My flights to Cambodia all went smoothly, unlike my temperament, which became increasingly frazzled as the journey wore on and on.  In Bangkok there was an agonisingly slow bus transfer across town from the international airport to the budget airline station.  The city looked alien under the tropical sun and towering clouds, like a colony on Mars and I became increasingly impatient with the traffic jams, although I actually had hours in hand. While waiting for my last plane to Siem Reap, the town that services the Angkor temple complex, I managed to log onto a free wifi service to find that Sue had overslept and missed her flight and would not arrive until Sunday. Then at Siem Reap there were delays as the bureaucrats threw in an extra form at the last minute, probably due to an Ebola scare, given that they were all wearing face masks. Things continued to go downhill as my taxi driver took me to the wrong hotel and I had to get a tuk tuk to finally reach my destinat...

I've been sat for hours now on two different planes gunked up with airline food. Breakfast is now being delivered to wake everyone up and lifting the blind the plane is suffused with yellow-white tropical light. In know it's probably at least 30 below zero outside but it looks warm. My heart is thumping with excitement. I can't wait to get out into Bangkok in search of my last flight.

The bus came in on time and I found an airport train in short order. I'm surrounded by the lazy, slurred roman accent. The guy on the next seat is a piece of shit in any accent. He and his partner are shabby and she looks bored. He speaks on his phone - "yes a group of Japanese. I don't know what's to be done". Whatever is to be done doesn't sound honest. Welcome to Roma!

I said goodbye to paolo at dawn in locorotondo and waited 30 minutes bus ticket in hand. It's a big comfortable double-decker beast which should get me to rome early this afteroon. Feeling tired already and impatient to get on my first flight of the day. 

I took this picture of dad and me two days ago. It was my last evening in the UK.  I'd just bought a load of second-hand camera equipment and it came with a remote controller, which I'd pointed and clicked at the camera with my left hand a split second before.  I made several attempts and this is one of the best. I said "goodbye" to dad yesterday morning then drove to Stansted. At Bari I was picked up by a minivan and taken to the underground carpark where I left my motorbike four weeks ago, parked next to a rather cool Chevy Corvette. The ride was dark and chilly and climbing the ridge back up to our house I hit thick cloud which left me and the bike running with condensation. After a fitful night I awoke to a stunning autumnal dawn.  I wandered around in my onesie taking photos, my heart thumping with the excitement of being home. Sometimes life goes too fast.

I'm sat in the my Dad's little back bedroom, with the junk that accumulates around someone old and disabled - a power chair, for the increasingly infrequent trips outside the house, a turntable for moving from chair to commode and a collection of cushions and dressings.  My time here is drawing to a close and from my point of view I've achieved a fair bit.  I've begun to establish myself as a funeral celebrant and have carried out my first funeral.  I had thought I'd want to write about this in my blog, but this now feels like a breach of confidence.  Suffice to say it strengthened my conviction that this is work I should be doing and I'm humbled by the trust that the bereaved placed in me. I've shared a lot of the celebrancy stuff with dad and this has had a positive impact on our relationship as well.  He has been very supportive really and I've also recorded a series of his wishes for what happens when he dies, including what music will be played ...