Remembrance Sunday. We have been in Koh Chang, an island of the eastern coast of Thailand, near the Cambodian border, for a week and will be here for a few days more. It's time for our 'capsule holiday', the holiday wrapped within a larger holiday, what a perfect idea. Trust me, scoffers, we need it. We are staying at the Nirvana Resort, and it is. We have a large bungalow on the beach overlooking the bay and the very picturesque resort of Bang Bao, full of colourful fishing boats, with a dramatic backdrop of forested rolling hills. There is an adjacent restaurant, the food is tasty and the menu slightly more comprehensive than the rice and noodles diet we have been used to. We slip easily into a routine of sleeping, lying by the pool, swimming and reading. Bri finally succumbs to a pair of Billabong shorts and likes them so much he goes out and buys another pair. This is progress - and he's threatening to buy more. The well loved Speedos finally exit (reluctantly) stage left. Hurrah.

We decided to get a couple of massages and the masseuses come to our room. During the last few weeks we've had loads of massages, after the first couple of times I decided that I can't really come to grips with the thai massage, it's far too brutal for my liking. It doesn't involve soft lights and new age music and nice smelling oils - instead some beefy thai woman lies you down and then proceeds to dance all over you, taking particular pleasure at digging her elbows or knees or anything else sharp she has to hand into any sensitive little part of your body. And then she finishes off by walking up and down you. In my case she always appears to be cackling while I lie whimpering and rubbing my bruises. Not having been to public school I don't understand the point of paying good money to receive pain. So, as I say, we decided this time on oil massage, lay down and our masseuses proceeded to drench us in oil. Instead of the normal few drops per area of skin, these women were sloshing out enough oil to keep a medium size fish shop in business over a bank holiday weekend. I started to feel like a giant chip. By the end of the massage, as they were squeezing the last drops from the drums stacked in the corner I was almost expecting to start slithering out of their grasp whenever they tried to grab a passing limb as I slid around the room.

In response to a flood of emails from concerned friends who are fully paid up members of the Royal Society for the Protection of Brians, I would like to reiterate to both of you that no Brians were harmed in the making of this blog.