Mexico is no country for journalists

I’m writing this on my last day in Mexico City, having accompanied my 18-year-old daughter here for the first week of a six-month stay. She’s hoping to become fluent in Spanish before embarking on a degree in languages in September. My mission was to help her find a flat in a nice part of town and a job so she can support herself, and between us we just about managed it, thanks to the help of the local expat community. Mexico City reminded me of being in New York in the mid-1990s, where being British and having the modern-day equivalent of letters of introduction meant an entire social network opened up before you.

When I told people in London of my daughter’s plans, the standard response was open-mouthed astonishment, followed by a lot of finger-wagging about what an irresponsible parent I am. But the truth is the Mexican capital is a relatively prosperous, global city and she’s no more likely to be mugged here than in Acton.