My flat is more secure than Alcatraz. Firstly, it has no discernable address so to find it is somewhat difficult. Then there are the iron gates. The outer one into the property has padlocks inside and out, the inner gate to the house entrance has another monster padlock and finally to enter my flat yet another giant padlock. Over the wall you say. Only if you have a Kevlar body suit on as the 8 foot high walls are topped with really serious broken glass shards cemented in. A helicopter, perhaps. Only a stupido would attempt to navigate through the multiplicity of overhead wires creating a spaghetti scenario over the land. But the brave soul succeeds in getting in. What a fool, there is nothing to steal. I have the minimum of furniture, few decent clothes and what there are await the wash and at present 2 stale slices of bread and jar of marmite represent my entire stock of food. So, having dropped off the helicopter wire, got caught in overheads, landed on the glass shards as he swung like a demented trapeze artist all he would get for his troubles was a rabid bite from one of the mangy looking dogs that abound here as he lands on the wrong side of the wall anyway. And you think you have it hard.
The honeymoon must be over. Until today I have been picked up by a rather shiny 4 wheel drive jeep to take me to the office, about 3 miles away. This morning a tatty motorcycle turns up. It has a very shabby homemade pannier fixed (or should that be hung in a very innovative fashion) on one side. I climb on and find I cannot rest my right foot on anything as the Securicor box is obstructing the foot rest. I have been promoted as I am now riding like a local with one leg nonchalantly hanging free. We set off with me trying to look relaxed and not at all worried about an accident. I’m not concerned about me, it’s my laptop I’m worried about. I can self heal but laptops need a lot a TLC and aspirins just don’t cut it for them.
We do the 3 miles at a very respectable 30 kph. Not because he’s a careful rider, more because we have to steer through more holy cows than I thought existed, shoo some of those rabid dogs out of our way, avoid school children that have most definitely not passed their cycling proficiency test, slow down so that the driver can have a gossip with another rider going in the opposite direction and lastly WATCH OUT FOR THAT POTHOLE. I arrive, shaken but not stirred at the office.