The thinly-veiled criticisms of De Beers gloss over the fact that illicit gems are mainly stolen by workers and traded by criminals. Investors and operators are the solution to Africa's problems. Mavericks and smugglers are a problem. But in the stress of war, the divisions blur.

De Beers is concerned about market impact. We are not. My spouse says she may opt for zirconia next time, but declines to pawn her existing sparklers. Dublin matrons seem unconcerned that gems are sometimes secreted in smugglers' bodies - why would they worry about gore? That people will kill and die for pretty rocks increases the romance of what are, after all, only baubles.

Governments and the industry are behind the drive to certify gemstones. Some gems will slip through. But some coffee is grown on illegally-cleared jungle. Should we stop drinking coffee?

Locally the film is regarded as history. The Kimberley process worked by certifying stones. Smugglers lose out as acreage is taken by professional companies that abide by regulations. Circumvention is dif"cult and dangerous.

Africa is tribal. Resources fuel wars but wars are bad for business. Genocide in Rwanda and Darfur were about desperate competition for deteriorating land.

Botswana is now the biggest diamond exporter as well as the richest, safest and cleanest African country. This shows how natural resources can fuel development.

The moral is that business people developing poor countries are the real diamonds.

16 January, Dublin Attending a funeral inspires reflection on our narrow escapes:

In 2003 I spent an awkward 35 minutes 'helping Iraqi insurgents with their inquiries' before excusing myself, casually stepping into our vehicle and driving away.

My luckiest escape was in a 2004 Bolivian road accident: I was calibrating my hard hat and grabbed the hand rail when the driver lost control on a new dirt road.

The force of the impact was disproportionate to the speed of the vehicle. I felt the shock wave passing through my body and my right arm shattering. My head hit the side panel hard but there was no pain. Either I didn't lose consciousness or did only briefly. Later I saw the bits of white plastic hard hat and remembered that I'd been wearing one.

After the crash I was disoriented and had to concentrate on simple tasks like unwinding my broken arm to ensure that bone fragments didn't pierce the skin (it's dusty in the bush). Do vehicles only catch fire in Hollywood? The doors were jammed so I kicked one free.

Presumably the driver had gone for help while I was unconscious. Yet his seat was flush with the steering wheel and the windscreen pushed out from the inside.

It took a while to find Gaston, since he'd been thrown about five metres into the bush some distance back, near the initial collision. When he didn't respond to shouts I slid down to him. I wasn't sure of the pulse and tried to turn him over but his neck looked broken. Anyway I lacked the strength.

I could think clearly and had a reasonable heartbeat. I found water and took bearings (initially setting off in the wrong direction) and even worked the camcorder, recording in Spanish where we were and what had happened, asking them to assist Gaston urgently - in case I lost consciousness from shock or internal bleeding. I walked on the side of the road so as not to be run over if I fainted. After an hour, campesinos directed me to a cabbie who eventually brought me to the crash and then on to the drill site.

I never had flashbacks or survivor guilt. Though Gaston was my friend, it was his vehicle, in perfect conditions on a road he knew well. He just lost control on an unlucky spot and the SUV had a high centre of gravity.

The idea of death didn't worry me: everyone dies. You hope to postpone it till you've lived your life and your health is fading naturally. But no one can control every event. We didn't choose a low-risk path, nor would we want to.

Only later, while being questioned by the traffic police, did I consider the unlikelihood of wearing a helmet inside a vehicle. The cops wondered whether I feared a crash - they wrongly suspected that the driver had been drinking.

On only two occasions had I worn a hard hat inside a car - in Africa, also when adjusting settings. Dividing those few such minutes by the total months spent in vehicles, the probability seems lotto-like. But people win lotteries!

13 January, Munich and Dublin Leaving Munich's ultra-modern airport and arriving at Dublin is like passing from the mid-21st century to the 1960s. Bavarians speak English but politely speak High German even if it slows everything down. They allow our kids to run riot for a modest fee in their business lounge though we are on cheapskate tickets. Perhaps they reckon that kids in a confined space terrorise fewer people.

Customer service seems to come before efficiency.

Ground staff allow us to check two toboggans but decline to let my sister-in-law either check or take as hand luggage even one. She appeals to the Aer Lingus captain, who overrules ground staff and lets her carry it on board - more evidence of common sense decision-making among Willie Walsh's former colleagues.

11 January, Austrian Tyrol Apparently BBC radio's prestigious Drivetime wants me.

We arrange for them to call that evening. I perch on a balcony for a clear signal, but no call comes through.

After 90 frustrating minutes, a text appears, saying there are 16 messages! I call them - apparently they cannot get through to me.

We agree to run it next day, when the same thing happens, only now I can't call out either. After a frustrating 20 minutes trying, I switch the Blackberry on and off. Finally it "nds a strong signal, I am connected and we go live. The vagaries of modern science!