I have a problem. It's called football.
You think you have it beat - you head overseas in the middle of the run-in, to a country filled with culture, more history than the average Liverpool fan can shake a wad of dollars at, and a couple of mates.
But, like a not-forgotten lover you meet after midnight in a Stockwell sweat-pit, football finds a way to lure you back to a morning of regret.
In this case, it was less than 24-hours between me arriving in Istanbul and finding a Fenerbahce pub in Sultanahmet to watch the Yellow Canaries throw away a two-goal lead to crash out of the Uefa Cup. I don't care about the Uefa Cup.
The next day, I bother the tour guide to find out whether Istanbulspor are still in the Turkish top flight (they're not) and missed the entrance of the Dolmabahce Palace because it was opposite the Besiktas ground.
Heading to the spice market - where there are full sacks filled with saffron selling at £55 a gram wholesale - I seriously considered buying a Fenerbahce shirt for £18. I miss the saffron.
But second-rate European trophies, stadiums and shirts will only do for so long.
Fortunately, the splendid work done by Richard Scudamore over at the Premiership means that I can now sit in a bar by the Bosphorus and watch Fulham lose to a deflected goal and see Watford and Everton compete for the attention of the French couple and their overweight son on the table next to me.
But that isn't enough, even live football on the shores of Asia isn't enough any more.
The world has changed.
It used to be the case that you would watch a game every other week at home for eight months of the year, with newspaper reports, radio commentary and monthly magazines coming on later.
These days we need rolling 24-hour news to tell us every hour that the major stories haven't changed since the last bulletin, internet sites so we can talk to like-minded addicts, emails to mates, support groups run by newspapers we can disguise as work, text-message alerts, and much much more.
I end up in a bar watching Palermo-Atalanta, trying to find out if Palermo are good enough to justify their position third in Serie A while the owner tells me he supports Liverpool and refers to everyone as "my brother from another mother". I find a new bar to see the Madrid derby.
I think the nadir came when touring Hagia Sophia.
This wonder of the ancient world was built by Emperor Justinian between 532 and 537 AD. It is the world's oldest working temple, with a dome that stands 56 metres high and 36 metres across.
And all I can think is "this took less time to build than Wembley".
But it could be worse. One of the two people I travelled with flew back a day early to catch the Carling cup final.