The Money has gone to my head.
I've been in a permanent state of confusion since we crossed the Vietnamese border.
It was with a childish relish that I went to the cash machine to withdraw my first million (dong that is, sadly, not sterling).
Only afterwards did I realise the sum I'd taken out was the equivalent of just $50 and not the $500 I had intended.
Shortly afterwards, I wondered why a waiter looked a bit glum at the tip I'd given him. When I worked it out, I realised the 2,000 dong gratuity amounted to about 7p.
I later realised he'd also given me too much change.
However, I didn't have much time to feel guilty about that. Moments later, I went for a pee only to be mugged by the cleaning lady who actually dipped into my wallet to take out 12,000 dong.
The Chinese bloke who went before me didn't pay a penny.
Our border crossing had not exactly gone as planned.
We'd booked a three-day boat trip from Phnom Penh, into Vietnam and then on through the Mekong Delta, via our guest house.
The bus picked us up on time, along with two other travellers who planned to join us on the slow boat.
However, when the tour operator announced we would take the bus to the border, there was mutiny. We filed into his office to sort the problem out - only to notice that the operator we'd paid for was different to the one we'd actually got.
What followed was a lesson in how to sort out problems.
One of our co-passengers was an obnoxious Yorkshireman. He'd done nothing but pour forth a loud and expletive-laden moan about delays to his trip since we met him. (Two words: Go home.)
Within two minutes of introducing himself, he'd also managed to insult a friend of mine he'd never met before blathering on about his experience of travelling in Asia. What a bore. And he was a Liverpool fan.
Anyway, he kicked up enough of a stink to get his money back and find another boat - though I'd bet his trip did not end up going smoothly.
At the other end of the scale was a very laid-back Swedish guy, a retired academic whose youthful demeanour belied his vintage.
Calmly assessing the situation, he decided that what was on offer - the bus to the border, followed by a boat trip to our first stop in Vietnam - would be pleasant enough.
Over a tasty dinner in the busy riverside town of Chau Doc that night, he noted that sometimes things just work out better, even if they don't go the way you planned.
And so it turned out.
The next day, we looked on jealously as a very swish boat left the dock belonging to none other than the tour company we were supposed to have booked with.
However, we then stepped in to the tiny boats that act as kind of boat taxis - for people and goods - across the delta.
Being paddled slowly by a local woman proved a far more atmospheric way to see the village of floating houses populated by ethnic Vietnamese who fled Cambodia, impoverished, during the Khmer Rouge's time in power.
We reckon we may have been ripped off by about $20 each by the guest house where we booked but in the end we probably had a better trip than the one we'd planned.
The delta, where the Mekong splits into nine sections before reaching the sea, is a fascinating place.
It really is the lifeblood of the area.
Inevitably with a tour you end up going to some cheesy places - for example, the visit to a crocodile farm seemed really to be aimed at allowing rich Chinese to buy handbags.
However, it was made worthwhile by the sight of ducklings waddling over the croc's nose, unaware they would soon become dinner. We later avenged our feathered friends by having a croc curry. (Tastes like a slightly fishy version of pork, for the uninitiated)
We had also expected the floating markets near Can Tho to be a bit of a tourist display but they proved far from it.
This was a really bustling wholesale market - with fresh fruit, plastic goods and bricks among the wares on sale from vessels of various sizes, and women on tiny kayaks bobbing between them to offer cooked meals to the crews.
We also spent one night at a homestay on the delta and while it didn't really live up to the title (we didn't eat with the family and slept in our own cabin, rather than the family home), it was on a beautiful stretch of river.
Dinner was delicious: Fresh fish from the Mekong, tofu stuffed with pork, prawn cakes rolled in rice paper and soup. We were also able to spend a couple of hours relaxing in hammocks, watching the river traffic go slowly by.
We got there on motorbikes. The sight of The One With The Common Sense's white knuckles of one hand clinging on to the "Jesus bar" at the back, while the other arm flapped at her ballooning skirt in a bid to preserve her dignity proved highly comical for the other motorists.
Once there, the men of the house didn't quite fulfill their duties.
The eldest son failed to give us a promised bicycle tour of the village because he fell asleep, while the father got drunk and the stay ended in some sort of family row.
But then, I guess that really is seeing real life in Vietnam.
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