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By and large it's been a mixed week. For one thing the Patriarch returned from his little sojourn to Uganda and it was with some relish that I returned to him his house and his household and duties. On the other hand there was some work due on Thursday that I had not started on Monday! This called for some drastic measures, chiefly revolving around coffee and lack of sleep!

Naturally being a Ninja I managed to complete it but by golly when you go to sleep at 12:30 to wake up at 1:20 sooner of later you are going to pay dearly for depriving your person of sleep! Things came to a head when I slipped in my ATM card into the machine and some seconds later retrieved it from the side of the road where the indignant machine had flung it. Tsk tsk! Looks like there is going to be a stormy meeting between myself and my 'personal banker' as they so quaintly call themselves.

There is nothing quite like the raw passion of High School rugby. This is undoubtedly the difference between High School and club rugby. A lad can finish the game with a broken ankle, dislocated hip and running nose when it is the Prescott Cup finals held together by sheer passion. The final between Lenana and Nairobi school this weekend was thrilling stuff. Indeed it's been a while since I was receiving painful grass burns and entertaining serious wedgies in the strenuous position as the first jumper (the poor fool who gets hoisted into the air by the use of his shorts during line outs).

Which brings to mind a time when during a game I witnessed a poor soul involved in a very plastic collision with three lads, each of whom was about twice his weight and size. By the time boots were removed from mouths and legs were uncurled from around necks, my boy Okosh was left lying on the pitch, staring blankly into the air. It took him about 30 seconds to get to his very shaky feet after which he asked "Who am I?"

I kid you not! When you are a fourth former and the exams are around the corner, the last thing you need is amnesia. Friend Okosh was escorted off the pitch still struggling to understand what he was doing in those small shorts. Luckily for him he regained his memory after about 15 minutes.

Then there was the time during a home match a member of the opposing team (I forget which) got the ball form fumbling fingers and jetted off for the try-line. We were all very distant from him and watched helplessly. But our fullback was not so quick to despair and gave chase. It was the stuff Tom & Jerry was made of. Inch by inch our fullback caught up with him and finally with a spectacular mighty effort tackled the offending lad. We are still not sure whether it was by accident or by design that Steve tackled the enemy at full speed straight into a three tier wooden bench. With much splintering and crashing the unwilling enemy rather than burst through the defense line burst through several beams of some very sturdy Kenyan timber. It was some five minutes before the bench and players were separated and the game resumed, minus one player.

the heavy hammer missing the nail altogether and catching Luigi smartly on the thumb. It is with some interest that I watched the subsequent events.

First the smile on his face disappeared completely and the already flushed face became very red. The hammer was forgotten and dropped to the soil and the injured hand raised to the heavens. I watched keenly. He opened his mouth to say something, actually formed his lips to say it then remembered he was a man of God and so closed his mouth. He opened it again to express himself and rememberedhis boss thought dimly of some language. He closed it again. After a millisecond his mouth opened again and he remembered that there were children of God around.

The struggle to express himself was making his face grow redder and redder and the ghastly grin on his face grow more and more ghastly. Finally he let loose an explosive "Mama!" that I feel sure did not adequately release the tension.

He later confided to me that English was indeed a rich language but for people in his line of work expressing themselves was an uphill struggle.

And for those gentlemen who are fellow old boys of Strathmore: you will recall that for some years sentiments have been raised about constructing a pool and indeed numerous endeavours to raise funds have been initiated. It was a pleasant surprise to be invited to the official opening of that very elusive pool and seeing as the last time I set foot in that establishment was some time in the last millennium I didn't mind sacrificing a Sunday to go and see the pool. Ran into the old crew of Gorti, Doc, Annioscia, Vinny and Onyango and most importantly got to see the pool. In fact I suggest we all pick a date and unceremoniously descend on OUR pool!

You must have been born on a highway. Most accidents happen there!

July 12: Safari Rally start
July 14: Safari Rally end!
July 15: Movie!
July 16: Enter Ken from his sojourn in South Africa! Welcome back dude!
July 17: Luncheon
July 19: Kengele's

I have a constitutional right to give My own shout-outs to whoever I please!

Jozie: That's it, pretend to be working!
Calvin: Good luck dude!
Sue: Get well soon!
Grace: Lovely to hear from you again!
Pinky: I could always draw a map! It's not really that hard to find!
Njeri: Hang in there! You can make it!
George: There IS something lower than a moron!
Aida: Have y'self a lovely holiday!
Cheri G: Where on earth are y Laura: Am getting old and grey chilling for you and your correspondence.
Boy Gutu: About as useful as powdered water! Ushindwe wewe!