Hmm. Appear to have just managed to post the message I wrote in Accra last week. I am, to bring you up to speed, no longer in Accra, nor is the hole in my foot as much of a problem any more.

I suppose I should give some account of the boy's visit, as this is meant to be a record of my life, not a forum for extensive Alitalia-bitching. We spent the first ten days sitting around in front of the fan playing cards, and the last week on a mad dash to see half of West Africa, which in retrospect seems slightly imbalanced, but it was fun. He also brought me epic quantities of Dairy Milk and a supply of books (chosen, I am obliged to add, by Livvy, not by him) both of which I am trying to stop myself devouring before New Year. We did a bit of sightseeing, including some really interesting castles and forts in Ghana and spend rather more time drinking the extremely cheap beer. (Yes, Si, there will be a veritable collection of labels for you when I get back.)

Then he went home and it was Christmas, except it was sunny, and I had a traveller's cheque stolen, which mings somewhat. Christmas was very surreal, though my mother tried her best to make it homely for me by sending (yes, really) and actual stocking, filled with a bizarre assortment of presents: stollen, a gingerbread snowman, hand cream, a foot scrub and, most excitingly, a tape of Christmas carols, so my room has been resounding to 'Bethlehem Down' and 'I look from afar' and the usual favourites.

No plans for New Year yet but my housemate threatened disguises.....