Now in Bangkok and staying at the White Lodge. A spotless room with air-con and attached bathroom with hot water costs 400baht – half the price of the Wendy House down the road. My Lonely Planet guidebook was obviously wrong about Wendy House being cheaper.

One of the things that I love about travelling alone is the sheer randomness of everything. I wanted to catch the bus from Don Muang to Bangkok to avoid paying the 400baht taxi fare. It should have been simple.

It wasn’t. Instead, I found myself paying 10baht for an open-windowed train to Hualamphong Station and ended up in a Thai hotel room with Noi, a 26 year old girl who wears clothes from 200 years ago and is a classical Thai dancer.

Noi soon filled me in on the “correct” behaviour between old school Thai couples. The woman’s bed must be lower than the man’s. If he wanted to sleep with her then he could come to her bed but she could not come to his. She must “wai” (fold hands respectfully together in a praying motion) to him before he touched her and then she must wipe his feet with her hair before he lay with her.

Thais did not kiss, continued Noi. Instead they "sniffed" each other. No mouth to mouth, tongues etc.? No, certainly not.

Sex between them was as gloomy and joyless as the foreplay. Her pleasure did not matter. Any positions that involved her taking the initiative were “wrong”. A slight concession to modern practices was that he was now allowed to kiss her breasts. Before it was considered degrading to him to kiss below her neck. Oral sex was, naturally, out of the question.

I asked her how often a Thai couple would have sex. She said “maybe once or twice a month”. No wonder, I thought.

However, usually the man would get it more often than the woman. In Thailand it is considered normal for a man to be “jow chew” (promiscuous) and although Thai women don’t like it they tolerate it. It is not uncommon for him to have several “kiks” as well as a main girlfriend or wife. A “kik” is a person described by Thais as being “more than a friend and less than a girlfriend/boyfriend”. Women sometimes have several “kiks” but this is (apparently) not usual among “respectable” girls.

It wasn't until I'd been in Thailand for two months that I found out that "respectable" women always lie about anything to do with sex....

My next destination is Thailand. The irresistible double pull of Pleasure and Work call me there. A friend has recommended Koh Phi Phi...no doubt I shall check it out.

On Sunday I went to Honfleur - a medieval seaside town about 180km west of Paris.

The town itself was stunning with narrow cobbled streets full of romantic looking buildings in a state of glorious decay.

But it was hot - so hot! And the "15 minute" walk to the beach turned out to be only 15 minutes if you happened to walk at 50 miles per hour...

When we finally got there, we found that the sea had gone off on holiday, leaving only burning hot sands and mud stretching as far as the eye could see. The heat was killing and there was no shade.

I found it all a bit too much - especially as we soon ran out of water. But my hostess was in her element.

"I am going to get a tan," she announced and proceeded to roast herself topless.

Remembering my desert training, I curled up into a defensive ball and covered myself completely with a big towel. I then prepared to collect my own urine and waited patiently for a camel. It was pure textbook stuff.

The drive to Honfleur was also very interesting. The French countryside was glorious on that hot, sunny afternoon. Most of the houses were thatched with shutters and there were bright flowers everywhere.

We drove through a lovely forest. I noticed a plastic carrier bag tied to a stick by a nice little secluded path that led off into the trees. A short distance down this idyllic trail, but still visible from the road, a young woman was waiting.

I thought nothing of it at first - perhaps she was writing poetry or maybe starting to think about it. But as we drove on, I began to notice more plastic bags on sticks, indicating more secluded trails and more scantily dressed women lying in wait.

It began to feel like something out of the Odyssey. Fortunately, my hostess was driving and I was not rowing so there was no need to fill my ears with wax or bid my men bind me to the mast.

Another lucky escape then.

La Tour Eiffel

Am having a really wonderful time here. Paris is much better than I expected it to be. In fact, I prefer it to Vienna. There are some wonderful parks, the streets, avenues and people are very interesting and of course there are the buildings.

Yesterday I stood by the tomb of the unknown soldier under the Arc De Triomphe and climbed - literally - the Effel tower. There was a huge queue for the lifts so we decided to use the stairs instead.

Up and up we went in an endless curve of spiral staircase. Apparently, in Edwardian days, sporty young men would see who could run up the 1,652 steps in the shortest time. The best times would then be printed in the local paper!

The tower really in a marvel of 19th century engineering. Although the tower is 300m/984ft tall, the sway at the top is never more than 4 and a half inches - although its height can vary by as much as 6 inches due to the temperature.

The Arc De Triomphe is absolutely amazingly overpowering when you stand right underneath it. One can imagine what foreigners must have thought when they beheld it for the first time back in the 19th century.

Another very interesting place that we visited was the American Cathedral. This was built in the late 19th century but in is the gothic style. It really is an incredibly piece of architecture. In fact it reminds me strongly of Oxford.

