As John Lennon famously wrote, "And so this is Christmas, and what have you done?" Allow me to tell you. I have spent Christmas Day floating down the Mekong River in Lao, eating some absolutely superb food, having a coupl e of drinks and returning to my room to write this.

Let's get back to where we were. Chiang Rai, I believe. Visa time ticking and yet again I had to leave a great place and move on. Isn't it a great irony about travelling that when you do it you keep wanting to stay places? A fairly uneventful local bus trip of a couple of hours and arrived back in the border town of Chiang Kong (Chiang Khong). It has become undoubtedly a lot larger than it was last time I was here, but still remains a border town and border towns seem to have a strange sense about them. They are generally far from the capital, prey to the slightly dubious "business activities" that borders engender. It is still a pleasant little place, pretty quiet, well normally it is. Trust me to pick one of the three nights of the annual so-called food festival. On the way up the street, I had seen a pretty large stage with a fairly decent looking PA and light rig set up. I wandered along, having not even consulted my guidebook, and decided on a beer in the Green Tree Guesthouse, bar,, restaurant, art gallery and photgraphic gallery. Well, it is a wooden shack really and it was the photos that attracted me. I wandered in, ordered a beer and was served it by an English guy whose work the art and photography was. He ran it with this girlfriend who was form one of the hilltribes judging by her dress but don't ask me which one, I have not got that sorted out yet.

No point in going any further as they had rooms, so I organised one for the night. I'll tell you about it shortly. Having dumped the bag, it was explained to me that there is a three day food festival in the town at this time of year with live music. Well, no second invitation needed, I dispatched myself tout de suite back down the road. It loked like it had been set up in either a carpark or possibly a buss station with plenty of room. It was a food festival by virtue of the fact that there were many food stalls about the place and I did avail myself of a few of the delicacies on offer, but the main draw was the music. The "house band" really was very good, and there were various singers, I think local heroes by the reaction they got, and although I didn't understand a word, the music (Pop Thai) is seriously catchy. A very pleasant night where I was one of onhly a handful of Westerners which is a thing I always love.

Back to the room, both literally and in the sense of the blog. Let me describe it. The building was stilted, with the room secured by a padlock which was slightly unecessary as it took an almighty heave to open the door or indeed close it from the inside. There were cracks in the floor you could have put a bicycle wheel down. There was one bare bulb which my ciagrette lighter outshone, a fan (unecessary as it wasn't that hot so far North) with no apparent electric source to plug it into, a balcony in imminent danger of collapse with a hammock that might just have accomodated one of the Seven Dwarfs and a door that didn't lock. The mosquito net looked like it had not moved for a decade. In short, it was perfect, I absolutely loved it. I adore staying in places like this. It is what I go travelling for. Had I not had to move, I would have happily stayed here for a week.

Move, however, I had to , and after a cup of lovely coffee and a packed lunch to take away for the slow boat, I wandered down to the pier where the border lies, and my first glimpse this trip of my beloved Mekong. I think I mentioned before that it is probably my favourite river in the world. I can't explain it, there is just something about it that really gets to me. Thai immigaration is a breeze, quick althoug important stamp on the passport. If you don't get it you can have serious problems trying to get back in. A five minute journey on a little skiff and I had crossed my first border this trip and was standing in the People's Democratic Republic of Lao, a very different country although it obviously looks outwardly much the same. After a fairly frenetic but good-natured scrum at the visa office and a $35 dollar bill, I was in. I was interested to note on a poster, whilst waiting in the queue for the visa, that Kyrgystani residents only pay $30 and I was wondering exactly how many Kyrgystanis visit Lao annually.

I knew the way so I ignored the blandishments of the various tuk tuk drivers and wandered the 15 minutes or so to the slow boat pier. If any of you ever plan this trip, and I do recommend it, forget just about everything you are told. The boats do not leave at 10, they are always later, it is not a long walk to the pier, it is 15 minutes maximum, you do not need to get a ticket in advance, you buy them at the pier (up the steps on the left past the boules pitch) and you do not need to book a room in Pakbeng, there are plenty. So with the travel tips out of the way, let me tell you about the journey.

