Algeria: Into the Never-ending Desert
It's probably worth mentioning that our departure to Algiers was immediately preceded by a clear skin check at Norwich N&N Plastics Department. I had expected it to be clear. Honestly, I know how to spot a melanoma and any other skin lesion. I know my skin. I know when something doesn't look right. As usual, the dermatologist was not from the UK, was a trainee, and didn't really check everywhere. I mean, how the heck can he tell if I've got a melanoma on my scalp if he doesn't look there? Or on my butt? Or on my feet? But I signed up for these ongoing checks and, if this is what I get for free, they're definitely better than nothing. And at least if something does crop up in the future, they'll cut it out relatively quickly. A week later, my wife Miras, my son Raf and I were heading to Gatwick for a night at our favourite airport hotel: the Travelodge. We totally had the airport wired after last year's trips and had found a non-standard path to the ...