It's not the Destination, it's the Journey: on Trucks and Stuff…

Z, being male and nine years old, actively enjoys the experience of moving from place to place. He did when he was little. But people change. And children change fastest of all.

The beam on realising that Qantas had provided a 747 (Brit-speak) or Socceroo (and, yes, it appears they do actually call it that over there, and, yes, we probably have spent too much time on EasyJet) with stairs, individual screens, menus and the like was only superseded by the rush of small boy adrenalin when confronted with his first sawngthaew, the pickups with two benches in the back which double for taxis in Thailand.

Looping round hairpins on roads washed down to lumpen limestone, hanging on to the roof, lurching over red dirt roads, or rocking on a too-tall ferry as flying fish thread running stitch through the sea is all the fun of a rollercoaster ride when you’re nine.

He will, however, have to grow at least six inches before he’s surfing on the tailgate over roads like these.