Last night I found myself back at the hotel (I'm in Mountain View at the moment), and called home to chat to the family units. Julian has taken to answering the phone this trip, which was really cool. I would obviously rather be at home, but to hear his voice saying “Daddy, I gotta tell you something, I love you”, really warms you deep down…

Anyhow, Nabila came on the phone and informed me that dinner was 'sausages and chips'.

That 'sausages and really good fries' to you Americans.

I got a real craving. I was in California. There's gotta be a British pub around here somewhere.

Then I remembered that back in 1996 I visited some transplanted brits that were living in Cupertino and that we went to a British pub.

That pub can't be far from here.

Out came the iPhone and Google maps, whereupon I found The Duke Of Edinburgh. That's it! And it's under a mile from the hotel.

So I tootle along and it's exactly as I remembered. Felt wallpaper, east-end feel and everything!

After a perusal of the menu I settle on a starter of two warm scotch eggs with mustard followed by two bangers with heaps of fried onions in a sesame seed bun.

Divine!

The scotch eggs were perfect. I don't think I've had one for about ten years and these were incredible. The sausage inna bun? Well, it looked like heartburn waiting to happen, but at the same time looked gorgeous.

I ate it.

I was in heaven.

I like this place. Squint and you'd believe you were in the east end of London. The accents of those around me made me feel cosy.

Highly recommended.

Fast forward to 5am. Heartburn city…

Oh, and did I mention that as I walked into the place, what must have been an aircraft carrier sized bird dropped the hugest load on me?

I guess being shat on by a bird really is good luck.