Expecting to hike through hundreds of miles of trackless, primeval jungle, stumbling on a major arterial motor road is irritating as it means we are lost. We flag down a passing car, to ask directions, and we are delighted to find that the driver is our old friend Cheryl, from Buchanhavan, one of our top agents. Cheryl tells us that she is on the way to
for more tests on aunt Humperdink’s experimental car engine, and asks us if we would like to come with her. We thank her for the offer but explain that, although we are periclitationally behind schedule and would appreciate a lift; because experimental engines tend to explode, we have found that, generally, it is safer to walk. Cheryl says that this engine runs on termite spit, extracted from termite mounds, and, although it stinks, it is perfectly safe. Reassured, we accept Cheryl’s offer. Lubumbashi
To celebrate, Juan opens a barrel of his Special Reserve and, offering toast after toast to Cheryl and termites; we dive into the car, bellowing with excitement and brawling over who gets the front seat. Cheryl slams the engine into gear then, to the accompaniment of the squealing brakes, singing ‘Highland Laddie’ and ‘The White Cockade’ at the top of our voices, we scream around in circles, as fast as we possibly can.
Professor Humperdink’s Diary