We woke in the dark of early morning and after blundering around, tangling myself in the mosquito net, I managed to find my way to the kitchen and fire up the kettle. Breakfast was a swift affair and I headed out to pack up Princess Rainbow III, where I was greeted by a seemingly friendly group of vervet monkeys. Unfortunately as I was bemoaning the large colony of ants which now inhabited our bag of biltong Charlie started shouting and as I raced around to the back of the car to see what all the fuss was about a blur rocketed out of the loadbay. One of the sneaky monkeys, who I had thought to be my friends, had made off with our one and only loaf of bread and was now sat in the branches above us looking very pleased with itself.

Lesson learned we locked up the boot and spent 15 silent minutes watching our guide tinker extensively with the fuel pump before the bonnet slammed shut and we joined Josh in our 'Truck of Many Colours'. She started first time and we headed off into the park, leaving a very bloated ververt monkey reclining in the tree with half a loaf of bread rested on its very full belly.

The morning was overcast but the cab was soon filled with excitement as a lioness walked across the track. We pulled up, cameras poised and scouted our surroundings for an explanation. We had stumbled across a hunt and the target was an impressive male Impala just 100m away. We spotted the other half of the hunting party crouched in the long grass just 20m away to our right, and, using Princess Rainbow III as cover, she slunk towards her prey, completely focused, ears flat and moving silently through the tall grass. She passed within 5 breath-taking metres of us and after a pregnant pause her partner rushed the grazing Impala.

We all willed for the chase to be swiftly successful, but the Impala pranced away without a backward glance and we could sense the lioness close to us, still motionless, roll her eyes and sigh, remaining settled in the undergrowth. As our heart rates returned to normal the pair reunited and took up a vantage point on a disused termite mound, where they debriefed and accepted that breakfast would be a little delayed.

We moved on, thrilled by such an encounter within our first 5 minutes of the day. The next 5 minutes brought excitement of a very different variety as we stopped to observe a herd of rampaging elephants. The cause for the commotion became apparent as they came to a halt on the road in front of us and the big tail-less male was finally able to make use of his fifth leg. After a few passionate minutes, and leaving behind significant evidence of the somewhat gymnastic copulation, the herd moved on, and we continued on our successful morning.

The rest of our morning encountered giraffes, Cape buffalo and many iridescent birds before stopping for a well earned coffee break at a distinctly swanky lodge. Perched on a cliff the view over the surrounding savannah was breathtaking and we soaked up the comfort of what £350 a night felt like.

We spent the rest of the morning touring the roads alongside the river following a huge troop of baboons with fantastically expressive faces and some very cute babies catching lifts on their mothers. As we headed towards the exit a troop of vervet monkeys wandered past us displaying their electric blue scrotums and as if shocked by this Princess Rainbow III showed her displeasure by beginning to judder and shake, completely losing power and causing us to roll to a standstill in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately having had a minute to think about life, and cranking the starter motor for 15 seconds, she snapped out of it but Charlie and I exchanged meaningful looks. Josh made some rather urgent and pointed conversations in Swahili, though his body language gave us enough of an idea of our vehicles predicament.

The mechanical drama was dropped as some tracks at the side of the road alerted us to a huge male lion resting up in the long grass. He generously gave us a fleeting view of his powerful build and impressive mane before settling back out of sight as a land cruiser full of facemasked tourists appeared to take the glory.

We made it out of the park with 6 minutes to spare and headed for an impromptu lunchstop whilst PR3 (Princess Rainbow 3) underwent further investigation. Sat in a building site we opted for attacking the watermelon rather than attempting breadless tuna mayo 'sandwiches' and it was a great success. As we settled in to wait the Tanzanian equivalent of the AA (5 locals with a limited set of tools but endless enthusiasm) set about diagnosing the fault. As various bits of the engine were removed and fuel squirted out of an array locations the real mechanic on the end of the phone appeared to be losing rapport with Josh. After 2 hours of swearing and fuel spurting the various bits were stuffed back under the bonnet, and the fountain of fuel was contained, Josh roared off for a test drive and we watched patiently as he accelerated back and forth along the unmetalled road.

