This is the second time I have been in an internet cafe in Accra and the second time I have used one to bitch about Alitalia.

I have an exciting, shiny STA Travel ticket which says on it that I can change it at any Alitalia office for the fee of 40Euros. Brilliant, I thought, I can change it at the office in Lome, where I live - that will be convenient. So, one lunchtime, I sauntered into the Alitalia office in Lome where the sulky man behind the desk informed me it would cost me $100. Now, unless the global economy has *seriously* changed since I left in October, $100 does not equal 40 Euros. On further questioning the sulky man refused to show me any official tarriffs, and told me I could only pay cash. Wanting to investigate this further before parting with my little cash, I emailed STA saying 'does this sound a bit dodgy to you?' and got an email from a friendly sounding bloke called Greg (or Mike, or something monosyllabic) saying 'I don't know, what's your booking reference?' Several emails later, we established that the Student Travel Services office in Accra was the best place to sort it out, because, apparently, I have a blue ticket. Well, there you go. So, being in Accra, this seemed like a good time to change the date so I can, like, get back to Europe before me TEFL course starts. The staff there, I would like to say, were brilliant and helpful and I have no complaints. But did Alitalia *really* need to drag me all the way to their office to see the 'rules' governing my ticket and try to get 27GBP out of me, only to send me back to the studenty place when I asked if I could change it there (for 15GBP) saying it was no problem?

I think not.

Maybe they were just making my life difficult because I have dirty trousers.

Anyway I am now definitely coming home. Hurrah.

Sorry for being generally incommunicado for the last few weeks. The boy has been so I've been busy showing him the sights of Lome and eating the Dairy Milk he brought me and suchlike. The boy has now departed. And I have discovered that waving a broken shoe is a brilliant way to get a taxi. Also, that sterilising tweezers, digging bits of gravel out of your foot (embedded there by dramatic fall caused by aforementioned breaking of shoe) and waving antiseptic wipes around all over the place is a good way to take your mind off feeling sorry for yourself. It hurts to walk and I have no smart shoes at all now.

Anyway I have to catch a bus, so I'll apologise for ranting and also for missing three birthdays (or two if Sarah's is today instead of yesterday and she happens to read this in time). Also, happy Christmas and New Year and suchlike. It's all very surreal here.