A little over a year ago, the Fast Lane went on an extended sabbatical. Having penned the column for three years I decided to take a little break to get a dream project off the ground (Monocle magazine), spend more time in Japan, find a new flat in London and have a brief affair with another media outlet. Sixteen months on, the new baby’s starting to walk (I’m talking about the magazine, silly), I’m still without a plot of land in Tokyo but have found a little duplex in Marylebone; and I’m happy to be sharing this stretch of real estate with Harry again. In its Mach 2 version, Fast Lane will continue to report from the world’s major capitals on inspired concepts in urban planning, uncover forgotten craftsmen and offer solutions to improve the way you move between A and B. At the same time, a broader travel agenda will have me filing dispatches from cities and outposts that never managed to make this page when it travelled at Mach 1.

Do you hear that faint, tinny song playing in the distance? Did you perhaps leave your iPod on? Is it the radio playing in the study? Could it be a car parked outside with its woofers rattling your windows? Or is it closer? If you really focus, you might be able to pick up the lyrics. “Doo-doo, dah-dah, doop-doop ... who the hell’s in charge here? Doop-doop, who the hell’s in charge?” I’m not sure who wrote it, the name of the lead vocalist or even what it’s called but it’s one of those catchy little jingles I can’t quite eject from the player that’s lodged somewhere just behind my left ear.