There is always a danger in returning to a place you love, that it will not live up to your memories. I did this trip about seven years ago and I have written on several travel websites that they were two of the best days of my life. That still holds. To move slowly down this majestic river with the astounding scenery and glimpses of riverside life is something everyone should do before they die. Last time I was here, I got on a working cargo boat, about 50/50 travellers and local people with the hold full of bags of cement, rice, chickens, various boxes of fruit. You name it and it was there. All the travellers climbed on the roof, produced bottles of Mekong whiskey and Beer Lao and tried to catch the sun whilst the Laotians sat inside, ate sticky rice and tried to avoid the sun. We stopped frequently at hamlets not even served by roads who relied on the boats, and I clearly remember wading knee deep up to the beach lugging various baggage ashore. It was all part of the fun.

Things have changed. We were herded onto a boat with no cargo facility at all, merely hard benches packed so closely as to render them all but useless to large foreigners. They crowded the boat to the point hat it was up to the gunwales in calm water at the pier, and it was only when several travellers remonstrated, that they agreed to put on a second boat, where about half the passengers went. Eventually, about an hour late, we took off. Absolutely no way going on the roof, I suppose they have lost one too many partying backpacker overboard so we were cramped inside. I ended up standing most of the six hour journey as it was more comfortable. Where previously we were jumping ashore to buy Lao lao (local moonshine) in water bottles now we were compelled to buy hugely overpriced drink from the bar which seems to have been installed in all the boats. Fortunately, not even expecting such luxury, I had a few beers with me.

I really do not know what the local villagers are doing now, perhaps roads have been constructed to the villages and I know there has been much road building in the country since last I was here. Apparently, the boat crews have worked out there is more money to be made from the increasing numbers of tourists than there is from their traditional way of life. Eventually, off we went and the Mekong worked it's magic on me as usual. I could stand and watch it go by all day. I got friendly with a German couple, a family from Derbyshire and a Greek guy who seemed somewhat amazed when I spoke a little of his own language with him.

Well, the river hasn't changed, as you would expect, although I did notice a lot less of the fishermen perched like monkeys on the huge limestone rocks that littler the banks. Perhaps it is not the season. Eventually, just after dusk, we reached Pakbeng. Now it seems to me that Pakbeng only exists because it is about halfway from Xuay Hai and Luang Prabang. It is a convenient staging post for the boats that provide (or at least provided) the lifeblood of the region. Last time I was there I am sure it did not have a paved road into it and was really a backwater. Now, it is a bit bigger and consists of a strip of guesthouses and an Indian restaurant I know for a fact did not used to be there. I avoided the crush of hotel touts at the pier and picked one I fancied the look of. A decent, clean room although basic. Still, it was only £3:50.

When I got into the room, I decided to lie down for a little while before heading out for a bite to eat. All of a sudden I didn't feel too great. No stomach problems, I just felt wiped out, and a bit achy so I just lay in bed from half six at night until I was awoken by my early morning call at eight next day for the boat. During the night, though, I had made a completely schoolboy error and forgotten that the power in Pakbeng goes off at aobut midnight and doesn't come on until dark the nest night, it really is that remote. A late night trip to the loo necessitated my fishing about in my suitcase looking for my Maglite torch. I really didn't fancy the concept of a Lao loo by braille.

Made the boat in good time the next day after struggling down the perilously steep track, and then the fun really started. They had decided they were only going to take one boat dowen on the second leg and no amount of cajoling them would alter that. Although the boat was marginally bigger than the one the day before, it was still stupidly crowded. I had to sit on the floor (thankfully I had my inflatable cushion) in a tiny space although I didn't have to put up with it long, as I spent the next eight and a half hours being used as human ballast. Because of the overcrowding, everytime the boat hit the slightest of turbulence it started rocking about wildly and the crew were gesticulating wildly at us to move from one side of the boat to the other.I really don't know why they put their craft at risk like this just to make a few extra kip on what must be a lucrative run for them. Ther are always plenty of tourists making the trip and I have no doubt we were paying a lot more than the local people, which isn't a problem. Speaking of local people, the overcrowding was compounded when we did make a stop or two to load them on. Whilst it added to the local flavour, and they were as friendly and the youngsters as cute as they always are, it must have put the boat another 18 inches in the water. Fortunately, we arrived in one piece about half five in the evening.

