When I lived in London I had lots of friends from New Zealand and Australia. Each April at least a few of them would head off to Turkey for what I always thought was a big booze up under the guise of visiting the final resting place of long since departed ancestors. Having now visited the Gallipoli battlefields myself, I have to say I feel pretty awful for even thinking such a thing: yes, our Antipodean friends certainly do play hard but I must say that I feel privileged to have shared what is for many the experience of a lifetime with such a decent bunch of people. Of all the places I have ...
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