28th Feb 2005. Tamale, Ghana.

We are fever-browed with excitement as we approach the Ghanaian border. It turns out to be easily the slowest crossing since Tangier. But suddenly we're in Pineapple Paradise and speaking English, which is like coming home after nearly six months in foreign-land. The guide book says Tamale is a dusty hellhole with a 10pm military curfew. In fact the curfew was over months ago and whoever thought Tamale was dusty hadn't just been through Mali and Burkina. The friendliness level is increasing. I stop for a cig and water break - maybe seven minutes - and four people stop - cars and bikes - to see if I'm OK. 7500 miles from Islington...

1st March 2005. Kintampo.

In a small town halfway between Tamale and Kumasi I stop at a turning with a hotel signposted, and sit on a hillock to wait for Doug. After 10 minutes a guy comes out of his workshop to bring me a wooden chair.

Ghana has scenery! Rolling hills and lush greenery seem to start here. And the termite mounds are like cathedrals...

Unfortunately I forgot to get a photo of the two relief-carvings on the walls of yesterday's hotel, one of a seven-foot bleeding-heart Jesus, the other of a leopard with huge, eye-wateringly tumescent love organs, about to sodomise a horrified crocodile.
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It's bloody hot.
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2nd March 05. A Monkey Sanctuary.

It emerges in conversation today that Doug committed not one but two crimes against lavatorial decency in Burkina. It pains me to go into detail, but picture the two most revolting scenes from the movie of "Trainspotting". He recreated them both.

Ghana continues to be really startlingly friendly.

In other news, my trousers are starting to fall to pieces and they're the only pair I've got.
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4th March 2005. Kumasi.

Drinking beer one evening, we meet a girl called Flora. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to stop myself asking her if she spreads easily.
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6th March 2005. Kumasi.

Two footer matches in two days. Today's is Kumasi Asante Kotoko vs. the Morrocan Armed Forces, a CAF Champions League game. One-nil to Kotoko!

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Everyone wants our email addresses. It's becoming ever so slightly OPPRESSIVE.