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There are travelogues and travelogues, and this new beast, the holidaylogue. An up-front-personal, fascinating, and funny story of two sixtysomethings who thought they could conquer Peru and Machu Picchu, but somehow didn't take into account their leg-weary age, their aches and pains and asthma (not a good idea at Andean altitude, surely?).
And they certainly hadn't reckoned on the merciless Bicester Bug. Or the strange gaggle of fellow tourists they found themselves with: from the cultured Bexley-Heaths to the Chavtown John Terry (a smaller, smoking version of Chelsea's central deflowerer) and the Roy Cropper oddball with a strange secret in his ever-present shopping bag.

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