Dom Joly

Dom Joly has been a columnist for The Independent on Sunday and The Independent since 2001. Joly shot to fame in 2000 with his anarchic Channel 4 hidden-camera comedy programme Trigger Happy TV. He has since made television series for BBC, Five, and Sky One including, This Is Dom Joly and Dom Joly’s Happy Hour. His current TV show, Fool Britannia, is on ITV1 on Saturday nights. His spoof autobiography, Look At Me, Look At Me was published in 2004, in 2007 he brought out Letters to my Golf Club, featuring his correspondences with golf clubs around the world. In 2009 he wrote his first travel book, The Dark Tourist, in which he holidayed in some of the world’s most unlikely destinations such as Chernobyl and North Korea. His second travel book- Scary Monsters and Super Creeps, published in 2012, saw him cross the globe hunting monsters like the Yeti and Bigfoot. He is currently writing his new travel book.

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It's hot and ugly – and I don't mean the gorilla

Dubai feels like a place where every architect has off-loaded their ludicrous pet project

Turkey beats Greece for border toughness

We were blessed with an almost eerily constant 19C and cloudless, sunny days as we made our way across Europe to Istanbul on our family “carcation”. Our luck finally ran out in Istanbul, and we had half a day of rain. I wouldn’t complain, but it was on the morning that I’d negotiated access to park our car in front of the Blue Mosque for a photo shoot. There was a bit of grumbling and some wet bottoms as I forced the family into various poses on the vehicle. I am a voracious photographer and those closest to me are well used to being shunted around for photo opportunities, and they bear it with good grace. 

Off to Istanbul, despite passport and police mishaps

The Serbs were by far the friendliest bunch we've met on our #istanbulorbust road trip. Most looked like hit men but couldn't have been funnier or more charming

The road to Istanbul is paved with currywurst

So the big divorce road trip has started. The Joly road trip #Istanbulorbust is under way. We caught the ferry from Harwich to the Hook of Holland on the beginning of "what I like to call a carcation". Yes, we went on the Stena Line ferry, the one I do the ads for. It was rather fun seeing other passengers spot me on the thing. I think they assumed that, as part of my ad contract, I had to spend my life on the ferry giving other passengers the thumbs up in my driving gloves. It must have been a bit like spending the night at a Premier Inn and finding Lenny Henry in your bedroom – maybe a little less unnerving.

If I were a dictator, hair would be the least of it

Anybody still bald on Friday would be fed to the dogs in an ironic Korean cuisine reversal

Let's hit the road before we cut to the Chase

The date for our departure on the "Big Joly Divorce Road Trip To Istanbul and back" (not the official title) is starting to loom large. I'm busy planning itineraries, booking hotels and trying to work out the route through Romania that is least likely to get us murdered. Meanwhile, Stacey is busy designing a "tour" T-shirt that the whole family has announced they'll never wear. She's got a drawing of the Land Rover with our heads popping out of the windows and the Hagia Sofia in the background. This wouldn't be too bad, but she has gone further and put names on each shirt, like some awful stag party costume.

From VIP guest to abused idiot, it's a short hop

The Cheltenham Festival is over and my sedate little spa town becomes sedate again. For four days, and particularly nights, the place becomes positively bacchanalian as, seemingly, the whole population of Ireland descends upon the Cotswolds capital. Extraordinary things take place – double-decker buses full of prostitutes and pole-dancers crawl through the streets and seemingly every building becomes a makeshift bookies-come-Guinness bar. I was deluged with enquiries on Facebook from Irishmen chancing their arm and asking whether I could put them up in an out-building if they provided a bottle of Jameson's and some good cheer? I politely declined.

Let's make this the last war anniversary for Syria

This time last year, I was in Jordan with Save the Children visiting the Za'atari refugee camp on the Syrian border. I also attended a candlelit vigil in the Jordanian capital, Amman, to commemorate the second anniversary of the Syrian crisis at which world leaders were urged to act to stop the bloodshed.

When putsch comes to pool, we’ll just wing it

I am planning a big family road trip, from London to Istanbul and back, over the Easter holidays. Every time I mention this to people they look at me in horror and ask: “Why on earth would you do that?”

Why has no one told me about this extra meal?

My house is still flooded. I have still not received a visit from the Prime Minister, Ed Miliband, Nick Clegg or Prince Charles. I turned down the offer from Prince Andrew, the Duke of Golf, and have also said no to Prince Edward's offer to come and perform The Vagina Monologues in the village hall to help raise money for my well-being. It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, it's just that I don't feel anybody would show up, and then I'd have to to turn up, out of guilt, and it would all be really awkward.

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