Sarajevo and then some.

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I was a bit crestfallen today when I noticed that my hyacinths have gone all droop-headed in the vicious wind that continues to sweep our back garden. Yesterday they were all standing proud and erect, but just look at them, bent and collapsed now. However they haven’t lost any of the powerful scent they throw about. Anyway, hyacinths shmyacinths, that’s not what I want to tell you about. More needful it is to satisfy the curiosity expressed by some mylotters concerning my getting lost in a forest outside Sarajevo, a tale sparked by a misery of mist and mizzle and begun here a few days ago. Yes I was lost. It was 1975 and I was 17 and Yugoslavia was labouring under spring rains and Marshal Tito’s brand of government which was a bit intolerant of itinerant foreign youths. As dusk gathered in the gloomy countryside I sought refuge in the forest, hoping to find somewhere dryish to spend the night there being no trace of human habitation where a young boy might shelter. In a clearing I found a small shed, something akin to a sentry box. I prised open the door whose rusty hinges protested loudly. It was dark inside and dank, but smelled unmistakably like a dunny, or a powder room to those of a more delicate constitution. Long story short, that’s where I spent the night, wet, cold and very sore. I thought it incongruous to find such a facility in a forest far from anywhere and my mind did a lot of fantasising and speculating while a sat there leaning my head against the crumbling wooden frame. At least I was dry. I also wondered about what I should do if anyone else arrived from somewhere wanting to use the facility - might a queue form outside? But this post is getting too long now so people such as @lindaohio @JudyEv @AmbiePam and @Jehanne will need to wait with bated breath for the next instalment.