Dear Diary: It was with a huge sense of relief that I re-boarded Air Force One in Riyadh to fly back to the States. Mooch was seething with rage, having been pointedly ignored by all the dignitaries assembled to greet me. She had complied with most of the directions of Wahabism, wearing trousers and a long coat, but it was bright blue, rather than the black the locals favor, and she flatly refused to wear a head-covering niqab. Once we were back in our private cabin and we had gained take-off speed, Mooch locked the door and mooned one side of the runway, cackling delightedly: " How do you like dem moons?" We soon settled down to a meal of ham and other delights forbidden us during the past few days and asked to be woken with a breakfast of bacon and eggs. We dozed watching episodes of Judge Judy, of which Marv Nicholson, my trusty trip director, keeps a library for me on board, along with assorted episodes of Storage Wars. The reassuring roar of the four Pratt & Whitneys quickly lulled us to sleep.
