Tobias knew he would hate it, as soon as his mother approached him about the exchange programme she had found online.

"Six weeks in the UK. Use your last chance before Brexit!" the site had screamed in big bright letters.

"You've got to be joking, mum! During my holidays!" Tobias had stared at the letters that seemed to be dripping with red and shaken his head in disbelief. "I don't need this! My English is great. Just ask my English teacher!"

Well, it turned out that his mother had done exactly that and thus found out that in the teacher's opinion his English was abysmal and his English pronunciation scraped the poor woman's inner ear like a fingernail a blackboard. Tobias had disagreed vigorously, pointing out that pronunciation was totally overrated, and refused to even contemplate the idea of spending time in a country that puts vinegar on chips. Or crisps in a sandwich.

But his protest had been in vain. He had simply been no match for his mother's powers of persuasion.

"Ok, then I've got a job lined up for you at the medieval festival instead. They're looking forward to having you," mother had informed him.

His heart soared. The medieval festival was always a lot of fun. He'd probably have to sell some crap, but he'd get in for free and be able to enjoy all the shows.

He smirked.

His mum smirked right back.

"You can pick up the horse's outfit next week. They can't use real ponies anymore to entertain the kids. Animal welfare, you know."

His eyes bulged, but his mother carried on undeterred.

"Oh, not to worry. You'd have a partner. You'll be the guy at the back. Five days a week, three breaks a day included. Pay isn't great, but, hey, it isn't the most intellectual of jobs. Judging by your last report, I'm sure this will be right up your street. I'll let them know that you've accepted the offer then."

Tobias had snatched his mother's phone out of her hand and begged to be allowed to spend his well-earned - his opinion, not his mother's - time off education with a people who drove on the wrong side of the road.

Anyway, here he was now, alone, cold, wet and lost. Who knew summer in the north of England was like autumn in southern Germany? He felt and looked like a drowned rat, and without a new jacket and an umbrella he just wouldn't survive the next six weeks.

He looked at his mobile in disgust. Typical. No reception. He plucked up all the courage he could muster and asked a friendly-looking elderly lady in his best English, "Excuse me, where is a close shop here?"

The lady had answered politely, gesturing down the street. Tobias sighed. No idea what she had said, but at least he now had a general direction. But, alas, his search was fruitless.

Freezing and shaking, Tobias asked again, "Where is a close shop here?"

The man he had addressed looked utterly confused and pointed to the Tesco's right behind Tobias. "Can't get any closer than that, mate!"