Ladies and gentlemen we have some news for you. The die is now cast. The deed is indeed done. The rubicon has been crossed. Lisette, my lovely wife, is very much in the family way. Yes, On June 13th 2012 we're due to welcome one Farquhar Scopello Reilly into the outside world.... Those of you that know us well will be aware that children (or "screaming brats" as hitherto we have characterised them) are not really our bag at all. So we're a little... hesitant about our news. We're kind of pleased. And we're kind of terrified. When we rationalise we realise that we've been very blessed in life so far - we've done a lot. Maybe this is a good idea? And then occasionally we just hold each other and ask "Have we made a terrible mistake???" It's the fear I wasn't expecting. I'm not sure what reaction I expected to feel to the news that I'm a father but I'm pretty certain that being petrified wasn't on the list. What if the baby isn't well? What if we're rubbish parents? What if he / she doesn't like us? He / she! If he's a boy what if he takes after me and spends the first part his childhood stealing money from family members? (I think it would be better, all told, if the child took after Lisette.) What if they're not happy? Are we going to lose all our friends without kids now? What if, what if, what if. By the way, I do realise that none of these thoughts are new or original in any way. My parents will have had these thoughts. Friends too. Even my siblings. I bet it felt new to them when it happened though. I guess that's the point. Doubtless if you've got kids you've felt these feelings, thought these thoughts and generally got on with it. For my part I feel like I've gone to the cinema to see a film I'm not sure about and I'm being freaked out by the trailers before the main feature. So this is our new tour; parenthood. We're going to a country where the food is at best suspect. Pray for us; we're completely out of our comfort zone now!

"... I won't let you down ... FREEDOM!!! I will not give you up... FREEDOM!!! Gotta have some faith in my sound... FREEDOM!!! " One thing I find fascinating about travelling around is the contrasts that you observe between different cultures. I’m not a believer that national stereotypes are the whole truth about a society but there generally seems to be some reality in amongst the myth. Take “FREEDOM!!!”. We were in the process of inquiring about a trip to Stromboli (an active volcanic island) from a man who looked uncannily like George Michael in his first post-Wham days (mirror sunglasses; the whole shebang). He was, by any stretch of the imagination, an ebullient and noisy character. I liked him instantly. During his description of how the trip might pan out he wanted to illustrate to us that during the day we would have “free time” and indeed “freedom to wander” on Stromboli. Isn’t it obvious that the best way to communicate this to us would be via a capella version of George Michael’s “Freedom ‘90”? Say what you like but it seems unlikely to me that people offering tours of the Scottish Islands are flogging their trips in a comparable fashion.

It was the early hours of Wednesday morning on Ortigia, the island that is connected to the South East tip of Syracusa by a number of bridges. On Via Della Maestranza, one of the main thoroughfares of the island, all was quiet. Then a Fiat Panda detonated. It had been packed with explosive and parked directly in front of the main window of a shop that sold decorative metalwork. The window was blown in by the explosion and the stock redistributed around the interior of the store with some force. Lisette and I did not witness this. We arrived mid morning to see the remains of the incident. What presented itself was a blackened burned out husk of a car which looked like Mr Creosote post "wafer-thin mint". The street was coated with soot and the store was completely devastated. I tried to take a photo - Lisette pushed me on before I could. It made us re-evaluate though. Since we'd arrived we hadn't really given any thought to the organised crime that Sicily is so famed for. It seems likely that the store had not paid it's "pizzo" (protection money) and was being punished by the local enforcer. We've started looking at everything through slightly new eyes. We've seen other cars parked in front of building containing large plastic cylinders and edged gingerly away from them. We've seen cars with their windows caved in and nodded sagely to ourselves. Last night we were eating in a restaurant and an impressive man and what can only be described as "entourage" arrived. "So what do you reckon?" "Definitely mafia - did you see the restaurant owners face when they arrived?" "But ask yourself this; would the mafia actually go outside to smoke? Why should they observe the smoking ban?" "Dunno... Maybe they just like the night air..." I suppose it's possible we've become slightly over-cynical.

