Noise irritations rear their heads in many guises. Some easier to live with than others. The trick is to try and focus on anything else, other than that which is sending you barking. Typically they occur last thing at night and first thing. Sleep time gets reduced. Gets squeezed at both ends. Turns you into a psycho. All you can think about is squeezing the living daylights. On a multitude of sites we suffer from rooster insomniacs, church bells, coo-cooing pigeons, noisy neighbours, party goers, early football matches, hedge strimmers, calls to prayer, car alarms, sirens, barking dogs – did I mention the dogs?
Surprisingly, our two-nighter at Tsoli’s Camping near Lampiri, is bark-less. A first for this trip. Come midnight all is quiet.
Our journey over wasn’t quite without its own irritation however. Beastie decided to get in on the act. For mile after mile he decided to allow some invisible guest to ride with us. Some moronic morse code operator. Suffering from a combination of acute dyslexia and dyspraxia. Unable to string one intelligible word together. Intent on doing his own impression of a drunken Woody the Woodpecker. We search high and low. Investigate every possible cause. All without success.
Our end of drive 2K walk into Lampiri is not without event either. It takes us past this roadside tipping area . . .
Across the road from this tip, a couple of dogs clock us. We’re passing through their territory. They let us know. Aggressively track our every move.
We have to return this way of course. And do so. I decide to do a bit of my own barking. (see how it gets you?) Throw in a few snarls and growls. Show my teeth. Mr Big is not impressed. Thinks he can take me. (He’s probably right). Does his own version of Lenny the Lion. Hmmn? – not surprisingly he’s better at it than me. Thinks I’ll back down. He partly ignores the passing traffic and edges into the middle of the road to cut us off. He’s now giving it some serious welly. Mrs S is not happy with the way I’m handling proceedings. Would prefer some sort of arbitration. We’re way past that stage. I take my camera from my shoulder and wrap the strap around my fist. Allow it to hang ready, just in case. He sees me prepare and has second thoughts. Moves back to his side. His bravado not yet fully diminished. Mrs S suggests throwing a stone at him. The second I bend down, he backs completely off. He’s seen this film before. Knows what comes next. Doesn’t fancy a repeat. We walk on.