I'm getting more forgetful as I get older. And I forgot to mention in yesterday's blog that I was writing it after having been awake, apart from a cat nap on the plane and an hour grabbed in the early evening, for 36 hours. I was more comatose than tired. I hope it made at least some sense. I eventually turned the light out at about 12.30am knowing that I had to be up at 6.30am for there to be enough time for a quick bite of breakfast.
You know the story. A man is walking along a beech when he sees a young boy surrounded by hundreds of stranded starfish that have been washed up by the tide. He picks one up and throws it into the waves. "Why are you doing that?" asks the man, "It won't make any difference." The boy stoops and picks up another and, tossing it into the sea, replies "It will to that one."
From a 3.30am start on Wednesday morning from a sofa in Richmond to a 10pm arrival (11pm UK time) in the heart of the Northern Province of Sierra Leone where there is much horn beeping, shouting, loud music, night time crickets, joyful noises, power cuts, goats and chickens and thunder and lighting in an air thick and heavy with moisture and heat.