'Twas a fine morning in Taormina. The sun was shining, the world was happy; we were going up a volcano. Mount Etna was our planned destination having signed up with a tour the day before. We strolled down the main street looking for our tour and found a big jeep of jolly looking folk just waiting for the final people to join them before the ascent began. We liked the look of them, they liked the look of us; surely this was the start of several beautiful friendships. Alas tragedy struck, this was not our tour. And as we panned left we saw our future. An oversized double decker coach was before us, already full to bursting with people and still taking on more passengers; none of which looked particularly friendly. In fact they all seemed to be carrying expensive camera equipment and/or children and gave us the kind of looks that suggested that we had developed intricate plans to be away with both. We got on, feeling a touch wary and took our seats (just above the toilets). It was one of those coaches designed by optimistic fellows who imagine all potential passengers have the stature of Oompa Loompas. I am not an Oompa Loompa; I was reduced to sitting side saddle. Lisette looked generally concerned with the way things were panning out and was wondering if this had been a mistake. I was pretty sure it was a mistake but was determined to stick it out since we'd forked out the cash for it and I couldn't imagine them coughing up a refund. We were off! The coach swayed its way out of Taormina. And then stopped. Took on more people. We were off! And then we stopped. And took on more people. And... You get the picture. An hour after our initial departure an announcement came over the tanoy delivered in the style of a jaunty Rosa Klebb: "You are probably wondering what is happening right now?" she intoned. She was right! "We have just a couple little more stops to make and then we will turn and join the motorway..." Lisette had been slowly deteriorating for the last hour. Rocking from side to side and gently moaning to herself. Rosa's announcement coincided with the end of Lisettes tether. She cracked. "ABANDON BUS!!!" Lisette was out of her seat and heading down the stairs. "SCUSI! SCUSI! Madam! SCUSI!" she bellowed fighting her way up the aisle against the flow of traffic of people boarding the coach and coming the other way. By the time I caught up she was remonstrating with Rosa on the tarmac outside. Shortly after that Rosa and the coach departed down the road and Lisette and I found ourselves sat beneath an underpass in an indeterminite and none too pleasant town. Above us there were a collection of flags flying to no particular purpose. The Union (Jack) flag happened to be flying upside down; which I understand is the sign of distress. Seemed appropriate. The town we found ourselves in was completely unlike Taormina. It was like the Gorbals in the mid-80's. For some time we wandered from street to street seeking some method of identifying the town. In the end we found a cafe and looked up the address on the packets of sugar. It's called "Letojanni" and I wouldn't recommend it. Actually it seems to enjoy a further celtic connection. We found a pub in Letojanni; it specialised in one drink: Tennent's Super. Let's leave it there.

"That's right isn't it?" said Lisette pointing at the Wikileaks frontmans picture. "Wasn't he poisoned by the Russians?" It's possible that Lisette is confusing Mr Assange with Alexander Litvinenko... However, I do wonder if something might come out of this. I think that maybe Lisette has the beginnings of another "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier ... " inside her. Am planning to record her random thoughts and publish a spy novel of the collected works under a nom de plume. Perhaps Jeanette le Carre. A certain amount of filtering a reshaping may be necessary to turn this into a proper pot boiler. For instance I'm not entirely sure where the following utterance would fit in a book about spies and derring do: "maybe Italian woman have some kind of deal with the goddess of beauty - they front load their attractiveness in life so they look amazing up to the age of 40 and then it all goes to pot..." We don't normally travel carrying pictures of controversial organisations. It's just I'm currently reading a book called "Inside Wikileaks" which unsurprisingly features a picture of JA on the back cover. This purchase was a result of carrying out the "69 test" on a number of possible airport book possibilities. The idea is you read the 69th page of a book by which point the author should have got properly going. So you judge a book not by the cover but by how it seems to be panning out when underway. Not sure if it holds water but the Wikileaks book is properly interesting. Certainly more so than another book on the shelves called "How to make money from property" which features a serious looking man on the cover who may well have hemorrhoids (looking at the expression in his eyes). Performing the 69 test on said book netted the following sentence: "You can increase the square footage of...." Not something I wanted to study in depth in Sicily I felt.