I am the infamous wanderer. You've probably read about me in other articles as the one who bumbles around and gets himself lost and separated. But I've never wandered so much and so strangely as I did in Prague. It just came to me, as if it were a spell cast over me by Prague. Obsessive compulsive piddling-around-in-Prague, or something like that.

It didn't happen on the first day. That would've been disastrous, possibly ending up with me lost in some gloomy corner of a bustling Skoda car factory on the buzzing assembly line with thousands of non-English-speaking workers whizzing around.

It started on the second day when the group was waiting for some slow coaches to finish in the mirror maze on Petřín Hill, and I wandered off to see the sights of Prague below us. This resulted in Mr Smith being pointed in the general direction I had set off in and seeking me out along an avenue of trees; then I returned to the rest of the group. By this time everyone else was camping out on the pavement, and I was received with a mixture of wry and baffled smiles. The incident passed and we split up into groups to continue exploring what Prague had to offer. I reached the pinnacle of my wandering a day later, on our last full day.

A small group of us had splintered away, and under the watchful eye of Mr Kitzinger, after an intellectually draining day, decided to bimble back towards our designated rendez-vous with everyone else, Old Town Square. As we crossed Charles Bridge for what must have been the tenth time - which didn't take away from the beauty of it in the slightest - we all became distracted by the easy going, undemanding pleasures of artists and buskers, and began perusing various artists' stalls, admiring the arts and crafts and caricatures.

We eventually gravitated to an elderly musician in the middle of the bridge, who had filled 20 or so wine glasses with different volumes of water, had tuned them and was making music by circling his finger around the rim - as we have all tried to do.

After enjoying this we moved to a group of buskers, a string quartet, who were performing their own versions of modern songs. After hearing a few songs, including a couple of Coldplay classics, I suddenly realised I had zoned out and completely lost track of time. I glanced around me, and, not seeing the other 3 members of my group, decided I had probably been left behind.

I hurried away, hoping to catch up with them. I waited at the end of the bridge, thinking they might have waited there for me, but after waiting for 10 minutes, no luck. Thinking Old Town Square was a likely place for them to expect me to go, I pressed on calmly, ringing Mrs Cashmore as I went to try and get through to the rest of my group. Thinking it was pointless going all the way back to the bridge, I patrolled Old Town Square in the search for my group. After just under an hour of worried separation, the group was whole again, safe in Old Town Square. And there you have it, the story of the boy lost in a foreign city all alone.

When the group was reunited, everyone laughed it off and remembered it as one of the weirdest incidences of the trip and as a funny thing that could have gone horribly wrong. It wasn't a worrying experience for me at all. By this time I knew that area quite well, I would wander around quite happily. What made it even funnier was that no one was visibly worried for me at all; everyone expected me to wonder off unexpectedly.

I'm not sure what this implies: I'd like to think just that Mr K keeps a very cool head in pressure situations. I was probably the most worried, worrying that everyone would be worrying over me for no reason! I wasn't fraught at my separation. Or a nervous wreck for what could have happened. I missed two things during my isolation; my fellow scholars of course. But more to the point I missed the ice cream Mr Kitzinger had bought everyone. That's how he keeps a cool head!

Ed Gibb