I don’t know if it’s just me, but there’s an unfriendly feel to Tucson. With the exception of a lugubrious drunk who gives me directions to Wal-Mart and sends me on my way with the reassuring ‘God is with you’, and, in fact, the employees of Wal-Mart itself – the Daria Beths, and the Cindys who willingly propel their fourteen-stone bulk through the aisles in order to extract from the shelves the single can of pinto beans amidst 420 other varieties of beans on offer – people in this city take your money furtively as though it would make their day if they could only short-change you in some small way or break your eggs for no good reason.

My low-grade headache is now being joined by gum-ache as the novocaine in my mouth slowly wears off. A nagging toothpain I’ve ignored too long finally prompted an emergency flight to the dentist this morning. True, I could have gone to see Dr Adams in Ague, but then I’ve seen the state of people’s dentures in my local town and they’re not a pretty sight.