2003-09-16 - 2:58 p.m.

New York � London � Bangkok

Much as I love air travel, which is to say hardly at all, three continents in three days is currently feeling a little daunting, especially with it being less than 24 hours since I stepped off the NYC plane and in just over an hour or so will leave for the DVT-baiting haul to Bangkok, arriving tomorrow afternoon, followed by a three hour drive to the coast and then the elusive delights of a gala dinner with the cream of the cream, and who even imagined there would be one, of pachyderm polo. That is to say, people who play polo on the back of elephants. Yeah, you can see that common ground just expanding out into the rosy, sunlit, trunk-enhanced distance.

I don�t even really know what time zone I�m operating on right now, so in twelve hours time I�ll be what we refer to in the travel industry as being �completely fucked up�. I�m not sure even my herbal jetlag pills will be able to save me from this one.

I wanted to drone on about the joys of the Coney Island freak show, but my brain feels like someone�s sieving it in order to find any remains of coherent thought, so I might have to save that gem. It ends on a conversation with Eke the Geek that reveals his poetic ambitions, so well worth the wait, I�m sure you�ll agree.

I really hope the flight has a decent selection of films, because if I have to watch that remake of the Italian Job again I might have to wrench out my own pancreas with my plastic spork. A potted review list of the other films I saw whilst in New York: American Splendour / Confessions of a Dangerous Mind � completely ace, Matchstick Men � fair to middling, The Swimming Pool � really quite bad, Thirteen � put me in the blender and bring me back as a strychnine laced sundae because I would rather be mashed into a fine paste than risk the possibility of seeing any part of that piece of celluloid rat�s anus ever again.

My enthusiasm about the Pixies reunion is tempered only be the realisation of how shit it will actually be, though at least a generation of Nirvana fans get the chance to hear the real thing rather than that tribute group they grew up on. It�s a good job Kurt Cobain shot his face off with bullets because I think he�d be feeling a little sheepish otherwise.

I�ve a feeling the next week or so is going to be quite wonderfully surreal. The slogan I�m going to live by for its duration?

Trunk and disorderly.