Felix and Felicity talk a lot about Tibet. I think they’ve possibly come to the wrong country and, instead of visiting Nepal, should have gone to Tibet instead. They once met the Dalai Lama and it seems to have had a profound effect on them—and, subsequently, their spending habits. Every time a Tibetan trader comes into one of the camps or villages, they are pounced on by Felix and Felicity, who commiserate in broken voices about the atrocities committed in their homeland and, to prove that they’re earnest, they buy lots of tacky jewellery. We were allowed ten kilos of baggage and I should think they’ve already bought the equivalent of that in beads, bangles and trinkets. The sum and total of my knowledge of Tibet is from watching Seven Years in Tibet at the local cinema and I only went to see that because Brad Pitt was in it. And I would agree with anyone who cared to voice the opinion that my knowledge of world crises is somewhat shallow. But this is what travel does for you—in the words of all travel brochures, whether it be Cornwall or Kathmandu, travel does indeed expand your horizons. The only thing that travel has normally expanded for me is my waistline. I’ve decided that if you can trot the globe without en suite facilities that’s when you can start to feel more worthy.

And this has been an eye-opener for me. Not least because I’ve discovered that I can manage perfectly well without a hairdryer or Touche Eclat concealer. I’m enjoying rubbing shoulders with nature. I’ve rediscovered my joy at the night sky, even though I can’t work out where the major constellations are because they’re all in different places over here. You simply can’t do this at home because of all the light pollution from the street lamps.

Why is it that we assume our way of life is better? Does it really make us superior beings because we have Sky Digital, gas-guzzling motor cars, power showers and Prozac? The villages might not have electricity, but is it better to spend the evenings singing traditional songs and chatting to the village elders or sitting comatose on a comfy sofa watching Pop Idol, oblivious to the lost art of conversation?

There’s no divorce, no old people’s homes, no psychiatrists, no Weight Watchers’ clubs and I’m not sure that the Nepali people are the poorer for it. The other thing I’ve found that I can manage without is Jake. Whether that’s down to the fact that I’ve found an even more wonderful—albeit temporary—replacement in Dean, I’ve yet to decide.