The Mekong is still my favourite river, and the scenery and sights are still breathtaking but, at the risk of sounding like a travel bore, it was a commercialised and sanitised shadow of the wonderful adventure I had had not so many years back. If anyone is contemplating visiting this region, I would recommend it, as the Mekong is something to see but prepare yourself for some discomfort Personally, I don't think I'll bother next time but what a different way to spend Christmas Day.

Having made Luang Prabang, I ran the gamut of taxi men and hotel touts and wandered to the place I had chosen but it waqs full so the lady suggested the place next door. Now, it will never win boutique hotel of the year but it is clean, has hot water and even a TV and the bed is comfy What more could you want? The fact that it is about £5 a night doesn't hurt either. A quick shower and off into the night for a bite to eat. Remember, I had only had two baguettes in two days and was in need of something filling.

Well, I didn't go far wrong there. There are two roads on either side of the hill that dominates the town and they are just coming down with resturants, bars and guesthouses not to mention souvenir shops, travel agents and massage joints (of the legitimate sort I might add). As an aside, Lao is a much different place to Thailand. Prostitution is ilegal and very frowned upon, and it is illegal for a non Lao to sleep with a Lao they are not married to. Indeed, by law, all non Lao must be in their accomodation by midnight but I don't think that is enforced. If I can upload the photo, I will let you see the notice on my hotel room door. Apparently, I am not even allowed to make blue movies in my room! On a whim I picked one of the restaurants on the strip called Sabaidee (Lao for hello) and liked the look of the prosaically named Set 1. It may have osunded prosaic but what a meal.

If you have been following this from earlier, you will remember I described a meal in Mae Hat, Koh Tao where a brazier affair surrounded by a reservoir is put over charcoal set in your table and you basically make a soup of barbecued meats, veg and glass noodles yourself. This was a similar setup, although I defy any one human being to eat the amount of food offered. Shrimp, squid, chicken, pork and beef accompanied by tomato, about three kinds of wild mushroom, the local watercress, pak choi, some sort of a flowering plant and Heaven knows what else. You then season the whole affair with tamarind sauce and chopped garlic. The idea is to fill the reservoir from the "soup" which is really stock and get cracking. It was delicious and a suitable repast for the Christmas meal. I was on the point of asking the waiter to send my compliments to the chef, then I remembered it was me and it might have seemed conceited. The service was attentive and very friendly so, as it was Christmas, I had a couple of cocktails although I rarely drink spirits. The lychee martini was particularly good.

PDR Lao really is such a different place from Thailand and in Luang Prabang, a big tourist destination, there is generally a 10 o'clock curfew on the bars. Whether in celebration of Xmas or whether it was because it was Friday night but some of the bars stayed open late and I crossed the road to the Lao Lao Garden which was, you've guessed it, totally surreal. This is a word you are going to keep haring from me as it is the only one that aptly describes some of the sights. This place musrt be garish enough ordinarily given the number of lights that adorn the two bars and the staircase to the eponymous garden but in this season it was outlandish. A huge fuly trimed Christmas tree had been erected, along with all sorts of seasonal lights and decorations and all the staff were wearing Santa hats and red scarves. Imagine Santa's Grotto on acid and you will be close.

I played a couple of games with a long haired Italian who took every opportunity at gamesmanship and downright cheating, so I beat him twice and then told him he was "cattivo" which seemed to surprise him. Look it up if you like but it is not terribly complimentary. Deciding enough was enough, I took myself off to my room where I wrote some of the above.

