So here goes.
Monday
At last the journalists are leaving me in peace after my deportation from China over my part in a demonstration in favour of Tibetan independence. I have to confess that the account of events which has gained currency is not strictly correct.
I yield to no one in my admiration of the Dalai Lama – among his many other good qualities, he is as jolly a fellow as ever danced on a table in the Bonkers’ Arms – but the placard which I was carrying when the local rozzers apprehended me did not say “Free Tibet” but “Free to Bet”: I was hoping to encourage the worthy Chinamen to wager on the outcome of such events as the rhythmic gymnastics and the Greco-Roman wrestling. Unfortunately, the authorities took a dim view of this and I was on a seaplane home before my feet had touched the ground.
Despite this, I retain my admiration of Chinese culture – and of Chinese food in particular. When I mentioned this to the arresting officer, he asked what my favourite dish was. “Number twenty-six,” I replied.
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