Plus-oned the Doctor in to see The Constant Gardener last night. As well as rather liking that Ralph Fiennes, she was born in Kenya and knows much of its politics and whatnot from her parents.
Having "Nairobi" in her passport can cause problems. One week before 9/11, I took her on a day-trip to Paris (I had a full-time, proper-type job back then) where we quaffed wine, looked at nice windows and art, were dismayed by the response to a fire alarm, and staggered back to Gard du Nord a bit pished.
The Doctor continued ahead through passport control while I struggled with my bag. She got stopped and had her bag searched. The officious squit scrutinised her passport and asked "Why were you born in Nairobi?"
"That's where my mum was," she replied, bless her. Humour is bad in these situations.
Anyway, by this time I had turned up, figured there was a bag-searching thing going on, and had helpfully plonked my satchel beside the Doctor's, the flap wide open to show off my poor choice in books. The squit glanced at this, then at me.
"Is she yours?" he asked.
"Oh yes," I said, helpfully.
He nodded. "You can go."
The Doctor fumed all the way back to Waterloo. (Good name for our link to France, that. And you see a pub called "The Wellington" as you come out the exit, too).
I talked about the book of Constant Gardener a couple of months ago, and will one day enthuse here about Tsavo's lions. In the meantime, this should be the Kenyan national anthem. Forget Norway.
Thursday, October 6, 2005
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