Today, a quick visit to a couple of wats of which there are literally dozens. At one, I was engaged in conversation with a 16 year old monk who explained he would like to practice his English. We had a great chat andhe explained much about Buddhism to me that I did not know. A very pleasant time followed by a very unpleasant one.

I had seen signs for UXO Lao Visitor Centre which I took to be unexploded ordnance, i.e. bombs, and I was correct. I followed the signs and came on the place. Three Lao men were sitting eating soup and playing cards and, although it was obvioualy not open, they invited me in. Friendly as always. What is inside is horrifyng in the true sense of the word. There are photos of the operations they carry out defusing bombs and there are also some fairly graphic and disturbing photos of the effects. Well, bomb injuries are never pleasant to look at. I believe I am right in saying that Lao is the most bombed country in the world and as a result has the greatest per capita incidence of amputees in the world. I've seen them. The figures on their Ops board are equally horrifying. The sheer scale of the problem beggars belief. In one school playground they defused no less than 350 bomblets. Can you imagine children playing amongst so much explosive, it is appalling. There are Tshirts for sale although the man did not have the key so I will definitely return on Monday to buy one, that is a T-shirt I have to get.

I will conclude this episode in the LaoLao Garden bar I mentioned before having just watched the last few minutes of what appeared a fairly boring 0-0 draw between Birmingham and Chelsea. Tomorrow is not yet decided, such is the joy of my travels. I may score a motorbike and explore the local villages and the waterfall or I may have another day of "wat-bashing" in Luang Prabang. Most likely, I will give myself off the day I have promised myself and do a lot of stuff for Virtual Tourist, the website I write tips for. For those of you that do not know it, search the internet for Virtual Tourist and then search for memebers, my username is planxty. You can see a lot about my previous travels there, and after five weeks I really should get some more stuff posted. I know it will take all day to do even half the stuff I have amassed.

Yet again I am having trouble sorting out my photos on this damned computer, The supposedly user friendly Picasa system is certainly not friendly to a berk like me. Hopefully, you will get a few images, if not, bear with me.

I hope to post again soon if a giant Mekong catfish (look it up on Google) doesn't get me!

Paradise found, complete with rain.

Let's head South again, and let's be honest, it was going to happen sooner or later. I love train travel, especially outside the UK, where it is so ludicrously expensive, so it was always on the cards. Although the frequent buses are more reliable and certainly quicker, I just love sitting on trains. I had previously checked the timetables and the 1331 looked like the best bet. Actually, it was about the only bet as the majority of trains seem to get here either late evening or in the dead of night, so not much chance of scoring accomodation at the far end.

I got to the station in good time, to find the ticket office shut and the seller sitting eating his meal looking at a few bemused Westerners and a much more relaxed and numerous group of Thai who obviously knew what was going on. A quick scan about gave a clue. There was a blackboard with some Thai script on it from which I deduced that the 1331 was delayed until 1400. That's OK, the journey is only about three hours still getting me there in good time. As the ticket seller seemed in no obvious hurry to finish lunch I retired to the buffet for a beer and an edition of Scooby Doo on the TV, still bizarrely in English. I know from experience, there is no way they would let a train go without giving you the opportunity to purchase a ticket. Eventually, the counter reopened amidst a mad scramble, which I let subside before buying my ticket for 34B. Imagine, a three hour journey for less than a pound. The train duly arived about an hour late and off we set.

There is something magical about train journeys in this part of the world. the carriages are pretty spartan but spotless and the stream of vendors walking up and down the train means you will never go hungry or thirsty. I didn't bother eating but the boiled eggs with a little sachet of soy sauce seemed to be a bit of a favourite with the locals. After the initial shyness there is the obligatory banter albeit wothout a word of a common tongue. A bit of vigorous miming and a few facial expressions about any banal subject normally seems to elicit a favourable response. I rather enjoy it.

