Today I was supposed to go to Dakar; it was the first day of my new project which, on bad days, is tainted by self-doubt. But, having bought the ticket and decided it was now or never, I was pleased to be getting on my way. This morning I awoke to find 6 inches of snow plastering the garden and street. The French girls next door came knocking at my house to ask me to come and play, and I enjoyed it except for knowing that my plane wasn't going to leave for Senegal.

So, bags packed, I am still in London, and so tired from all the ringing around that I can't think of anything except that this must be a sign that bad stars are surrounding the trip, that my self-doubt is justified.