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The immigration authorities at Heathrow could at least have made more of a fuss. They acted like it was entirely routine to snub one’s country for nine months, then return as though nothing had happened. “Wow, that was an unusally long absence!” they might have said. “Was there something you were running away from? Perhaps you’d like us to check the things you fear about the UK really have abated before we welcome you back.”

Needless to say, absolutely nothing has changed here during my time away. Least of all me, I’m sorry to report.

Besides compiling a comprehensive survey of wireless internet availability worldwide (poor, on the whole), one aim of my trip was to test the hypothesis known as “The Universal Truth Of Travelling”: that you’re still you when you get there.

Of course, that truth would be plainly reassuring for most individuals; but I must admit I was slightly disappointed to discover that it applied in my case.

You’d have thought that landing alone in the heart of Bangkok, or bussing up the Australian coast with an entirely new and temporary set of friends, would be a perfect time for self-reinvention. Apparently not. Surely I could exaggerate my past and inflate my social standing? Maybe even change my name.

Don’t be fooled! You can run away from people, and you can leave behind your circumstances. But you can’t run away from yourself…

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Almost exactly ten years ago I last featured in a major news article, when reporter Sean Kirby of the Nottingham Evening Post described my A-level results as “a barnstorming performance”.

This time round, the on-line journals of Silicon Valley have plenty to report about my semi-professional japes during my time here. My counterpoint in the 1997 story was none other than fellow straight-A student Imran, also headed to Oxford to study Maths; by contrast, the habitually-condescending Valleywag listed me alongside hi-tech posterboy-of-the-moment Mark Zuckerberg. Their take on events pushes both of us through the wringer - and arguably the Facebook CEO comes off worse; although he also emerges as the only paper billionaire, so I think he knows who’s winning.

In extraordinary scenes, photographic records of which are reproduced here by permission of the San Jose Mercury, last week I gave a speech to a gathering of Valley luminaries at Google HQ. The shirt (by ‘H.I.M. Collection’) was purchased with the help of cousin Rachel at a Thai market earlier this year; the podium conceals my convertible trekking trouser-shorts (by fashion label Decathlon Sports).

“Mr. Lester?”

“Yes. Have I found Google HQ? I’m here to tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“Of course. Please be escorted to the executive suite.”

“I appreciate the opportunity to correct the course of the USA’s fifth-largest company.” [By market cap]

“No - thank you! Hey - it’s a new red carpet, make sure you don’t slip.”

Thus, I began my journey into the heart of corporate America. Sorry to disappoint, but due to visa restrictions I will not be bringing my millions back to the UK. Perhaps I’ll give it another shot some time, once I’ve sorted the correct paperwork.

Looking forward to seeing everyone before Christmas. Returning to London on 15th Dec.

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To save plodding around with a backpack, on my way home for Christmas I am staying for an extended period of time in San Francisco (people who call it Frisco are so sad). Anyway, I am living in a perfectly ordinary flat and I am a normal fully-functioning member of society, I go to work every day, remember to leave the ‘trash’ out on Tuesday evenings, and complain about the parking situation.

Actually, this is a slight misrepresentation because I do not have a job, not least because it would be contrary to the visa waiver arrangement. (Not having a car does not stop me complaining about parking however - it looks like it would be a nightmare for anyone who has to do it.) So, to keep up the illusion, I employ myself in various capacities around the city. My usual routine is to leave the house before those who really do work (this is utterly convincing as long as I can keep up the early starts) and sit in the park until the coast is clear. Lunch sitting on a bench - every other day, at least, since the portions are big enough to go days between meals. One park bench encounter with a gym owner led to a seven day free pass to the local gym, so that has been my afternoon activity for a week (not sure what I’ll do tomorrow).

As I wrote home a few days ago, I am sharing a flat with a lady from Alabama who laughs at my jokes but doesn’t understand them; and a Frenchman who gets my jokes but doesn’t laugh. Things have improved since then and the Frenchman let out a slight smirk when I made an off-the cuff remark the other night (completely unrehearsed, honestly). He claims he was just reminded of something that happened elsewhere, but in my mind it was an unmistakeable breakthrough.

This relaxed lifestyle affords some time to think a bit harder about what I might do on my return to real life scheduled for January 2008. I’ve even experimented with some internet-based projects which could lead somewhere. (I’ve since been advised that browsing the BBC News website is not a possible career - although the two long-term jobs I held in London were evidence to the contrary.)

Remarkably, given the time I’m spending on internet research, I failed to secure a flat with an internet connection. Luckily the neighbours have fairly reliable wireless (don’t worry, the illegality of this set-up is easily overshadowed by my continuing use of cryptographic software). Surely great things must come out of this situation: Bay Area immigrant, lugged his laptop around the world, no-mates, makes internet history using a flaky pirated internet connection - it would make such fantastic newspaper copy that I can’t possibly fail. The likes of such a triumph from adversity have not been seen since Hewlett-Packard grew out of a garage in Palo Alto - and I went to see that too; my garage is dingier.

Just to avoid your possible complicity in an illegal act, I’ve given the neighbours a break and I’m typing this in a cafe. On account of their free wireless, the place has all the ambience of an exam hall. I’m not complaining - I bloody love exams!

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Home to some of the most expensive internet on the planet, I was in Fiji last week. I took a tour around the main island, Viti Levu. Team-mates included Liam who toured part of New Zealand with me, although he is suspected of trying to change the dates of his trip once I told him I’d be going to Fiji at the same time. Anyway, he wouldn’t tell me where he’s going after Fiji (I saw him board a plane to Hawaii, too late for me to change my ticket).

Tourism is a major part of the economy there, and we did our bit - on an organised trip to a village primary school, we took some pens and pencils as presents. It turns out they teach lessons exclusively in English - apart from Fijian language lessons, I suppose - which I think is a good idea. The best jobs are working with tourists, after all.

The final few days were spent on the smallest island. It was basically a lump of sand sticking out above the sea, complete with a few palm trees as per the caricature. It takes about five minutes to swim around the perimeter.

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It turns out that Auckland could easily be the capital of New Zealand - it’s a mistake made frequently. In fact, I’ve read up on the details, and it was the capital for 25 years in the 19th century. I have also travelled to a small town called Russell in the quiet north of the country (the ‘Bay of Islands’). And that was the original capital, before anyone had bothered to venture any further south. How things change!

Flying to Fiji tomorrow.

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“What’s the capital of New Zealand, then?” I asked. It was a timely question since we had just arrived in Wellington, one of my two candidate cities for the answer. Of course I know the answer to this question really, but ever since the Auckland Commonwealth Games, I have intermittently forgotten. When I was planning my itinerary I obviously got this wrong, as I only allocated an overnight stop here. I mean it’s not like it’s the capital city or anything (on that day, and in my mind, at least).

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