Swiss army idiot

Pen and paper is all one needs to keep a journal. But to publish those thoughts these days takes the inter-tubes. Despite the plethora of cyber-cafés in Morocco, I decided to go with simplicity and blog my thoughts in unreal time, one week late. So here goes.

Not a great start. Having bought a new man-purse and tested it over the past couple of days, I arrive at the airport to discover that I had left my wonderful old Swiss army knife at the bottom of a pocket I had quite forgotten. Or never remembered. The security guard says he will throw it away, but I hope somebody profits from my stupidity. The English couple behind me lose a litre of olive oil and some cheap balsamic vinegar.