Wake to news that the king of pop is dead. Still in Bukhara, giving ourselves chance to recover full fitness. Really craving peanutbutter sandwiches again, and mum’s curry and chips. Not doing anything today, maybe some more digestion-friendly italian food later. Dozed and watched the endless Michael Jackson news loop. Fixed my wobbly wing mirror. Went to the Italian place. It’s nothing like Italian, but they’re obviously trying. Ordered chocolate ice cream for dessert and got ice cream with chocolate on it. The kind of bland, cheap, almost tasteless vanilla ice cream that is nothing at all like good, real vanilla ice cream, but on this occasion was very welcome. Tomorrow, Samarkand.