2003-06-10 - 7:01 p.m.

Captaining the stag trip to Brussels turned out to be a relatively incident-free affair, though one of the group was denied a place on the plane due to a laughably substandard passport that had enjoyed a spin in the washing machine, though he later sneaked through after penetrating the European rail network. Also, our first night on those Belgian tiles ended with some testosterone-fuelled horseplay and one of our number enjoying the apparently efficient delights of their emergency ward, the local head-stitching standards apparently high enough to have drunken tourists patched up in time to rejoin their pack for much the same the following night. Visiting other European cities always makes you want to move there, because they show London up to be the stress-riddled shithole that it is, even though it�s not really. Or something. Still, groom and thirteen stags arrived back safely, with hangovers a go-go and livers protesting like dreadlocked trustafarians on Mayday.

And now, Thailand for a week. Shitting crikey - last time I was there I sat on a beach for 3 weeks and swam in the crystal clear sea, tripping my undercrackers off on mushrooms. This time I�m attending a dinner hosted by the deputy prime minister, so maybe I should lay off the herbal hallucinogens. Or take way more. One of the two. Last time I also had a disobedient digestive system for about ten days, which cannot happen this time, as public defecation is apparently frowned upon in Thai culture (those crazy Asians) so I�ll basically head down the chemist and spend the first day necking corks in pill form. Nice detail for you there.

Tonight, the customary half hour phone conversation with my mum, who travels about once every five years, on what the international globetrotter should be packing these days, based on what she�s been reading in the papers (eg. Aspirin, as DVT is wiping out 2 in 3 air travellers) and her own personal paranoia that shops abroad sell nothing but flip-flops and bugs on sticks, and that acquiring modern conveniences such as sun cream and underwear is an near-impossible task akin to converting the Ayatollah to Christianity or hacking your way through a tropical rainforest. Never mind the fact that the Kho San Road looks like a shopping precinct in Croydon.

Anyway. More on the wing.