My hostess is really very good. She has a lovely flat full of all my favourite books and with a balcony overlooking a large private garden. It's lovely to sit out there as it is very quiet and the only sound is of birdsong and occasionally the sound of the man across the way playing his classical guitar. Also, the weather here is very agreeable - 25C and sunny.

All in all, this is a very conducive for writing...only I forgot to take my notepad so today I am going to buy one.

I am strongly tempted to postpone my return to England until next week as it will not be possible for me to come and visit Paris again until next year. Also, there are so many places to visit and it's so much better if you don't have to rush around like a mad tourist!

Just landed in Versailles...

Now that I've got my obituary out of the way, I can get on with my life.

I am now in Paris for a week. I only just managed to catch my flight yesterday. My planned rout was: Train to Exeter, bus to Exeter bus station and then another bus from the bus station to the airport. I checked it all out on the internet and it seemed that I should get there in plenty of time.

However, I had not banked on Public Transport!

The train was fine - we actually had a driver who bothered to turn up on time - but the connecting bus to the bus station did not show up. I asked a bus driver where it was and he said "It's the next bus"

I got on the next bus and asked if this was the bus going to the station. He said "No, that bus isn't turning up - he's lost somewhere."

The bus driver then told me that he was going to the station as the other bus was lost so, sonewhat relieved, I paid my fare and sat down.

According to the time table, there should have been only one stop to the station but my bus ambled slowly through town, stopping frequently to pick up or drop off passengers. Sometimes it just stopped for the sheer hell of it and waited hopefully for people to board or unboard.

Finally, it gave itself a little shake and set off into the country at a steady trot - rather like a spaniel when it thinks it's onto a scent.

I looked at my watch and saw that I wasn't going to be able to catch the bus from the station to the airport. It was now quarter to five, my flight was at half five and I should haved checked in 15 minutes ago.

I turned to the lady next to me and asked how long it was until we got to the station.

"Oh, we passed it ten minutes ago," she said placidly. "Did you want to go there?"

"I thought the bus would stop in it," I said. "On the timetable it says that its the last stop and it pulls into row 26. I need to go to the airport."

"Oh no, that's the next bus," she said. "Well you've missed the bus to the airport - won't be another for an hour. I hope you weren't wanting to catch a plane!"

She laughed a little at the absurdity of such a possiblity.

"Yes," I said tersely. "That's why I want to go to the airport - to catch a plane!"

She stared wonderingly at me. "To catch a plane?! Well then, you'll miss it! Hang on, I'll go and speak to the driver."

"A plane?" repeated the driver wonderingly when he heard my story. "Where are you flying to to?"

"Paris," I said hopefully. "Do you know it?"

It seemed highly unlikely that the bus driver would have a private plane stashed away nearby, ready to fly me to France - but I was willing to clutch at even damp straws.

"Paris?" repeated the driver, his voice vibrating with joy. "Why, I used to have a girlfriend there!"

Suddenly everyone was very helpful. The driver got on his radio and asked head office if it might not be possible that I could pick up the airport bus on rout somewhere. It wasn't. A taxi was now the only option.

The next stop was the hospital. Out I leapt in search of a taxi. But there were no taxis. The only taxi driver I managed to find told me that he wasn't allowed to pick up passengers from the hospital. Perhaps it was against Health and Safety. I had no time to investigate. I leapt back on the bus again.

"Our next stop is the Met Office," said the driver. "If I was you I'd phone for a taxi to pick you up from there. We should be there in ten minutes if the traffic isn't too bad."

"A goodly idea," said I, feeling nevertheless that it was beginning to look like a lost cause. (It was now five minutes to five.) "Do you know the number of a local firm?"

He shook his head sorrowfully. "I don't use taxis," he said gloomily.

"Four three four three four three!" shouted the last remaining passenger on the bus.

"Thanks!" I said and rapidly dialed the number. I ordered the taxi and sat back as the bus screeched off towards the Met Office.

I got to the airport at 5.15 and ran to the flybe check in desk. There was nobody there. Even the other check in desks were deserted. I ran round the place a few times with my rucksack - perhaps people would be drawn to where the action was.

Finally a girl appeared at the far end of the building and approached me cautiously.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"LateformyflighttoParis!" I shouted breathlessly. "CanIgoonthrough?"

"I just go and ask my superviser," she said. "But I think you're too late - the gates are shut."

After about five minutes her superviser came through. "We were boarding twenty minutes ago," she told me sternly. "The gates are shut."

I saw that now was the time for the gloves to come off - it was my last chance. I pulled out my British Passport and thrust it at her. She took it and, with a sneer, opened it;

The crazed vampire's face with its long lank hair leered up from the battered pages...her hand flew to her mouth to stiffle a scream...

The gates were reopened and i was allowed to board.