The railway here is single track with a few passing places and several of the numerous stations we stopped at appeared to be nothing more than huts in the middle of fields but people still got on and off. On we chugged at a steady if sedate pace as the sun began to head towards the hills of Burma. In third class it was warm but not oppressively so with the windows open and the fans going like the blazes, and the time soon passed. Another happy afternoon, of which I seem to have so many here.

Obviously we arrived in Chumporn an hour late, which as I say did not present a problem. I dodged the taxi drivers at the Station, as I have never seen the need for a taxi to walk four or five hundred yards with a wheelie kitbag, and set out for a bed for the night. Whilst looking for another place, I happened upon the Suriwong Hotel and had a look at a room for 400B. Perfectly acceptable, ensuite, telly, clean and I knew I was going to stay only one night. The fact that rooms are available on a two hourly basis may give some clue as to the type of establishment it is but at that price I am not too concerned what the neighbours are getting up to behind closed doors. In the event, my sleep was not disturbed at all. A quick lie down and a shower and it was off into the Chumporn night in search of food.

I do a bit of writing for a wonderful travellers website called Virtual Tourist and I am what is called a tip group editor for several places, London included. Part of this job entails creating pages for various restaurants and I end up looking at a lot of restaurant websites. This is no great trial as I love cooking and would happily watch chefs at work all day. Recently, I was looking a the website for the new place run by Richard Corrigan, an Irish chef I admire greatly. In common with many other celebrity chefs he offers what is called a chef's table where, for about £250 a head you can meet the brigade and then sit in a glass enclosed room watching them prepare your meal. I have news for these people. For the price of a couple of dishes of inexpensive, exquisite food and a couple of beers, all well less than a tenner, I was treated to an absolute masterclass in Asian cooking with no glass getting in the way. It was superb, so allow me to explain.

Firstly, I have no idea what the place is called as there is no English sign and certainly no English menu. Come to think of it I didn't see a Thai menu either. People just order from memory. It is not as if you are allowed a glimpse into the kitchen, the restaurant is the kitchen. It is effectively a shack with a corrugated iron roof and open to the elements. To the rear is obviously the home of the proprieters. The kitchen is so basic it is unbelievable the variety and quality of food produced. There are two gas rings with large woks. There is a freezer to keep the meat and veg cold. There is a large plastic container of water refilled constantly from a tap running off what looks like a garden hose. Towards the middle of the restaurant is a spotless stainless steel table on which is a chopping board that is no more than a lump of tree trunk. the chef controls the cooking area, and the waiter, who seems to double as sous chef, does all the prep on the chopping board when he is not waiting on table. The lady of the house waits as well and doubles vending takeaway snacks from a small booth at the front of the premises.

So, we are back to the language problem again. Not wanting to resort to laboriously going through my guidebook she offered rice (as always pronounced ri) which seemed like a good place to start. The only thing I could remember was the word for pork is moo. Actually, I have always found it slightly amusing that the word for pork is the noise a cow makes but there you go. I offered moo as a suggstion and sat down to wait. What a flurry of activity. You see on TV where professional chefs have entire batteries of utensils at their disposal, well forget that. In the three hours or so I was there I saw the chef use a ladle and the other guy had a cleaver which he used for absolutely everything. I later watched him slice wafer thin slivers of beef with it that would have made a fine steak tartare. So away they go. In less time than it takes to write about it, veggies and pork were prepared, all was thrown in the wok and the resultant dish was quite delicious. Good start. The waiter / sous obviously noticed I was taking quite an interest in his work and was deliberately standing to one side so I could watch him, which I thought was decent of him. The main chef was going like a dervish. There was a family table of about six close to me who appeared to be ordering just about everything on the menu and he was knocking it out as fast as they could order it. Everything made in the two woks, rice dishes, soups, an omelette, deep fried dishes. I suspect Messrs. Ramsay, Oliver, Worrall-Thompson et al would have been pressed to keep up, and all in front of the waiting clientele.

