Hot Pants

Got into bed last night, chilled and wet to the bone, after spending good part of the wee hours wandering round the bush with a flashlight in search of a darted hyena. (Normally, they collapse pretty much near the spot where they darted but this one legged it, disappearing into the night!) Going after a wild animal, on foot at night, is not a recommended practice but Elle was worried that the hyena might be attacked by roaming pride of lions while sedated. I don't recall any mention that they might be similarly interested in an idiot with a torch.

Don’t think I’ve ever felt quite as damp as I did yesterday. ‘Damp, damp’ as the South African’s might say, repeating the words twice to give emphasis. (Like ‘Now, now’ as ‘I’ll be with now, now’, an expression which lends more urgency to ‘I’ll be with you just now’.) It rained for most part, leaving everything wet and soaked through. Even the bedclothes were damp.

I’ve taken to wearing beige 'short' shorts (as opposed to the long, knee length, baggy tourist variety) on Elle’s recommendation. This was a big step for me, as I’ve always been self-conscious about my thin legs. I was also concerned about attracting unwanted attentions from a whole host of brightly plumaged ‘wader’ birds who live on the flood plain.

Wearing 'short' shorts in the African bush is very de rigueur, I’m told. Worn by ‘old Africa hands’, they signify experience and knowledge, as well as being functionally cooler. According to Elle, George Adamson of ‘Born Free’ fame, famously wore 'short' shorts. (I have only seen the film, so I’m getting an rather unflattering image of actor Bill Travers). George also smoked a pipe and drank G&T’s. So two out of three ain’t bad. Maybe they will make a movie about me in years to come. They could call it 'Care Free'.