Don't mention the warmth

Now I realise that most of my blogs to now have been a very British running account of the weather in West Africa - "How's the weather dear?", "Scorchio" etc - and I'm loath to keep going on about it.

And really there's much more significant stuff to tell you about, like the week I've had lazing on the beach (or rather off the beach, in the shade, somewhere where there's a breeze...), like the exciting brush with diarrhoea which Kate and I have shared (how sweet!), like the great Ghanaian food, like the interesting people we've met ... this morning we went to Cape Coast castle, a grim whitewashed European fort/slave trading dungeon containing an amazing museum and some horrific reminders of its past ...

But none of that really floats up to the top of my thoughts at the moment. No, the sultanas in my mental muesli today are all concerned with the fact that the heat here would draw sweat from a stone. At times I wonder if I'm like an ice lolly left out in the sun, and if much more sweat will see me melt away completely and gradually evaporate. In Cape Coast castle, the principal thought going through my head was about how the whitewashed walls and courtyard were turning the place into one huge crucible, in which I was the subject of experiment...

Will write more later, when colder. Now must have cold shower. Cold. Mmm.