Back in Scotland, early at 9am, and it's been a busy old day. Whereas Green and Varwell had the luxury of a mid-morning nap and a day of delightful idling, and I believe are now tipping some beer down their gullets with Kitchen Mark and French Claire, I instead have had to rush around getting mortgages, flats and foreign jobs sorted out.
Much of this rushing around has involved my car. "Car" might be too flattering a term for it: "moving grey tin" might be more accurate. My car has been behaving very oddly all day. It now refuses to go above 45mph, and has been making some very disturbing smells. Only after some analysis did I get to the bottom of these worrying smells - the front left wheel. When I parked the car after a concerning series of small trips, I noticed smoke pouring out of the front tire. It was very, very hot, and was making some disconcerting "clacking" noises. I think something might be wrong.
The reason I am rushing though, immediately after hitting these shores after a lovely week in the fairytale Faroes, is because my holiday has been cut short by almost a week due to work. Personnel problems, yet again, have meant I am required at very short notice, and so I'm going to Equatorial Guinea tomorrow, at 6.15am.
The Faroe Islands and Equatorial Guinea, I am guessing, are a little different; but that is only a guess as information on Equatorial Guinea is pretty limited, and what I can find doesn't paint a very attractive picture. No infrastructure, widespread poverty despite vast ruling class wealth, malaria problems, horrendous humidity, an average life expectancy of less than 50. Fortunately, however, I don't think anyone will be trying to kidnap me.
Worse still, I've got to travel there on Air France. Via CDG. What a damn piece of crap. The French - sort this out. Air France - stop cooling your red wine!