Zambia World Wide

Stopping for bladder relief, my pantherian companion made a break for it, uttering sounds which, if I was fluent in Cat, probably would have interpreted as �Sod this crazy caper; I�ll take my chances in the Bush�. Despite his penchant for caressing my left shoulder in a sort of feline foreplay, we had never really bonded in the relationship, never mind consummated it, so the divorce was a matter of no moment for either of us. I like to think that it was an amicable split, however, with no hard feelings on either side, or backward glances, for that matter.

The hilly descent thereafter, was a breeze, if �breezy� may be deployed as the adjective used to describe the destructive winds which accompany a Caribbean hurricane or an Indonesian typhoon. It was thrilling, though, and both I and the Prefect welcomed the opportunity to disengage the gearbox and free-wheel down the slopes, emulating the future, when (barely) related Formula Fords would scream round racetrack corners at breath-taking speeds and with g-force dynamics.

Of course, these highly tuned, skillfully maintained examples of the thoroughbred automobile had not been carelessly pummelled by the blundering hands of an unqualified bunch of self-taught mechanical dunces, prior to the high velocity cornering, as had my sad wee�Dagenham chariot. Nevertheless and, in fairness, to the credit of the aforementioned greasy maladroits, the jalopy and I made it around each bend, despite the accompaniment of a shrill screeching, which had hitherto been the province of my vanished shoulder ripper.

My�heroic Uncle�Harry, who played a giant role in modelling me into the barely�passable human that I am today, failed utterly, however, in his attempts to�pass on either his intuitive or developed engineering skills to his favourite nephew, although it wasn�t for the want of trying. It was just that he found that a sharp slap to the side of my head and my dispatch indoors to sample my Auntie�s equally brilliant cooking,�left him alone to repair�my various broken toys/implements/bikes/cars in his workshop, thus saving him time, frustration and the possibility of a visit from the child protection authorities.�As a result of his failure to persevere with my mechanical training, therefore,�I had no idea that the screaming sound emanated from excessively tightened wheel bearings, crying out for mercy under tortured duress.

As I have confessed several times, in this series of sleep-inducing recollections, I have long embraced atheism, on the basis that, even if an all-powerful deity does exist and He tolerates the stupidity, cruelty and fecklessness of Mankind, just to confirm His suspicion that we�re really just a mixed bunch of self-aggrandising dickheads consumed with the greedy pursuit of acquiring stuff or�genocidal monsters or�cupidic politicians or all three categories, then He ain�t the sort of guy with whom I�d like to spend an evening mixing soft Scottish malt and hard polemics.

If I�m wrong in that approach, as I shall discover soon enough if, shockingly,�I am ever called to judgment, then, for reasons beyond comprehension, I was saved on that starry night in the high elevations of the windy escarpment. For, had a wheel bearing snapped as I careered around corners at ridiculous speeds for which the Ford was never designed, then my last resting place would have been at the base of a sheer drop and the�final words I would have heard would have been �Told you so, you purrverted Scots berk� (in Cat) and �How could you do this to me?� (in Jewish Mother).

But the bearings did not�explode, the wheels did not�detach and the Flight of the Prefect into the Zambian unknown never occurred, thus enabling me to be able recall the miracle 49 years later and, with a few geriatric tremors admittedly, simultaneously to bore my dwindling band of long-suffering readers. A Win/Lose for both sides, in other words.