Strip Pan Wrinkle by David Fletcher

Author:David Fletcher [FLETCHER, DAVID]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd

‘Torque to me, baby.’

Anthropoides paradisea (Blue crane). Pulcher (beautiful).

Nxameseri Lodge – eventually

Surprisingly dainty

Spellbinding

The Botswanan Giant Aardvark

A camp-bed at Jack’s

A stripey landscape

Latent mischief

Roller chorister

A reasonably handsome animal

‘I’ve got sixteen wives. It’s exhausting.’

A Delta airstrip departure lounge

A sable: beauty within the beast

‘Are you sure you know the way?’

A pelicannery

16.

Breakfast was Marmite and maths, Marmite as an antidote to the foodie over-indulgence of the previous two days and maths in the vain attempt to estimate the ant population of Botswana. And this latter element of the meal had arisen from Brian and Sandra’s encounter with this insect on their way to the dining tent. There had been a lot of them, as in countless numbers of them everywhere – to the point that the walk to breakfast had been reduced to a process of skipping across a virtual carpet of the little blighters, and a carpet that seemed to go on forever. It must have been the rain of the previous evening, thought Brian. The ants either favoured a stroll in the anti-antediluvian ground conditions, or the downpour had created an underground flood that had forced them out of their chambers. But for whatever reason, they were now obvious in prodigious numbers, and if there were so many here, within the bounds of Jack’s Camp, how many must there be in the whole of the country, which appeared, superficially at least, to be just as unpromising for large-scale life-forms, and therefore probably ideal for small-scale life-forms like ants? Brian applied himself to the problem as best he could. But the absence of a few essentials, like information (on the relative size of Jack’s to the whole of the country and a proper estimate of the number of ants outside the tent), a computing ability (which could, in any way, have dealt with an excess of zeros) and something to write with, saw his efforts quickly nosedive into failure. After all, no way could the answer ‘effing gazillions’ be considered a successful outcome. Furthermore, there were more pressing queries to attend to – concerning the size of tips to be left, what to wear for the forthcoming journey, and how to find Planet Baobab again and not perish in the process by getting hopelessly lost.

Well, all these queries were soon resolved, although the first escort identified to lead Brian and his wife out of the pan could well have landed them in the fire. Because she was a Jack’s Camp cook returning home for some holiday, who was very nice but did not, it transpired, know her way to the Planet. She was therefore supplemented by the camp mechanic who did know the way. So, after a series of surprisingly earnest goodbyes, followed by an hour or so of demanding driving, Brian and Sandra were back at Planet Baobab, had deposited there both their escorts, and were now ready for a further jaunt west – and whatever might await them.

What awaited them, directly after another fuel stop, was the metalled road towards Maun where it was sandwiched between two national parks.

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