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I’m going cold turkey from heat and mosquito bites and mango shakes and noise and Anchor beer and moronic TV on AXN near-drowned out by ceiling fans and riding a rickety motorbike and being laughed at by Khmers all day every day and having my belly prodded and being asked when I’m going to have the baby and one-dollar cocktails and evening air like insect soup and pork fried rice to take home and beautiful children and planetoid-eating potholes and being either driven up the wall or sent into hysterics most of the time by something or other. And I’m reminding myself that it would be very stupid at this point to get all gushy about Cambodia when I’ve been in a foul mood for the last two months and I was happy to leave.

Instead I’m in darkest Suffolk hiding from expensive gas and expensive everything and the latest Big Brother eviction and Kerry sodding Katona and a hundred-dollar smack in the wallet just to get home from the airport and local news and not having the slightest idea what happens next and faster Internet access just meaning you can read more crap in less time and jetlag confusing the hell out of me and galloping apathy and a general load of bleargh.

But it’s all nothing - the last year rocked.