He returned, and announced that the problem had been the fuel filter and that it was now fixed. He soon revealed that by fixed he meant removed but for now we were back on the road and we were glad to be back underway. We cruised along the smooth tarmac heading north and passed a sprawling masai market where an eclectic mix of livestock and produce appeared to be changing hands between the tall, noble, red-robed figures.

We continued through the town of Mbo Wa Mtu passing Lake Manyara and gave a baboon which crossed the road without looking the fright of its life before climbing the southern wall of the Rift Valley which towered imposingly in front of us. The scenery which met us at the top was quite a change and we purred past vast coffee plantations and lush banana palms which lurked amongst the cool grey mist. As the witchcraft that were credit cards were still met with significant displeasure we stopped in Karatu, at the only ATM for hundreds of miles, and restocked our wallets before continuing to our campsite.

The camping spot behind the petrol station down the bumpy mud road and next to the overpopulated farm was almost flat. I shall leave any further description of the 'facilities' to your imagination as my Granny always said 'If you can't say anything nice then don't say anything at all.'

The excitement was almost as electric as the colour of a ververt monkey's scrotum as we set about unfolding the long awaited roof tents. The rear canopy of crisp pale linen opened up and Charlie set about trying to find holes for the struts which would finish off its shape. As I opened the front tent the smell that greeted me was equivalent to opening a very old book, which had been stored in a small damp airing cupboard which also contained my old running shoes, Sam Smalley's old shoulder pads and a stack of very mature onion bajhis. I didn't dare look down at Bob's eager face and set about trying to create as much ventilation as possible, which is quite a challenge whilst holding your breath and trying not to fall through the rotten floor. I tried to share another knowing look with Charlie but he was red in the face trying to stick struts where they did not want to stay, and the end result was a porch inspired by a deflated porcupine and the most patient of all my friends very nearly exploding, both of which were quite entertaining given the circumstances.

Things improved as we set about making supper as a strange odour and suspicious liquid accompanied the bags of food which had been in the cars chiller. On further inspection our resident entomologist, Charlie, discovered that our fridge was actually a chilly water bath incubating maggots in a soup of historic meat juices. Needless to say that his mood did not improve.

With darkness drawing in, and Charlie manfully cleaning out the fridge with an audience of local children peering and shouting advice through the gaps in the hedge behind him, Bob and Hattie focused on supper. Assisted by Mr. Fleabag, an ancient black and white cat who appeared to have a death wish, I assembled the gas stove whilst the girls chopped the onions and tried to ignore the diesel marinade which Josh had managed to dose most of our shopping with during his tinkering time earlier.

In a flimsy frying pan big enough for about 2 fried eggs Bob and Hattie set about trying to cook a 'safe' bolognese from ingredients which had either been misted with unknown meat juices and blofly larvae or soaked in petrochemicals. Needless to say I made myself very busy elsewhere for a little while preparing gin and tonics (wiping the lemon very carefully first) and after a swift discussion with Charlie, who had finished picking maggots out of the bottom of the fridge, we voiced our dissatisfaction to a beleaguered looking Josh. Of course none of this was aimed at him directly but he responded with the trump card that his Grandad was dying and that he was leaving on the next bus...

Slightly stunned we offered our condolences and said farewell. He half heartedly suggested that another guide should arrive at some point but exact timings were somewhat hazy. As Josh exited the drama stage right the rest of the cast had a little sit down and a long drink (even Bob had a splash of gin in her cocktail of tonic water and lemon marinaded in invertebrate soup). The day had been one of the most memorable periods of our trip so far, and after a stretch of teamwork which the Americas Cup would have been proud of, we were soon sitting down around the table (with table cloth) eating a magnificent supper of spag bol by candle light. I took it as a mark of our friendship that we were all in excellent spirits despite the day's events, so much so that even Mr. Fleabag got some supper.

We washed up, locked everything inside PR3, and congregated in the deflated porcupine, which was at least clean, to write a strongly worded email to Kilidove who we had rented our calamity vehicle through. Feeling much better, though still awaiting a guide, Bob and I retreated to our mouldy abode and settled down for our first night under canvas.