Pictures

--- Source Nightfall….It is very nearly half past seven when we begin our final descent into Lagos. From the window, all that is visible is a thick, dense darkness, interrupted by clusters of lights here and there. I’m surprised it’s not totally dark out there, my seat mate ventures. I shrug. Maybe generators I say. He seems unconvinced. Over the course of the last 6 hours, and some, he and I have conversed intermittently – first about the busyness that engulfs travel hubs like Schiphol and Heathrow, and La Guardia where the first leg of his flight originated. Then a moan about the delays in the cabin crew delivering head phones to use – from which it transpires that on his La Guardia – Schiphol leg he had to ask for them before he got them. The antics of our dear Bini granny also provide fodder for our intermittent, light hearted chatting. Descending into Lagos changes the bent of our conversation into something decidedly more Nigeria focused – mainly how in a few short minutes our motley of people who queued almost impeccably at Schiphol would disintegrate into a seething, boiling mass of one-uppers and corner cutters. ...

I Wheeling my suitcase – out of breath and breaking a small sweat – I arrive at the check- in counter a mere ten minutes before boarding is scheduled to commence. I am Lagos bound, via Amsterdam, thanks to a few extra holidays earned from being stuck in the middle of nowhere by the vagaries of the weather in October. Even though I have had over a month to plan, and pack, I have ended up facing the very real conundrum of having to decide between a pair of blue Levi’s jeans and blue Lee Cooper’s- difficult choice mind, and pondering if a phone and tablet might meet my computing needs this trip; enabling me to dispense with a laptop for the next ten days.. ...

It is a cold, crisp morning; the sort that draws an involuntary wince when the twin comforts of a snuggie, and the remnants of warm tea are withdrawn somewhat suddenly. Having not visited the gym in two weeks and a few days - blame my trip to the middle of nowhere, not my laziness - the plan is to drag myself there at some stage over the course of the day. The dry, sunny vista that greets my eyes looking out onto Pittodrie beguiles me into kitting myself out in my gym get-up; which is how at the ungodly hour of 9am on a Saturday I am high tailing the 700 yards or so from my house to the gym. The forty-five minute amble on the treadmill passes by uneventfully enough - today there are neither svelte, graceful does nor brawny, over-fit ones to terrorise me, or show me up for the lazy bum I am.. ...

Feeling chilly in the westerly breeze is how BBC weather describes the start to the day, and walking briskly from my house to the bus station, I ponder just how right that prediction is in spite of how well I think I am wrapped up - thermal undershirt, long sleeves, a fleece and a wind breaker notwithstanding. I have always thought it interesting just how well predictions of lousy well work as opposed to ones which promise warm, dry spells, or not. Confirmation bias maybe? ...

The one slight positive from the events of the last few weeks has got to be the opportunity to start over. For one it is a big reset of sorts, one from which I hope I can learn. Rock bottom/ square zero’s great in that regards - having hit there, the only way is up, if there is any movement that is. Looking back over the year so far, and the bevy of girl shaped failures that litter it, an overt eagerness to gain clarity and definition appears to be one of the key recurring hurdles at which I have fallen. At first it was due to the need to gain some sort of closure on the wife plan as the 34th birthday loomed, and then the pressure to demonstrate progress to the hordes of interested, knowledgeable others. ...

I am carefully arranging the items in my shopping basket to make room for the 1800g tin of milk I have just taken off the shelf when someone to my left blurts out - Brossss.. Your Nidoooo milk no get part 2 o! So engaged in that most banal of tasks have I been that I have not noticed him until he has spoken, pretty much directly into my left ear, I might add. When I look up, his face has a vague familiarity to it. I give it a few seconds before I give up trying to place the face, and assume he is someone I have run into at church, or one of the multiplied baby birthdays I have been forced to attend this year. I smile and explain my thinking behind grabbing the big tin - I come to this African shop on the corner of George and Fraser’s only so often, and for what it’s worth I try to make it worth my while. ...

I first moot the idea of meeting up with Tee casually one Saturday evening, between getting a snapshot of her calendar for the next few months - it is chock full with work and travel - and getting tips for scaling back on my coffee drinking, after which it turns out that there are no airports in her corner of the world. That puts the downer on any inclinations to jump on a flight on my part - I famously never travel anywhere I’ll have to sit still for more than 8 hours - until she mentions she might be in London sometime over the next few weeks. It turns out I only get four days notice, and I barely have time to sort out fights and holidays, hop on a flight and appear in London. ...

From the 52 Small Changes Book: Water is the driving force of nature - Leonardo Da Vinci Or as Fela once famously sang, water no get enemy. Up until a month ago, Cokes were my default drink, in all its forms - diet, regular, zero and a few non conventional forms too [mixed with all sorts of other liquids], which is why this first small chnage will need some serious getting used to. ...

Seems like you’re having a ball for one, the ginger haired man who had seemingly popped out of nowhere said to me as I attempted to retrieve my cup of tea, and turn around at the same time. Epic fail. I managed to do neither, very nearly tipping my life giving cup of tea over in the process. I had been waiting on our epileptic coffee maker to finish pissing a shot of hot water into my cup, passing the time by whistling to myself and looking out with longing for the clear, sunny day that was out there, just beyond my reach for the next few hours. ...

London was warm, a tad too warm if the truth must be told. And dry - well, except for that wretched Saturday evening, which in keeping with my rotten luck with these things, was the one day I decided to be out and about into the wee hours of the morning. Other than that, the contrast with the ‘Deen couldn’t have been starker – wet, barely nudging 19 degree weather and warm, dry, 26 degree weather and sunshine, separated by the small matter of sixty five minutes of flying. ...