The United Kingdom is doomed. Tycoons like Archer are prosecuted, while plastic pop vicars and tarts are beatified. It's no surprise that small children are swallowing drugs. Yet board a plane at Heathrow, and within three and a half hours you can find yourself in another world. A world where bandit-style capitalism is still rewarded, and old women sell turnips on potholed roads. Welcome to Romania.

In the words of satirist Miles Pyke, button up your coat, break the rules and drink some cocktails. That’s Craig Turp’s Romania. Which is probably why Vivid limits him to writing about sport.