Even when that quarter-of-an-hour turns into three hours and you wake up at 1.30am. Still, I can say that I survived a night on the streets of Belfast.

I also managed to survive wearing the same jeans for a week but my sniffly nose still persists. I should see a doctor.