Well, all this was good enough, but there was a further treat in store. Later in the evening a fairly young looking guy came into the restaurant and proceeded to wander into the kitchen and start to cook a meal which he then ate. I had thought the other guy was the owner so this was a little odd. I got speaking to the waiter / sous and as best I can understand it, the new guy was a chef from a top place in Bangkok, home for a couple of days. Certainly, the deference he was shown would suggest it as a possible case. Well, if I thought the original chef was fast, this guy was lightning. The original chef / owner was relegated to commis and between him and the waiter they could hardly keep up with supplying him with the raw ingredients. Although quite full, I watched him prepare a dish of chicken pieces in a sort of sticky barbecue sauce and it looked so delicious I had to order some. Up they came in about two minutes flat and they were every bit as delicious as they looked.

The only drawback in this restaurant, and it is a minor one is the damn karaoke jukebox. You insert a coin, select a tune from a printed list and off you go. The problem was that it seemed to be monopolised by two middle aged men, one of whom introduced himself to me totally unprompted as a policeman and the other who was wearing army fatigues and a beret and I would wager was about as much Thai Army as I am. However, that is a minor quibble, and the whole experience was as enjoyable as it was unexpected. So off to bed and ready for the boat trip in the morning.

Up early and along the road to find a travel agent for the boat to Ko Tao. Certainly no problem finding one as the town is littered with them. It really is a bit of a hub for the islands of Tao, Phangan and the very popular Samui. I wandered into the first one I saw, and was promptly issued with a ticket to Ko Tao for 500B. The very pleasant proprieter told me the taxi would be there to take me to the pier in 20 minutes time so I set out to say goodbye to my culinary friends of the night before just round the corner but unfortunately the place was shut, obviously a night time haunt.

Back to the travel agency and a short and uneventful trip to the pier where I showed my ticket and promptly had a sticker stuck on my shirt, similar to the charity things you get in the street. The reason for this became apparent later as they are colour coded depending on destination. Apparently it is quite common for Westerners to get off at entirely the wrong island. I took my seat and settled down for the short journey, managing a dozette against the blaring Thai pop videos by dint of another travellers essential, the foam earplugs. I really recommend them. The crossing was a little lumpy but nothing major and the catamaran made light work of the seas, although I believe they are unreliable at certain seasons due to heavy weather.

I jumped ashore and again had to battle my way through taxi drivers, room hawkers and the like and on into town. Well, I say town, but that is to overstate the case a bit. There is a beach road which is effectively a track, another parallel road in slightly better condition a couple of hundred yards inland and a few connecting roads. The whole place is entirely devoted to tourism, specifically diving and you cannot move for English / German / Swedish bars and restaurants and outlets touting dive courses and snorkelling. I read that this island issues more dive certificates per year than anywhere else in the world. I had previously considered learning to dive when I was in Cairns in 1991 and again on Bali in 1996 so I will have a think about it, it seems like a good place to do it. I might go on one of the introductory dives to see if I like it. Actually, I am worried about my ears. I have been known to suffer quite badly from flying due to unrelieved pressure and I am not sure how they will react to the underwater pressure. I will let you know.

I had a wander around and settled on a room not far from the pier which is basic but clean and completely adequate. For 400B a night it even has hot, well warmish water, which is all you need in these climes. I took a bit of a wander last night and this is certainly not the mad party town it is touted as although that walk, and another more adventurous one today would suggest that the resort is still only gearing up for the season. Certainly, by eleven o'clock last night I was having difficulty enough finding a place for a nightcap, but I am jumping ahead again.

A shower and the obligatory dozette spent the early evening for me. I must admit that since retirement I am prone to having a little siesta in the afternoon, and the heat here really makes it essential. I wandered past the Italian / French restaurant, past a couple of pizza places, past the Hippo Bar offering imported filet steaks and burgers and the English pub who boast Branston pickle, piccalilli and Colmans mustard to go with your burgers etc. In the name of God, why? In a country offering one of the best cuisines in the world, why would you possibly want to eat "full English breakfast", "Australian Burger" or even beans on toast? It really baffles me. It is like the Brit enclaves in Spain, now diminishing I believe due to the recession, where you are offered fish, chips and mushy peas instead of tapas or paella. Why not just stay at home if that is your thing?

