Lying on my straw bed somewhere in the middle of Africa, I realise that it is my birthday and I shall soon be middle aged. A very old man would be a more apt description and I feel as if I have been here for a century. There is always whisky to deaden the pain and it has been my only medicine for the last few months; thank goodness that I have an ample supply. It grieves me to think about the past and to realise that very soon I will die in this primitive hut, the tribesmen will leave taking my meagre possessions with them. With the first rains the jungle will close over me like an umbrella, never to open again. Perhaps they will leave my body to the hyenas as is the custom in these backwoods but, why should I worry about graves and hyenas. At one time my life was full and I have happy memories.