As the owner of a fair number of surprisingly effective Ju-Ju bags, bought at the regular big market at the small village at the turn off towards New Marte, from the road from Maiduguri (Nigeria) to N'Djamena (Chad), and also due to my being capable of pronouncing Gris-Gris, it behooves me to listen to the Night Tripper and record my pleasure in getting back in touch with a pal in UK. A lovely fellow, athough with the usual Yorkshire propensity for such faux pas as buying a Westfield instead of a Seven or an Atom.
However I like to think of him back in the UK striding across the moors, black powder long gun in hand and searching out wild Yorkshire P'dings for the pot. These are, of course, such a rare delicacy that they normally form a course of their own in banquets, often made palatable with a special onion sauce. While in Nigeria I was told that 
onions are the only thing you can eat with impunity anywhere in the world, raw or cooked. As one pal there ended up infested with seven different types of worm, I have always since had a hankering towards onions. And therefore Alice and I, at the instigation of this reconnecting pal, once ate a meal including the Y. P'ding with him. Regrettably it was not actually in Yorkshire so that might explain the time it took to recover.
onions are the only thing you can eat with impunity anywhere in the world, raw or cooked. As one pal there ended up infested with seven different types of worm, I have always since had a hankering towards onions. And therefore Alice and I, at the instigation of this reconnecting pal, once ate a meal including the Y. P'ding with him. Regrettably it was not actually in Yorkshire so that might explain the time it took to recover.
However I am very pleased to resume contact, not least because he is moulting as fast as me, as this eight year old photo from Kajang, in Malaysia, shows. However since he is clutching a beer in the pool, I do rather wonder why he is not round like me?
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