Well, I'm back in the bush Flex sitting at my desk in my cottage with Candy sleeping beside my chair; the day is relatively cool for which I'm extremely grateful as the last few days have been hotter than hell, and as we know, I fare not well in the fires of hell...

England, London, was close to hell Flex: a dismal, grey, overcast sky, pavements littered with debris, polluted air inhaled with every breath and an under current of barely contained violence. The (vast ) populace pushed and shoved their angry, isolated way on pavements wet with rain, police cars, sirens wailing, drove with the confidence of those who are in receipt of received power. Buses slammed on brakes, horns hooted, drivers threatened to kill, maim and wound each other, eye contact was avoided by pedestrians, a cacophony of ugly sounds filled the air and a fog of fury hovered over all. That aside it was a laugh a minute.

But... I held on to my sanity in this sea of madness, and if I had ever doubted the wisdom of leaving all that to live in a garden shed in Africa (which I never have) then confirmation came to me big time that I am exactly where I should be, doing what I should be doing. Because, I belong here: Africa has given me what I have sought for so long; a place where I am needed, an experience of home, security and peace. It's been quite a journey to get here Flex, and let's face it, if life is composed of three ages (sorry Will); youth, middle, and old age, or to put it in more theatrical terms, Acts I, 2 and 3, I am certainly in the third act and uncertain as to when the final curtain will descend; so I CERTAINLY intend to make all the hay possible while the sun still shines in Africa!

I arrived in London as I had left it in March, running on empty, having used all the energy in my reserve tank during my time in London and never having really caught up after arriving back in Africa. Tick bite and your death left me seriously depleted and unable to find the strength to eat. But this time, I left London firing on all cylinders. I stayed with one of my oldest friends - Mo - who fed me delicious, highly nutritious meals and talked some sound common sense to me about the relationship between food and the ability to stay alive with the requisite resources to stave off illness! So I returned to Africa with a determination to remain in this condition. In fact I know I returned to Africa with a great deal more strength (in every way) than when I left it.

Several weeks ago, I was checking my bed for scorpions, and lo! and behold, what did I find under my pillow, but a scorpion. Now in the not too distant past, I would have screamed very loudly, had total hysterics, and been discovered unconscious on the floor, foaming at the mouth (and that's without being bitten) by the time the cavalry arrived. Ambulances would have been summoned as the will to live ebbed from my traumatised body, priests would arrive to administer suitable Sacraments and despite expert medical intervention, I would be claimed by the Grim Reaper and buried before dawn. Not so this time! I put a glass over it, a card underneath, carried it outside and released it into the bush, with a request that it remain there. So far, so good. I see that as a definite improvement Flex... Gosh! Am I evolving into a bush baby? (Not a chance in hell sunshine, more mad woman of Borneo).

I love my cottage SO MUCH and being able to sit at my desk and write to you Flexi is awesome! The only sounds are from birds, insects, the wind blowing gently on my wind chimes and the chattering of monkeys. A fly is buzzing lazily around my shoulder, Candy snores gently, the station clock above the door ticks its re-assuring tock. ( I'm the sort of girl for whom a station clock is essential in the bush). So all in all, life ain't too shabby right now! I'm so, so happy to be home. I'm bordering on penniless, but never felt richer in my life! I have an abundance of all that matters. Yesterday afternoon, I went and sat with a monkey called 'Skunkey' (don't ask); he's an adult male aged about 14 and would normally be unapproachable, but due to his previous (human) owners realizing one day that he wasn't a cute little monkey, but in fact a dangerous wild animal who terrified the shit out of them and begged the question 'what are we going to do? What about the children? The neighbours children, and OH! MY GOD, what about the furniture, the carpets, our STUFF! WHAT ABOUT OUR STUFF?' They solved the problem by castrating him. As you do. And lo! and behold - this majestic, proud, wild, passionate creature, was reduced to the level of a placid child. But they still couldn't cope with him, so they brought him to live with us.

He lives by himself in a beautiful open enclosure called 'Goliath' (Ok, I'll help you out! All our enclosures are named after monkeys; we had a monkey called Goliath and named the enclosure after him,) a place so full of peace it is a joy to be there. Skunkey lives in one of the side enclosures housed just outside the perimeter of the open enclosure. I went in, sat down and he jumped onto my lap, and settled his large and heavy self for a grooming session. This means I massage him where-ever he indicates he would like it. In no particular order, top of head, chin, tummy, and bottom, with tail erect, are presented for some scrupulous attention. When he tires of this, our positions are reversed and I become the groomed. Fortunately our understanding is such that we have a tacit agreement that he confines his grooming to my head area only. Then we snog and I stroke him until he indicates he would like some alone time. He kisses me, tips himself off my lap and gazes through the enclosure wire at the world outside. I tiptoe out, huge smile on face, knowing I could envision my life no other way.

I think of you every day Flex, my beautiful, precious monkey, and send you love, love, love. xxxxxxx