She drinks pints of coffee and writes little observations and ideas for stories with her best fountain pen on the linen-white pages of expensive notebooks. Sometimes, when it's going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationery. The true writer, the born writer, will scribble words on scraps of litter, the back of bus tickets, on the wall of a cell. Emma is lost on anything less than 120gsm.

One Day/ David Nicholls

Edit: An impulse buy, I didn't expect it to like it so much. Finished it in a day (today, aided by the fact that it was raining and, after a long break, I finally found myself back in a reading phase, which is good, because I have stacks to go through). The end was a punch in the gut, leaving a dull, lingering ache like how Atonement did. But it was necessary, I suppose. The way everything comes to an end.

I'm home.

Unwittingly took almost 200 pictures with the phone. Then there are the nine rolls of film (I brought 16 but it turns out I didn't need them all).

I liked Siem Reap. Apart from some amazing temples, it was a rather charming town with friendly people.

Phnom Penh, not so much. That the trip ended there was a little bit of a killjoy.

Pictures to come, slowly.