Well, the bags are packed, all 29kilos, passport and tickets, credit card and cash, and I'm ready to set off for Manchester Airport tomorrow!

I feel like I'm going home. Going to a place I love, am loved and welcomed, where the sun shines all the time and where I expect the unexpected to happen in the most ludicrous ways. "Ah! The Gambia", they all say when something goes wrong, or something breaks down. And literally, anything can happen here! Monkeys stealing your dinner is just commonplace, donkeys, wheelbarrows, absolute poverty, yet smiles as broad as the Atlantic Ocean.

Sitting around the fire with candles because the generator has broken, telling tales, trying to explain escalators and machines that spew out money if you have a card and the right number, hearing of the troubles of the next compound which is always poorer than your own. Gambia.

Long sultry nights where dreams are of finding a white woman to fall in love with, with marriage ensuing and the golden streets of London beckoning. Dumbarton would do, right enough! Babba's taxi, in which the only thing that works properly is his ash tray, and the window winder is passed between the occupants, since there is only one left.

By 3pm Friday I'll be there. I'll be home. And the world will feel a safer place... until I get behind the wheel of my jeep at least!