I eventually wandered into a little outdoor restaurant up near the filling station where the cuisine was somewhat limited but eventually wonderful. Basically it is a barbecue restaurant and there is no menu. Your choice is of what type of meat you want to barbecue, so I opted for moo again. Thre is a terracotta dish on your table with a metal stand. The owner comes to the table with an odd looking device, which I really wish I had thought to photograph as it would make this so much easier. The centre is filled with glowing charcoal coals and there is a vented top with what looked like a piece of fat in the centre to drip down and make it stay alive. Outside that is a circular reservoir which filled with stock and which you subsequently refill with hot water from a small kettle. You are brought two plates, one of assorted vegetables and uncooked glass noodles and the other with your meat of choice, in this case thin slices of what I would have described as bacon rather than pork. Having filled the reservoir with water he cracks a raw egg into it and stirs it around to create a base for a very tasty soup. You drop the veggies and the noodles into the broth to cook for a few minutes and barbecue the meat on the vented top of the device. It is all very quick, he demonstrates it to you, and then leaves you to your own devices. It works out absolutely wonderful, as you had probably guessed from the way I am writing. The whole event (and I use the word advisedly) probably took about 90 minutes, and I was amazed at the way the thing kept warm as I thought the coals would have burnt out long before. Another great meal.

Whilst eating, I was aware of the sound of a guitar, slightly out of tune it must be said, coming from nearby although I could not see it. Leaving the restaurant, and a little intrigued, I discovered the source of it and thereby ensued another of my strange guitaring experiences. The instrument in question, probably worth £20 on a good day and boasting only five strings, was being wielded by the attendant from the nearby filling station and his efforts were being listened to by his young mate. A quick introduction and there we were, sitting on the side of the road bashing out tunes on a five string guitar. I taught him my slightly jazzy Am7 / Bm7 chords like I use on "Ships are Sailing" etc. and he seemed much taken with it. Perhaps I have done a little good there for it must be a miserable enough existence standing there filling cars and bikes all day, and probably for a pittance.

Well, after my impromptu guitar lesson, it was just gone 11 and I headed down to what is suppoesed to be this mad party town. I don't think so. This town was as dead as Gordon Brown's vicarious political career is now. Not a party to be had, so off to bed again. I woke up this morning (blues song again?) and debated the idea of getting another bike to explore the island, although I had read that the roads here are in a parlous state and my walk today would certainly bear that out. The beach road becomes unpaved after a matter of yards, and the main inland road is not much better. I did see a couple of proper trail bikes for hire so I might try for one of those and explore a little more of the place.

Feeling my tummy getting a little dicky (it has been slightly for a day or so but nothing major), I decided to head back towards my digs where at least I knew the loo was in good order. This turned out to be a very good decision, not for reasons intestinal but rather meteorological, as within about five minutes of me sitting down in the cafe downstairs from my place there erupted a complete monsoon which went on for about three hours. I know we have been complaining about the strange weather in the UK lately, and the storms in Cumbria were exceptional (RIP PC Bill BARKER) but there really is nothing to compare to the sheer volume of water that falls in these latitudes during a storm. It is really something to see. The water literally races down conduits at the side of the road, often overflowing it, it hammers on the polythene roof of the awning I am sitting under and drives all but the hardiest or most unlucky under cover. Well, three hours or so of that gave me an opportunity to catch up on this, so hopefully I can find a place tonight to upload it all.

I suspect climatic conditions or sheer boredom on long journeys may allow me to keep up this blog, unlikely as that sounds coming from me. The technology of this little notebook, which I am getting to understand a little, is wonderful and wifi seems to be de rigeur in the better cafes in the region. I am not so sure how it will work in the wilds of Pakbeng of the Plain of Jars but we will see. All I need basically is a power source to work offline and then update as possible. I hardly think it will lead to a Booker prize listed book but it will be a nice memory for me.