Virginia and I went for a long weekend down in Kent, staying in a B&B in Canterbury (cold cold, screws loose on door handle, light not working). We had two meals at the Old Gate Inn, a convenient hostelry near where we were staying in. I admired the way beautiful waitress Katya smiled there, like feeling the glow from a brazier. We went to church in Tenterden where Ginny went to the Sunday school – good service and the Minister was getting involvement from the people. Low brow which suits me. Saw Ginny’s old school in St Michaels before doing Leeds Castle bitterly cold wind so Ginny didn't head for the maze. We indulged ourselves in history - recent history such as the Second World War represented by the tunnels beneath Dover Castle. Impressive room housing the repeater equipment. The unsavoury lives of those who have been called Kings of England were instanced at Leeds Castle (interesting seeing where the great powers of today the G8 have met.) The buried time of the Romans underneath the shops in Canterbury. Like going back in time. Canterbury Cathedral itself is like a historical scrapbook, an ever-changing monument.

A visit to Uganda with a small Christian charity Afrinspire that I help set up computers for which are sent to Uganda and other African countries. In April people from that charity went to see projects supported in Uganda, and I tagged along to see Africa for the first time. This wasn't a tourist trip - we didn't see gorillas in the mist, or other vistas of nature which I hope to see one day. But we did see Uganda from street level and got to meet Ugandans face to face. It was a real privilege to go there, and be welcomed so warmly by those I met. Excuse an attempt at a stream of consciousness, or perhaps a Nile of consciousness. My memories not a coherent whole. Instead scenes and sights and sounds and smells tastes into my thoughts tumble. Where start I? Above the clouds? Above the sands? Desert plain blank featureless snatches. Yet circles large circles written onto the dry expanse. Signs omens of? On the flight map names legends are displayed - Serengeti, Nile, Lake Victoria. I am being borne towards someone else's world. Masindi. Poor desperately poor village. Red termite mounds and round thatched huts swell in the fields and scrubland. Despite disease and strife they smile true joy. Despite difficulties getting education they're not stupid, they're trying to help each other. Despite (or due to) the poverty they generously press hats and sieving bowls and chickens on us. The chickens foul up (pun jest joke) the back of one of the jeeps on the long way back to Kampala. A slanting line across the road. Circles you can stand in and be photographed. Pretty official looking certificates to buy since crossing equator. Dubious demonstration of water swirling different ways down plugholes north south of line. Sham ebony and rosewood artifacts for sale. Yellow weaver birds ignoring all this and climbing in and out of their nests. The White Nile. Wide waste of tumbling water. Too wide to photograph. Just look at wide-eyed, thinking of Speke. Our soldier escort carries his AK47. The Ugandan army on the cliffs above the bridge. To the north of us somewhere the LRA. Sudan some say. On the way to Karuma Falls we met a military roadblock. Disconcertingly diverted into an army barracks. Before we were allowed to see the falls. My homeland reaches out for me even here. Amid the traffic fume chaos of Kampala Sams restaurant caters for us - the avocado milk shake and crocodile fillet taste. The TV at the Kolping Guest House shows Norwich beating Man Utd as we dine on omelettes. Franco unknowingly plays the song Virginia chose for us to dance to. Katuna Border. The middle of nowhere, neither Uganda nor Rwanda. Beggars haunt one - to give not to give? Large tankers motor on past. Incoherent stories from want-to-be-friends strangers. A strange cartel - the money changers clad in green coats. Up on the roof of the world with mountains quilted by sorghum fields. The stars blaze so bright at midnight, Orion's belt is burnished. A volcano in Rwanda crowned in mist. They stamp out a Rikiga dance in the near dark from a charcoal stove in Guster's house. Words and languages fascinate me, and Uganda was a rich confluence of tongues. English is the common and the official language, but there are forty languages spoken in different areas. I didn't pick much up - one or two words in Swahili (a trade language which originated in contact between Africans and Arab traders.) Swahili is the official language of Kenya (we flew on Kenyan Air) and Tanzania, but not Uganda. It was difficult to find postcards in Uganda (tourism is still an adventure,) one I did find had an elephant on it with 'Jambo' (Swahili for hello.) Thanks is 'Asante', thanks a lot is 'Asante sana' (Os and As sounded rather close to me.) Going around one heard 'Mzungu' a lot (pronounced 'Musungu' means white man), the plural is 'Bazungu'. 