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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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