The gambia dating

Among them was an MCC member and former manufacturer of lingerie ("I was big in ladies' knickers," he assured us), Britain's largest importer of peanuts ("We're bigger than KP," he joked), and a German doctor whose bedroom became a free, walk-in clinic for the staff after he revealed his profession to a waiter ("I have a Gambian man in my room every night," he explained with a mischievous grin). Katim explained that this kind of behaviour is de rigueur in Gambia.For us, the slothful spell was broken on our second afternoon by a shrill whistle. We rode past men praying to Mecca, children playing in the sea and – occasionally – an ageing white woman with a strapping black man half her age. Women work twice as hard to compensate for their other halves.I escaped the heat at the National Museum, a charmingly deserted affair that houses a hotchpotch of artefacts.

Lovely as the hotel was, we could have been anywhere on earth. Sophie cursed me for a fool and I agreed we were unlikely to see him again.

Here, six hours from a sodden Gatwick, was the perfect compromise.

With April temperatures in excess of 86F (30C) and good beaches, she could unwind while I explored monkey-filled forests, meandering wetlands and a sleepy Third World capital.

A baby in a brightly coloured sling clung to her back. They craned their necks to see the results on my digital camera.

I asked the eldest to take a picture of Katim and myself. Whereas Sophie looks for nothing more in a holiday than some sun-scorched stretch of sand in which to disappear into a decent novel and – ideally – five-star accommodation, I crave distraction.

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