So, the job had fallen through. I decided to take a long bus journey to Laos. For different reasons they'd started university a year later than me, and were diligently using their student loan surplus to squabble their way round S.E Asia. Anthony Alborino and Joseph Roth. I rationalised that accompanying them on their travels was bound to turn up a job I could do, and that with internet access, I could be applying for just as many positions as if I made a cowed return to England. Looking back, this was largely bullshit.

I said goodbye to Elma and the girls, and was given a canvas painting of an elephant, with an enscription on the back. “This Elephant is ONLY one in Cambodia but we are your friends, and we WILL miss you very much. We are so happy to know our English gentleman Luke and watching the Prince William wedding together with you. Go with God. Elma.”

The chances of a Cambodia to Laos bus journey being comfortable seemed slim, so I looked to a pharmacy for chemical solutions. Everything is over the counter in Cambodia, and I availed myself of Valium, Lithium and a mysterious powder that promised to stop my joints from cramping. These were smashed, swirled, then swallowed, and in a beautiful haze I found myself floating into conversation with an insane Kenyan called Christopher, who occupied the seat next to me, adjusted his footrest, and launched into his life story. Unprompted. My chemical cloud ensured that even opening and closing my jaw required immense application. Pools of grainy saliva swelled on my tongue as Christopher spoke.

“I think, I am very sure, from when I see you, that you will be a British guy. I have actually spent a time of life studying at Oxford University of England. I am sure you know of it. I was living in London. I have my qualification, as an international businessman. And your name is Luke. Adeyo! Your blessed mother has given you this name from the Bible, and my name too. We are all Christian brothers, do you know this Luke? We are marching with the Lord. It is why I am so happy to meet youtoday. Let me tell you one thing. Can I tell you one thing? Ok, so! I think you are a very clever guy. I am looking for a smart guy to do some export business with. Do you know Land Rovers? It is a car. I want to buy many of these cars, because I think you can help me with the documentation. The documentation is a certificate. You are a young man, but I think your father will know how to do this thing. Do you have a a contact number? I will let you know a secret. Luke. Luke, let me tell you who my father is. He is the Mayor of my city. ” After an hour of this, the pharmaceuticals faded, and Christopher became unbearable. A feigned sleep turned into a real one, disturbed only when giant potholes caused the window paneling to thump the side of my head. Christopher's monologue permeated my dream, this time addressed to a Swedish couple sat behind us. City turned to rice paddies, to countryside petrol stations and brown rivers, and then back to City, all before I peeled open my eyes.

Predictably they weren't there. Tony and Joe. I had a text message with their guesthouse number on, and caught a Tuk-tuk across the city, overpaying an insane amount of dollars. Any traveller to S.E Asia will have their tuk-tuk stories. For the luckily uninitiated, a tuk-tuk is a moped with a rickshaw grafted onto the back, furnished with anything from spinning fluorescent Buddhas, Disney cartoons, or a watercolor of Princess Diana. Beads and tassels hang from the canopy, and the seat cushions move around as you tear through chaotic roads in a torrid blend of horror, adrenaline and arousal (from the throb of the engine directly under passenger genitalia. My driver introduced himself as Bobby Marley.

' Mister, today Laos have special day. King Bird day. Birday. We go to temple, go to buddha, go to Rakanavit Shrine, go to river, go to zoo. No need to pay money. Ok? Yes. First thing we do, we go to my friend shop. Maybe very nice suit. You look, look, don't buy, just look ok? I get gas token. Then we get Whiskey. You my friend. Uh. Guesthouse is near by my friend shop and Rakanavit Shrine. You see map. See map. Here. Map. And then, and then, and then, and so, and here my friend shop and guesthouse. Same road. Ok? You help me start bike.'

At this point he lept from his perch on the front seat, and pulled a solitary sandal from the interior of the tuk-tuk roof. He dropped it onto his bare left foot, and began the process of kickstarting the bike, all the while ushering me to push the bastard contraption into a main road. Lorries and buses swerved and swore around us until the damn thing coughed into life. I saw nothing of the city, and smelled all of it. Petrol and warm trash smuggled on pleasant gusts of wind that temporarily suspended the humidity. Busloads of school children with yelled greetings and broad smiles. Elderly couples, hunched forward on bicycles, with more children, endless children attached impossibly to the frame. Then onto a tourist street. Bars and logos and neon in the sunshine. A teenage bargirl with dyed blonde hair was dressed in a Heineken minidress, eating chicken feet. Johnny Marley had been temporarily halted by a fat fendered SUV, so I watched the girl eat for a good half minute. The chicken foot had come from a plastic bag, and was a hue of ill orange that matched her hair. She was essentially fellating this foot, first pushing a toe deep into her mouth, then scraping her teeth along the bone to catch the skin and gristle and presumably, possibly meat. Above her head was a nautical bell, and some perilously juddering fans that disturbed her fringe, but sadly not her dress. As we sped away, I looked back through the rear window, in a futile attempt to see how her wondourous, greasey gob would approach the ankle bone.

After some uneccesary bullshit with a Nepali tailor, I extricated myself from the squat embrace of Johnny Marley and wandered into the pink foyer of PL guesthouse, opposite Krisitin Massage. The chalkboard above the empty reception desk made grand promises of Wifi, water, and USATV, but no sign of my friends. I noticed the wall of keys were all in place, except for room 4. So, this being a tiny building, and sweat pulsing down every crevice of my body, I decided to walk down the corridor and knock on that door.