I hurt. My feet hurt. I have a blister the size of Wales (I feel sorry for Wales, it is perfectly sized to convey exactly how severe a disaster is; “an area the size of Wales is on fire” or “the flood covered an area the size of Wales”. Wales is disaster sized.)
Surprisingly my head doesn’t hurt because we kicked the arse out of it. Beer and whiskey flowed until the wee small hours.
Day seven was an early start. Breakfast at 7, a rendition of “Jambo, Jambo” from the guides and porters, and “Show Me The Way To Go Home” from us.
I had a horrible day. My feet were agony. I was grumpy and everyone knew it. I won’t dwell on the 14 mile walk. We saw monkeys and part of it was through a rainforest. Karen and I were first out of camp in the morning and last to cross the finish line. Chrissy was there with a bottle of coke. Sensational.
The journey home was a blur. I got to the room, unleashed my feet and understood why they were agony.
I went straight down to the pool, created a slick on the surface and had my first beer. Fantastic.
The party was excellent. We all got someone else’s certificate and presented it to them with a few words. We sang, we played games, we received poetry. It was great. The guides were with us. It was brilliant.
I had a lovely chat with Vicky and the girls. I can’t wait to get home. But Tanzania will be in my heart for ever. The best week of my life.