'Mzee' (said 'musay') means respected elder. The 'Bakiga' people speak 'Rikiga' (the K here is a "ch" in sound but in Kabale it's a "k".) Two-wheeled vehicles are 'boda-bodas'. I was told 'boda' is a corruption of the English word "border" in the Luganda language, and 'boda-bodas' were used for travelling the "border". We were in the second biggest city in Uganda called Mbarara during an election. A vivid candidate was Lawrence, the 'boda-boda' man, whose campaign centred on how few jobs there are (even Ugandans with jobs often have to moonlight too.) His motivated supporters raced around on motorbikes and the backs of trucks, making their voice heard. Ugandans are less slaves to the clock than we are, perhaps partly due to not all having watches and timepieces? The mountain area (Rwancerere) we stayed in had drums which served to tell the villagers it was time for Church or suchlike, depending on the rhythm beaten out. The school bell was an old car inner wheel, quite melodic. You see old cars and buses in various states of decay around the place. The evening agenda is pre-supper then wash then tea then bed. A necessary hand washing ritual comes before eating with hot water poured over your hands and a bar of soap in the bowl. Water does not come out of taps (one duty of the children is to fetch water from boreholes or dubious springs or bottom of mountains,) and so Ugandans are frugal with using water. I didn't master body washing in a bowl. Hotels etc provide slip-ons to wear in the washrooms. Mental and physical flexibility come in handy for the toilet arrangements. Newspapers are sold stapled (so you know you're getting an unread edition.) Ugandans are a warm people, you can see boys and girls holding hands with each other without it meaning anything more. Handshakes often seemed to involve interlocking the thumbs. Applause in Masindi was clap three times, then clap three times more, then clap again this time ending with sliding one hand off and a high-pitched keening. We got to sign loads of visitor books, listen (and make) speeches, and be entertained by singing and dancing. We were white people, this was formal protocol, they were in many cases acknowledging help given, but I also sensed a Ugandan way of doing things - a way of respecting people we have lost in the West. The singing and dancing was impressive, they all seemed to have a genetic sense of tempo. Especially moving and memorable were the young people at Shuuku Vocational College (a very demanding "Acholi" dance,) and the very different "Batwa" (pygmy) dance. Education particularly vocational education is high on the agenda. Parents want their children to go to school, and the children want to go. The style of teaching is to the West antiquated, and the dormitories at boarding schools can be very cramped, but there is a desire to learn which is the important thing. Equipment and books are in short supply so chemistry may be less practical and more rote learning of "-ate" means an oxygen compound and "-ite" a sulphite one. Christianity is very evident in Uganda, Islam to a lesser extent. Christian slogans on the backs of cars, stores called "Divine Ebenezer Cake Shop", cabinet ministers quite happy to sing hymns in public. Schools are often of a religious foundation, the Church in Uganda performs a real service to the community. It does have challenges like polygamy - this is dealt with pragmatically by controlling the level of integration into the Church. Where there are (some) tarmac roads there are also perilous potholes and savage sleeping policemen. Often it's dirt track (a very rutted one going up the mountains to Rwancerere.) Uganda is very dusty but paradoxically people seem to dress as if they were going to a party. You do see colourful scenes as one drives around from the variegated pyramids of fruit to the schoolchildren like flowering bulbs in an English spring. Primary school children wearing bright primary colours. Kampala is a traffic nightmare with dire air quality and weaving 'matutus' (minibus taxis) and suicidal motorcyclists. Speaking of night don't drive during it - daytime is bad enough with cyclists careering everywhere but at night you get overladen lorries driving without lights to avoid being stopped. Government cars have red licence plates. The law is based on English law. Stones and gates and loofahs and plush armchairs and wood and fruit are piled by the roadside for sale. And coffins too - life expectancy here is in the low thirties, and infant mortality high (children not talked about until 1 year old.) You see a lot of charcoal bags for sale or being transported dangerously on lorries - charcoal is used for cooking and heating in stoves with faces. So much charcoal that the forests are in danger and the government has started forest planting programmes. Even places with electricity have regular power cuts. When night comes in the mountains it is really night - you retreat around the charcoal stove for warmth and the stars blaze forth. Ugandans make their own bricks in hundreds of brick kilns - no planning permission needed here. Buildings range from grass huts through cattle dung and murum (clay?) walls to brick buildings. At least the land is green and many things grow here. No need for the boom irrigation schemes we saw passing over the Libyan desert. Those were the strange circles - vast booms turned by the pressure of water pumped out into the aridness thanks to oil money. Don't come to