very late, forgot to set my alarm, and overslept. By dint of putting shaving before breakfast, shit or shower, I managed to be on parade the following morning, with a ginormous hangover, but otherwise present and functioning.

So this was Wednesday, final morning, wrap-up time, and hard on the intellect. But I survived, lunched and went off to meet les boys at another hotel. My plot was to take them to visit the world’s second best preserved Roman amphitheatre, at El Djem, 30 k or so down the road to Sfax. I’d been before, on my earlier visit to Toonizzya, and had been transfixed by the way, as you drive along the approach road from any direction, the structure (which is considerably higher that anything else in this one-camel town) seemed to surge out of the desert. This was confirmed by the second visit.

I had also recalled some inviting dungeons down in the depths and thought that, maybe, perhaps etc…. M and S (NOT the department store people!) were more interested in a beer or twain, but after the third were persuaded to visit the monument, and - to do them justice - were not a little impressed with their cultural heritage. Nookies, however, there were none. Too many visitors in the dungeons.

Return to Port E.K. was next, for me to finish off logistics like hotel bills. I dropped them at the other place first, then went to do my logistics and pick them up to drive them home. We first had to stop in a seaside bar, out in the sticks, about halfway home, proprietored (or at least managed) by no less than our red-haired friend.

On arrival, at the bottom of a field (!) one was greeted by an escapee from the Raj (perhaps, in fact, a Berber), turban akimbo, distributing flowers to the gentry (for this was Tunisia, and there were no women, except possibly in the kitchen). He also looked after the cars (for a fee).

I began to harbour the suspicion that the bar might be "avec chambres for you know what" but decided not to pursue the idea. One reason for this was that I was fighting a deadline in Hammamet, where I was to spend a few days with Lamari, a Tunisian workmate of a Swiss overseas aid worker, who had once used one of his regular leave air tickets to send L to Geneva.

Though he was always said to be officially off limits, I’d contacted him well before leaving and fixed to meet him. In fact this had happened for one just night on my way in to the sales meeting. But it was a terrible disappointment, because he had become very plain and very fat, and had the hots for me to screw him. I couldn’t even get an erection.

But the further date in Hammamet was fixed in advance; he’d arranged leave from his job with Tunisian Gas and I couldn’t let him down, except over the sex. So here I was with M & S, well behind schedule, and worrying about L who would be far too timid to announce that he was staying at the hotel as my guest.

However, it will not surprise you to hear that I took M & S out onto the cliff tops at Hergla first, and demanded my statutory BJs before we parted. There was an amusing side to it, because it was cold, windy and raining, but while I blew one, the other stepped out of the car. Night-time sex