Peru - we buy their cocaine. They send us .....

A beautiful journey from there to here was improved by five minutes of relaxing and refreshing pan pipe music from the Andes.

After six minutes, “I will always love you” segued into “Bleeding love” with all the grace and elegance of a multi-amputee millipede changing from the Dashing White Sergeant to the Military Two-Step. Mid tune. As my eardrums were assailed by the greatest (sic) hits (sic) of the past year transferred to the pan pipes by some tone deaf session players working for a major label cashing in on the triumph of the banal, I realised that somebody, somewhere, was making a killing from “Now that what I call music of the Andes (Vol 67)”. This truly is a crime against humanity.

Sadly, the pensioners and incontinent seemed to be humming along. Which clearly indicated the target market.

After 30 minutes, that seemed like a life time, I felt like Michael Caine in the Ipcress Files, and was ready to confess my sins and trade any secret for the blissful relief of local radio (“Outer Hebrides Broadcasting Corporation – Caaalling civilisaaation”). It took several large drinks to restore my senses. And some more to face the papers.