Uganda if bananas make you bilious. There's at least five different kinds here, ranging from the small yellow ones with a strong flavour to the green ones which get fried (in the leaves) and mashed into the staple matoke. Fruit is plentiful and fresh here - mangoes and papayas and pineapples and oranges (green as they should be.) Beekeeping is popular - there's a belief in some parts that the beeswax at a nest entrance helps against AIDS. Goat meat is on the menu - goats and sheep are herded together and it's difficult to tell them apart. Sheep tails go downwards, goat tails go upwards. Grasshoppers are also on the menu - wished I had a picture of the UFO like spotlight clusters which trapped grasshoppers in nets. One menu had "chaps" on it which proved to be flat battered sausage meat. All in the party had upset stomachs at one stage or other. After my dose I ate sparingly and carefully but I did try the sorghum "porridge". This brown fermented Ugandan male drink is an acquired taste - potent but potently sour. There's a millet "porridge" too (inferior I was told.) Oh and millet bread which is like chestnut stuffing. Africans use hot milk with tea, hot milk rather than water. Everything goes into the kettle making tea a different experience to what teabags give. There weren't many young men in the mountain village we stayed in - away working on the tea plantations. Uganda has a wide range of terrains from rainforest to red desert scrubland to cooler mountain regions. Some of it reminded me of England's green and pleasant land, and it was green and lush (I was there during the wetter half of the year - lying on the equator there's just two seasons a wet and a dry.) When it rains it really pours and thunders. In the mountainous south saw what looked like cacti but were Candelabra trees (Euphorbia candelabrum.) Put that against what they called eggplants which were definitely not aubergines (they did look like eggs.) Or the pumpkin which Pastor Guster auctioned at the end of the service in Rwancerere (more a white gourd.) Many people are subsistence farmers and live without earning or spending - so church collections includes fruit and vegetable which get auctioned as part of the proceedings. As one drives along you will see lots of red bougainvillea, or mauve jacaranda, or white and yellow arum lilies (moon flowers?) grown to attract bees. Or see Hathor-like longhorn cattle grazing by papyrus beds, or glossy sacred ibises, or yellow weaver birds climbing up into their nests, or see the gross Malibu storks scavenging. And you may hear the sibilant whistling thorn trees (I kid you not.) It was the smaller lifeforms I was worried about, and I gratuitously applied eucalyptus based insect repellent and tried to use mosquito nets. Mosquitoes were only really noticeable in the Lake Victoria area, and tsetse flies were further north. I took "malarone" against malaria, and was careful about water used for drinking and cleaning teeth. In passing there are albinos here and their lot is not pleasant. Whether it's genetic, or having no protection against a strong sun, nonetheless they're often blind and disabled. Polio and clubfeet are problems, together with amputation being a simpler treatment if you have poor medical facilities. Uganda is a poor country full of need. What we wouldn't miss from our bank accounts will make a big difference there. We can so easily make a difference to them, support them, give them hope. Going there made me think about aid, the questions to be answered about aid. Why? This is the question to start with, I'm not being jocular. Why give aid? One might give aid because one feels guilty. It'll take more than putting a coin into a tin to erase guilt. One might give aid because sympathy is awakened by a moving picture on the TV. A good why but good also to strengthen and deepen the why of aid by tying to one's core beliefs. If those core beliefs are Christian then one can go right back to the Old Testament for there should be no poor among you, or leave gleanings for the widows and aliens. What to aid? There is a kind of aid which only 'satisfies' the donor. A lot of aid sadly falls into this category. There's palliative aid which improves things - for the short-term. Best is unattractive long-term, low-key aid helping people like the Ugandans help themselves. Ugandans are not stupid, they're trying things like different crops and tree grafting, they're trying to get their communities working together. They'll come up with ideas appropriate for their situation rather than what we might suggest. How to aid? It's difficult to tell from the UK how much good one's donation is really doing. It was a privilege to go, to be part of the party thanked for sewing machines and computers and books and chemistry equipment and plaster of paris and money for corrugated roofs. But in terms of judging where to put aid, how well aid is acting, I would rely on local Ugandans. As a 'msungu' (white man) one cannot but affect what you're observing. There is a real danger of a Potemkin village effect. Or of using aid to buy appreciation. The decisions about where to put aid are almost life and death decisions. That's too close to playing God for me.

