I was due to go to Canada for a fortnight in three weeks. It was going to be wholesome and outdoorsy. We planned on hiking, kayaking and swimming until ruddy cheeked in the mornings, and finding some creek or mountain range to gawp at and drink beer by in the afternoons. But like everyone else's holiday, it's been cancelled, and you know what? I'm fine. Pole vaulting across time zones implodes circadian rhythms into hopeless disrepair. Going somewhere so far, with so much to do means you must have The! Best! Time! Ever! And the only way to do that is to have an exacting, bordering on military schedule, even if it is to specify block capitals FREE time. Then there’s the most befuddling thing - aside from money morphing into that of the Monopoly kind - which is that you’re expected - if only from yourself - to, somehow, look markedly better than you do on home soil. No sorry, this year I'm out. Commute times to the park will total 10 minutes. I'll save sleep, money and sanity right here in E2.