What a difference a week makes

August is meant to be the month when nothing happens. Indeed, last week it looked like it was. I was outside Aberdaron, a tiny fishing village on the northernmost tip of the Llyn peninsula in Wales. As we drove down a grassy lane, with the sea ahead of us and the odd farmer pressed up against the hedge to let us pass, we came across two hitchhikers: pale beauties with black hair who were, as it turned out, from

Tbilisi, Georgia.

Each had a number on a pale love heart attached to their lapel. They were off to some kind of Welsh singles night.

An hour later and back on the lane, we encountered just one Georgian girl - Number 27. "My friend," she said, getting into the car, "she want to stay. For me? No." She went on to discuss her home country: "It is very nice. And it is very good for holidays."

What a difference a week makes.

Change is definitely in the air. Everyone I know