Right. That’s me on the road. For three months. I’m in Senegal today, experiencing an extreme contradiction. A nice man in the bar from which I write is singing some fantastic Wolof tunes. Good. He’s accompanied by a Bontempi organ, with the cha-cha-cha drumbeat turned up very loud indeed. Bad. Not sure I can stand it for much longer. But before I flee, a note:
Expect little from Class Worrier over the next couple of months while I do my bit for the activist tourism industry, and net some interviews for a book on the global food system.
With luck, it’ll end up being a bit more interesting than it sounds at the moment.