Swedish PM is assassinated and the story dies quickly too. 
A hang glider fails to cross the channel but we party nevertheless until a British soldier is shot in Antwerp.
My role in creating a crime free Saturday night in England.

I am assigned from my caravan in Somerset to report on the Bosnian war. We drive through the snow in an armoured Land-rover and a Lada,
 commandeer an empty hotel for the night, and talk to starving Muslim refugees from Srebrenitsa weeks before 800 are massacred. 
 Then the cameraman is fired for fiddling his expenses.

We dine with the Governor, witness freedom fighters coming in from the bush to vote; almost win a pile at the races  and tips on how to scare an accountant. I meet up with the new Boss Robert Mugabe.

The Prince of Wales, soon to be married, gets mobbed by Lady Di lookalikes but they fail to improve his mood. The UK media ‘ratpack’ are dubbed ‘animals’ by the Kiwi media. We are forced to dine at a ridiculously early hour and bring our own grog if we can find it.

On the road with Her Royal Highness.  Trouble with the locals in Jamaica. And with Cayman Islanders. We just miss crashing into a mountain in Mexico but discover yards of Pina Colada in Mexico City.

Join me, the deputy assistant foreign editor for a day on the foreign desk. Share the madness as programme deadlines approach. Witness the unspeakable behaviour of some of my colleagues.
And the sad story of a war reporter who missed the boat.

Chasing Britain’s most wanted woman in Dublin, losing one’s trousers in Belfast, climbing and ballooning with the top guys, Chris Bonnington and Pers Lindstrand in Chamonix, and, finally, Mann overboard off Falmouth.

Bird watching in the desert. Fighter plane spotting in Baghdad as Israelis bomb a nuclear installation. King Hussain pops into the bar at the Amman Intercontinental Hotel, Jordan.