The difference a burrito makes

Peace at work, goodwill to all press officers.

The burrito (microwaved from a convenience store, fetched by a nice Bulgarian boy) gave me energy to run on the home straight, clear up the 32 pages of commercial contracts with my boss, explain how I mimed the words "on-board" camera and complain about being left alone sans translators.

So all is good and I can't get through on Skype to anyone I am calling (why don't people have voicemails...?) so I am off to bed. It is only hours till I start all over again.

I think there was so much more to say, some of it mildly entertaining but I can't think of it, and I should sleep while the painkillers are having effect. All that comes into my head is how pleasant it is to walk in the night air, see the sporting banners fluttering in the light breeze and see "good luck" traced in the dirt on the back of someone's recce car. Ah.. thats why's I do it...

Tomorrow's adventures start with a Viking breakfast. At least that's what I thought the man on reception was trying to say. Any ideas?