Swinging around London the other day, I was incredibly lucky to be given not one but two tickets from Cantonese students.

That's right, people, take Cantonese lessons from me, become a tutor, and then one day you too will have kind students giving you tickets to 1. An exhibition of Hispanic stuff and 2. Windsor Castle! 

Arriving by train on a semi sunny Thursday, we were welcomed to Windsor Town with bunting, flags, tea containers etc. It turned out not to be for us, but for the coronation of King Charles III.  Both London and Windsor were in a tea towel frenzy.

In England, there are two types of tea towels: 

And this:

The latter was given to me by another Cantonese student when he came to Mallorca in 2018. Markle and Orange Sparkle unifying the nation in a royal tea towel extravaganza - oh halcyon days of yore.

I hope Charlie will justify all those thousands of miles of cotton a little bit better than Ginge and Whinge.

Meanwhile, back at Windsor, the entire world seemed to be there; after all it was Easter. Inside the hallowed, 1,000 year old walls echoed the screams of history, and I felt myself transported back to the reign of Henry VIII - or at least could view his portrait high up on the wall together with the woman he went against the Pope to be able to, er, marry, only to kill her afterwards anyway. 

When we came out, the beautiful day had turned into a torrential rainfall, so I had to brave the souvenir shop hordes to get a very British umbrella. For 15 quid I thought they could have afforded a few inches more of material, but maybe it had all gone to bunting? 

Only semi soaked I got back on the train where I had a table all to myself, the hordes still being stuck inside the castle waiting for the rain to stop. As I got off, I heard a voice inside me say: Turn around. Turn around.

What? No! No one tells me what to do. "Turn around!" the inner voice shouted, but I ignored it sniffily. As I got out at St. Pancras I realised I had left my brand new umbrella on the train table. Ahhrghhhh! 

Back in Palma I had to hop over to the excellent Chinese supermarked on the other side of town for some lotus root, and set out on foot with my trusty shopping bag, the first thing I bought when I arrived here five years ago from bespoke dog gear shop Palma Dog. 

I was wearing flip flops, and a nasty grass seed or something found its way into the sole of my foot. Ow! Ow! What what what to do? Hobbling past Plaza Progres I saw an open door with a staircase, on which I sat down and extracted the intruder with my shorter than average nails. Leaving the lobby I heard the voice again, very loud this time: "Turn around!" But did I obey? No!

About 35 minutes later, in Plaza Espanya, I thought there was something missing and: Oh no! I had left my beautiful shopping bag on the stairs. What a plonker! I was too far away to turn around and wrote the bag off in my mind, although I was very fond of it. But bugger me if I, from the bus window more than an hour later, didn't see the bag inside the lobby! What are the chances of 1. A street door in Palma being open and 2. That no one would have gone in or out in all that time? 

The people living in that gaff must have been agoraphobic or something. 

My point: You (and I) should listen to not only your dog but to that inner voice, especially when it's screaming.

Also, you should buy my book Don't Joke on the Stairs for "an insightful, yet hilarious, assessment of modern China" according to critics, before you proceed to stick a finger in the eye of the Chinese communist party by learning Cantonese from me. That's right - finger in the eye! They deserve it. 

Learn Cantonese the Natural Way - from a Norwegian.

Today's Cantonese: 國王 Gok wong - King