Happy Birthday Mum. Hope the card, flowers and the Rolls Royce arrived.

This morning Agnes, the round cuddle women with black curly hair, serves me breakfast and keep fussing about the riad, I like her smile and her concern over me. I am sure somewhere else in this world she is a mother with many cuddly children from her womb.

It has become a bad news day which has caused me to stumble as my plans are blown to what? I sit and deliberate on what is to be done, drinking beer and playing backgammon as the sun set with a hard-faced traveller who has seen most things wandering the face of the earth with lazy pleasure.

Tonight, the local minaret is a harsh croak and stings my ears – yet provoking memories of Iran where the chants are graceful with the echoes of mountains drew.

Oh Lord, give me a better day tomorrow.