We're not exactly settled in yet but please look around our new home. Feel free to put your feet up and rest on the sofa (if there's space which there isn't.) Or imagine you're signing our imaginary visitors book. The move went pretty well and NTL connected us up to TV (so I could watch Dr Who meet a Dalek), the telephone, and broadband internet (so I could upload these webpages.) A lot remains to be sorted out - the fridge freezer and other equipment doesn't quite fit into the gaps, loads of boxes remain to be unpacked, the gas may not be connected. But I'm grateful to be here in what I hope will be more relaxing than the last house.

Virginia and I spent a long weekend 24th to 27th June in the North Norfolk area. On the way up we visited the Thursford Collection during a real downpour on the Friday. There we saw the nifty footwork of resident organist Robert Wolfe on a Wurlitzer. How can the brain control so much? We overdosed out on stately homes of which there are plenty in the area. We saw Blickling and Holkham and Felbrigg but I confess these in my mind all blur into each other. The old faded paintings, libraries of uniformly bound books, false doors through which servants entered, deer parks, ice houses, elaborate silver tableware, sugar nippers, manicured formal gardens seem to be the form for the houses of the nobles. We stayed in a guest house in Little Walsingham which is even more historical than a stately home. A site of pilgrimage for over a millennium, it had a mixture of shops including statues and icons if you wanted to take some holiness home with you. We had a good tarragon chicken in the Black Lion on a very wet day

Virginia had an inner urge to see Legoland so we went down to the Windsor area on the August Bank holiday weekend. Not an ideal weekend as it was the last weekend in the school holidays, and the bank holiday weekend to boot. Not an ideal weekend as the B&B we stayed in in Englefield Green was a lemon. Tiny dilapidated room. Fellow 'guests' who returned in the early hours to play loud music. We did however see Savill Gardens (enjoyable), Legoland (best seen with the heart of a child,) and Windsor Castle (getting in was like boarding an airplane,) and had Sunday lunch with an aunt so mission accomplished on that front. Getting into Windsor Castle was rather like boarding an airplane, but security checks are understandable. Once inside the scale of the place, and the serried ranks of portraits and china and swords and rifles and ornaments impressed. As they were meant to. Some houses are just for living in. But Windsor Castle is not. The size of the place, the solidity, the opulence, the order of the place are all designed to make an impression. To intimidate, to strike awe. But behind the pomp and circumstance there's only ordinary mortals.

Houghton Hall was the seat of Robert Walpole Britain's first prime minister, later associated with the Cholmondeley family (pronounced Chumley.) Fine set of rooms but not a coherent style. Good gardens.

Biggin Hill air show. A mass of people from families on outings to enthusiasts with prodigious lenses on their cameras. A mass of stalls from perfume shops through funfair antics to authentic pilot uniforms. Ice cream and burger stalls. Like being at the beach save it was airfield grass. Hard to find Virginia's male relatives again after I wandered off in search of amenities. A long search it was too. We were there to see a circus of flying machines. It had a lot in common with the circus. Aerobatics rather than acrobatics. Dizzying. Mad behaviour like the wing walking. Displays of power like the jump jet standing still or what impressed me a helicopter doing a loop. Nostalgic flights from WW2 aircraft. We left before the end which may have saved us time - the access roads to Biggin Hill are not good.

Jigsaws are a very pleasant way of passing the time. It's taken a little while but here is Virginia celebrating her latest completed jigsaw puzzle.

Christmas with the soft toys - or how our soft toys got into the festive mood.