Le chef, phew, hey ladies, achievement and last homely house.

1. Francis our cook getting up to supervise his last ever breakfast despite drinking 14 bottles of beer the night before and falling on his back while doing a headstand. We left him at the campsite to catch a bus back to Windhoek, then to Livingstone where he will either get some more work or continue back to Nairobi. We will miss him and considered wearing black armbands and having a minute's silence at lunchtime. But in the end we were too busy eating, so contented ourselves with a few mournful cries of 'Francis? Francis? Where's the salt?'

2. Getting away from the campsite without being hurt by the psychotic stroke man.

3. A man in the town of Springbok tried to sell me and Claire M some drugs -- the first time on the trip. Go Cla(i)res.

4. The taste of a cup of tea when you are hungover. Last night I announced that I was going for a hangover, and I suceeded very satisfactorily. As a result, I have been murmuring 'Oh my head' and then smiling to myself smugly. My other mission -- to drink lots of gin and cry -- failed wretchedly. Even the loss of Francis squeezed no tears out of hard-hearted Clare.

5. Today's drive was both hot and windy -- it was like putting your face into the oven. So arriving in Citrusdal was lovely. Our hostel -- Gecko Backpackers -- is cool and shady and green and watered by drip feed hoses so there is a smell of water everywhere. There is Cartoon Network and small children and homebrew. And and and there are lawns to put our tents on, and I can't tell you how comfortable grass is to sleep on. Soft sand is good too; but gritty sand is definitely out of favour as it is hard, doesn't hold tent pegs and gets everywhere.

6. Wayne offers: 'A couch within walking distance of the fridge and pile of magazines.' By the time we left he had read: GQ, FHM, Men's Health, New Woman, Heat and Cosmopolitan. And some random motorcycle ones.

Citrusdal, South Africa