[The Painful End of the Lollipop Kids]

Shortly after writing my last blog entry, i walked across to the man at the desk and opened my wallet. Not for the first time that day, you understand. But in my hazy, drunken stupor, wholly conducted behind purple-tinted sunglasses, i'd managed to pay for breakfast and 2 litres of water without realising that i'd been robbed of $120 the previous night.

As i headed back to my chair, telling the man that i'd like to carry on using the slow, burnt out computer as it was the only activity i could afford at this point, the story i told some of my friends via email begun to unfold in my head. Once my session of delayed online consolation was over and Rich had been saluted goodbye I went to sit with Rory and Cam for a big full English who each relayed to me their tiny glimpses into my previous night. Evidently, in the space of ten seconds, i'd been blind-sided by a katoi (lady-boy) on a dancefloor who had grabbed me, groped me, snatched my wallet and taken the cash before slipping the wallet back into my pocket, all without me noticing. I'd left soon after, feeling something had gone awry but completely unsure of what, apparently able to pay a tuk-tuk driver, again without understanding my new-found poverty.

And so the day was spent wasting time online next to Arun, with Rory asleep on the swinging wooden bench outside, each of us nursing a two-day Phnom Penh ultra-hangover. The day drifted on slowly, my main actions consisting of a mango shake and a reluctant trip to the ATM to withdraw another $200. At around 5, sitting in Okay Guesthouse's busy little eatery and reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, I was struck by hunger pangs. I ordered noodle soup and began to feel much better, which actually came to be to my detriment when Cam staggered down from his room, announcing that tonight was most likely to be his last night. This left me, and a short while later, Rory, in a conundrum. There was no chance that we could go out, but no chance we could stay in. Rory and Arun had taken huge naps that day and were not in a position to get an early night, and as all of us looked at each other with bright red-bull eyes, a silent contemplation went on as to our night ahead. Then, out of nowhere, a couple of friends we'd met on our last visit to the city strolled in to the restaurant shouting "John Tween! You'd better be coming drinking tonight!" And so it was settled.

It was our typical night out in Phnom Penh. Down to Yike restaurant to grab some chicken amok with our favourite waitresses before closing time, a tuk-tuk to street 51, grab a small bottle of whiskey to drink on the roadside hot-dog stand's plastic chairs, off to an outside bar for a cheap beer, then delve into the Heart of Darkness, a club so mind-mangling that anyone who enters has at least half an hour of their life missing the next morning. Cam had a fantastic last night though, keeping us all going with his now cliched round of tequillas which our new Cambodian friends also got in on. None of us made it home early; Arun was temporarily barman in one of our local friends' bars, serving mainly himself free beers and waters; all of us reconvened in the restaurant in time for breakfast.

We had a bus booked a few hours later to thankfully take us away from this incredible, fast-paced, occasionally nightmarish city. We (now just myself, Rory and Arun) hugged Cam goodbye and were shoved into a packed, scorched mini-bus that 20 sweaty minutes later dumped us outside our coach, bound for the far more laid back, far less deranged city of Siem Reap. The road was long and bumpy, the coach old and the on-board A/C an indispensable trickle of cold air. I am too lanky to sleep on anything other than the most plush of public transports, so a rested my eyes and kicked back to 7 hours of shuffled music, calmed by 'Tribe and confused by Radiohead. We were all suffering from exhaustion once we arrived in Siem Reap, having sweated out any hint of a hangover. We had been ushered from one guesthouse to the next thanks to our close acquaintance with the manager of Okay guesthouse who'd recommended Okay villas for our next stop. For this, we are hugely grateful. We expected nothing more than we'd had in Phnom Penh - a bed, a fan, $8 rooms with a relaxed and friendly vibe from all customers and staff downstairs.

"Is this the place?" Rory asked with a kind of astounded suspicion as we exited our private tuk-tuk and stood, jaws-on-the-floor, looking at the beautiful colonial architecture in front of us. We walked barefoot across the pristine marble floor, past the 42-inch screen in the lobby-restaurant and up to the sturdy mahogany desk. The place is stunning. We're sharing a three single-bedded room with A/C and cable tv for $8 each. On the 6th floor roof is a stunning view of the city's rooftops and a not-too-small pool. We all grabbed a warm shower and reclined on our massive beds, commenting intermittently that we "just couldn't believe that we'd got this room!"

As it was barely 8 in the evening, we chose to drag ourselves off of the beds and lurch down to the night-market. We arrived at a busy but quiet place, confronted on all sides by fantastic cloths and infinite tiny Buddhas on sale, a labyrinthine treasure trove of mostly pointless but incredibly tempting gifts. None of us having not eaten for more than 10 hours we settled below a bright yellow sign for Curry Walla and indulged in a fantastic shared platter of samosas, jahlfrezi, butter chicken and garlic naans which was delicious but hit us all heavily, like a proper curry, so it was back to Okay villas to sprawl across the cool white sheets and take in the best sleep we've had yet.