Arrived back in Banaglore, delayed by the right-honourable President Bush who decided to leave right when I wanted to. How inconvenient. Still, made me think of this quote from a recent Charlie Brooker article…

But since he also looks like Alfred E Neuman and talks like he’s ordering ribs, he’s viewed as a straight-talkin’, down-home regular Joe, albeit one with so much blood on his hands it’s surely in danger of caking and congealing and turning his fists into heavy balls of scab, each one the size of a cabbage, good for thumping against desks and doors but not much else. Although even if that did happen, even if Bush called a press conference on the White House lawn and stood there demonically beating out a funeral march with his scabby orbs on a nightmarish drum fashioned from human bones and skin - even under those circumstances, you sense he’d somehow get away with it.

Arrived at the new airport, which was fairly uninspiring if only due to its general efficiency. They still have not managed to work out a way to get bags from the plane to the terminal in anything less than about 100 years…but they are getting there.

Leaving the airport to find my driver was the usual presidential-walkabout-style farce. As I got to the end of the row upon row of empty stares and signs I was set upon by the usual gaggle of “taxi?”… One bold fellow said “I am your taxi driver”…To which I could only reply with strange facial expressions until they got bored and moved on.

Hotel was amazing…no idea where it is on the map, but the mere fact that there was someone there at 6am meant that it automatically trumps Black Coffee. Pictures to follow once I get my trigger-finger warmed up. There is a special button next to the bed that turns on night-time lights. Still confused about this one, but will come back with an explanation later. They also scored marks for a drawer under the TV that contains that age-old combination of plain digestives and pringles…Perfect.