When we had packed up our meal in the desert we had to drive an hour and a half to our hotel. We were utterly exhausted after the long day. The hotel was an old caravanseri which looked like a small fortified castle. We went through a huge door into a central courtyard. The door to our room was tiny, rather like the entrance to a child's play house. Inside was large square domed room, the dome made of black concrete tiles layered one on top of another to create the dome. We fell into bed and were asleep in seconds. The next morning we stumbled out our little door into blinding sunlight. I had just about got my vision back when I was hailed in Iranian from the far side of the courtyard. The man was shouting at me and the only word I could make out was camel. Before I could ask where breakfast was served, he was ushering us into a dark cavernous room. He pulled a huge coat off the wall and insisted I put it on. It almost stretched to my ankles. By this time I had worked out that this was a camel herder's coat. He posed me against the wall and then turned his attention to Gill. She was made to sit in a trench in the floor in front of a loom and pretend to be making a carpet. I was barely awake, desperate for breakfast and here we were, highjacked and posing as camel herder and carpet maker. He took my tablet and memorialised the moment. I have rarely felt less comfortable having my photo taken. I don't like it at the best of times but this was a new low. We managed to escape his clutches and found breakfast in another dark brick room. It consisted of a plate covered in cling wrap with tomatoes, cucumbers and cheese. Not quite what we were hoping for, but nourishing. Luckily, we didn't have too early a start.

Mahommed had, he said, to change the oil in his car. We were not sure if this was a diomatic pit stop because he knew how tired we were and needed a bit of a lie in. Or maybe he really did need an oil change. Then we were off to Yazd with several stops on the way. We picked up our guide at a long distance lorry stop. It was, as far as we could see, in the middle of nowhere. There was desert all around and not a sight of habitation. but there he was, looking immaculate and ready to show us the sights. Goodness only knows how he got there First stop was Maybod and a bath house dating back quite a while. You can see from my imprecision that tiredness had taken a toll on my concentration. Then there was another building with a lot of mannequins dressed in period costume. Some of them were famous poets and others famous musicians. Some of them were kings and others were not. I was fading fast.

Then it was off to a cave shrine embedded in rock cliff at the top of 300 steps. Here there was a difficult decision. Should I risk the ascent on the basis that I would get a stunning photograph of the desert stretching away below the cliff face? I will do anything for my art so the question was a no brainer. It turned out to be a really terrible decision. First of all, we were in the middle of the desert. Think dry heat in the mid thirties and no shade. The steps started out gently enough- however this was designed to fool the unwary traveller. Soon they turned into massive steep staircases winding up the cliff face. You also need to remember I am still recovering from an extremely nasty lung infection and here I am sucking in dry hot air as I wheeze my way increasingly slowly up the cliff. I have read about climbers on high mountains who just give up with exhaustion and I have to tell you I suddenly understood that terrible need to curl up and end the torture. I just wanted it all to stop. My lungs were burning and my legs had become shaky from the exertion. I staggered up the last staircase and there was the shrine. Now, if you're Zoroastrian I'm guessing this would have been a pretty big moment for you, no matter how tired you were. The shrine was a largish overhang in the rock dripping cool water. My guide offered to pour holy water over my hands which I accepted numbly. He pointed out the significance of the three candles. He pointed out the large tree trunk that seemed to be connected with something important and finally he pointed out the portrait of Zoroaster. As standing straight was a bit of a challenge, I had to twist my head at an uncomfortable angle to see the roof of the cave. Gill had sensibly decided that the idea of climbing 300 steps in the blistering heat was a dumb idea and had remained below in the shade of a tree talking to Mahommed. I made it to the bottom without collapsing and staggered towards Gill with the desperation of a man who has failed to summit Everest and knows he nearly expired in the process.

Gill has no idea about my near death experience and gives me a cheery wave as she continues her conversation with Muhammad. I stumble over to the car and nearly burn my hand on the hot metal when I lean on it to draw breath. My heart wasn't in it after that. We saw a magnificent adobe castle with wonderful views. We saw the Zoroastrian fire temple which was built to contain an urn containing fire that has burned continuously for about 2000 years. Or it could have been 3000. All I wanted was to get back to an air conditioned room in a hotel. In the end I put my foot down and told our guide that we needed to be in our hotel by 7 pm at the latest. I genuinely felt sorry for him as he obviously wanted to show us the best Yazd had to offer. If we had let him I doubt we would have got to our room till after 9pm. Finally we got to the hotel. After catching our breath, we sat in the beautiful terrace and drank iced coffee and ate delicious walnut cake. The pain in my lungs had subsided and my legs weren't wobbling any more. How good can life get?