Bill Bryson's first travel book, The Lost Continent, was unanimously acclaimed as one of the funniest books for years. In Neither Here nor There he brings his unique brand of humour to bear on Europe as he shoulders his backpack, keeps a tight hold on his wallet, and journeys from Hammerfest, the northernmost town on the continent, to Istanbul on the cusp of Asia. Fluent in, oh, at least one language, he retraces his travels as a student twenty years before.

Whether braving the homicidal motorists of Paris, being robbed by gypsies in Florence, attempting not to order tripe and eyeballs in a German restaurant, window-shopping in the sex shops of the Reeperbahn or disputing his hotel bill in Copenhagen, Bryson takes in the sights, dissects the culture and illuminates each place and person with his hilariously caustic abservations. He even goes to Liechtenstein.

Given to me by my mum, who was having a clearout. Thanks, Mum!

Bill Bryson: the travel writer who is crap at travelling. I suspect that all his mishaps could have been avoided if he'd bothered learning the language or doing some research or packing an umbrella. I suppose he's funny in a cantankerous kind of way, but I'd hate to go on holiday with him.

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