After an unbelievably good nights sleep we joined Charlie and Hattie for a rather underwhelming breakfast where we avoided the chicken soup and chilli fish which looked as though it had been left out from the night before. We constructed a long To-Do list and started with the easy job of restocking our wallets from an ATM. It proved slightly more challenging than we had hoped but we finally persuaded the third machine to liberate some cash and Charlie struck gold, finally getting his MasterCard to pay out!

A passing enquiry into flying from Kigoma to Dar after we'd finished in the West revealed flights to be triple what we'd expected so we returned to the hotel for a little sit down and to sort out some washing. Even this was fraught with confusion as the laundry kid who collected it and said he'd do it half price if we paid him direct. Half expecting not to see our laundry again we gave him the bags of dirty linen and set about trying to find some cheaper flights. Hattie, bored by our internet trawling cut to the chase and rang the airline direct who quoted a fantastically low figure, but in true Tanzanian style could not take payment over the phone. We headed out to their office which was only a short distance away only to be told by a bored looking employee that the flight didn't exist, at which point Bob lost it.

The unhelpful individual grudgingly started by turning on his computer but after numerous power cuts and with the 2 staff keen to escape on their half day we were ready to tear our hair out. We refused to leave our names on the off chance that the power stayed on for long enough for the least enthusiastic monosyllabic employee of Air Tanzania to load his internet browser but after numerous phone calls, and with recurrently baffled faces in front of us, we gave up and tried booking online. This had limited success and the end result was a tenuous reservation but no money had changed hands... This prompted an enraged phonecall from Hattie, despairing at the inefficiency of this backward system to who she thought was the original lady in head office, but by cruel twist of fate, the number she had rung turned out to be for our long suffering Kilidove mechanic... Queue awkward silence, many apologies and hysterical laughter from all not directly involved.

Creeping painfully through our to do list we set about clearing out PR3 and donated our surplus produce to the family of the helpful security guard. With all of our belongings removed we took a tour of Mwanza where a seemingly genuine guy in the market booked us onto the Kigoma bus on Monday morning and Charlie refused to replace his defunct flip flops with a pink sparkly pair.

After a brief stop at the Mecca of all western supermarkets, which should open an Arusha branch for pre-safari stocking, we handed over the keys to Princess Rainbow and grabbed a takeaway pizza lunch on our balcony. After Hattie finally let Charlie perform minor surgery on her toe, liberating a monstrous thorn with only a few choice swear words screamed across the fifth floor, we enjoyed the last of the sun by the very chilly pool on the hotel roof.

As the sun descended we retired to our balcony and fixed a round of G&T's, toasting farewell to Princess Rainbow and reminiscing on the highs and lows of the times we'd spent together. The streets began to come alive with lively groups of people, propaganda spouting rickshaws and wedding cavalcades lead by open top trucks bristling with brass instruments being played very enthusiastically and the bride and groom followed at a comfortable distance.

The light faded over Lake Victoria as the ferries continued to churn across the vast expanse of water, turned orange by the sun as it sank below the horizon and we watched as the wedding on the rooftop opposite got underway. Having finished our faithful bottle of Bombay Sapphire we decided to head to a well reviewed curry house for supper.

We must have looked like pretty dumb Mizungos as the enterprising taxi driver took us on a 2 minute tour of the local neighbourhood before depositing us at the restaurant which was less than 100m from the hotel, in full view of the reception desk. Needless to say we contested the fare and settled down to enjoy an excellent curry whilst the cabbie huffed and puffed outside.

Feeling athletic we returned to our hotel on foot and descended straight to the basement club, amusingly named 'Rock Bottom' where a wall of noise returned us to our student days in Isis. The bar bill totals seemed to be generated at random but we settled down to enjoy the random mashup of 80's hits and African beats and watched as the room filled and the bedonkadonk's began to sway. After a humiliating experience at the urinals we headed above ground and up to the roof top bar which was equally lively. When the cocktails we ordered eventually arrived they tasted either of cif or rocket fuel but this was probably a good thing as all bar Bob were getting a little bog-eyed and bedways proved best ways.