A million years ago, when I had money and a passport photo that didn’t get me stopped at customs, I would holiday often.
One such jaunt was to Zanzibar, an archipelago off the coast of Tanzania.
I got on the plane at Heathrow and sat next to a pretty woman.
The flight was long and eventually we spoke to each other; it turned out she was the barmaid at my local pub in north London.
I was never sober there, so how would I recognise her?