Clutching my principles I lurched into the taller than usual mud shack with a deluxe thatched roof and watched as my pal negotiated with his new girlfriends parents the price of shag. I recall the princely sum of two Rand, a packet of biscuits for Mum and a beer for Dad, oh and a corner for me to kip in.

Now there was a sister who stumbled over me later, who out of the kindness of her heart invited me upstairs, just for coffee, please understand, as I could barely stand let alone fornicate.

When I awoke it was pitch black with just a pale shaft of moonlight filtering through the straw roof. One small problem, I don’t recall living in a thatched hut, so where in hell was I? Who was I in bed with? And how could she snore and fart with such perfect pitch and resonance?

I vaguely remembered a taxi ride unfortunately that still didn’t give me a clue as to my present whereabouts. As an ‘aide memoir’, my corpulent and somewhat flatulent companion belched and rolled over; exposing a haircut you could play noughts and crosses on. In the slow light of dawn the large orange hairy spider turned out to be the red wig ‘my lady of the night’ had worn earlier, which she had casually hung on a nail before throwing me onto her rude bed.

The pressure on my bladder screamed for relief, so quietly falling out of bed I donned my shirt, socks and pants. Where in hell were my trousers and wallet? Well there was sod all left in that anyway.

I found the exit. Groping along the wattle walls I realised that a clean flush loo had not been included in the architect’s plan so finding a very dark corner I began to urinate copiously. All was not well with my choice of toilet, as it suddenly became an open doorway with me pissing over the freshly woken occupant’s feet, an extremely large black chap. Wishing him good morning over my shoulder I thundered along the passageway screaming for help and cannoned into my sleeping partner who was complaining about her lack of pay. As I had not taken part in any fornication, too much alcohol is a great contraceptive, I continued on my way followed by the aggrieved large black chap and a naked wigless lady.

But help was at hand, our friendly taxi driver had waited for his charges and shouted up at me. He was enjoying the show. ‘Jump!’ the bastard said, ‘fuck off’ I replied, but seeing as my pursuers were getting nearer I pulled myself over the small wall and fell to the ground.

Well they say that babies don’t hurt themselves when they fall and neither did I as I executed a fine parachute landing rolling over in the dust resplendent in my Marks and Sparks truth be told rather soiled knickers. Jumping into the waiting taxi I hurled abuse at the pursuing couple and slapping the driver on the back gave the Clan Ross as my destination. All was not well with the car ignition however, as the starter motor failed to kick the engine into life despite frantic twisting of the key. The cars lack of movement and probably my insensitive comments spurred my would be assailants back into life. As they clattered down the stairs I jumped out and pushed that sodding taxi down the road. Fortunately the driver was up with bump-starting and finally the reluctant engine burst into life with me hanging grimly on. I sometimes feel that I was an early version of Indiana Jones and that Spielberg owes me a percentage from Raiders of the lost Ark!

Upon my return to my ship the purser who was manning the gangplank wished me good morning, and pressed a Clan Line anti VD pack into my hand, ‘not needed’ I replied sanctimoniously