Just a quick word, to confirm that yes, we're back from France. I'd like to say we got back in one piece, but that would be incorrect.

We had a lovely time, two weeks of nothing but sunshine. We spent our time in the pool and on the beach, with the occasional excursion to nearby towns. But unfortunately some of these excursions were for medical reasons. We went to the local baby doctor twice to have a check-up after Mrs.B felt there might be something wrong. Luckily, both times it turned out everything was A-Ok.

Our third medical excursion was for an entirely different reason, but it did involve Mrs.B. It was on the morning of our departure, when she and Wolf went out to get some 'croissants' from the camping store. They had barely left when I heard screams and shouting from both my wife and my son.

I raced out and found both lying on the ground, Wolf crying and panicking while my wife was crying out in pain. It turned out she had stumbled and did something terribly wrong with her ancle. Wolf was Ok, but very frightened by the whole experience.

The local ambulance refused to come for a broken foot, so I had to haul Mrs.B in the car and drive her to the nearest hospital - which was 45 minutes away. Luckily-luckily-luckily I'd bought a GPS before we went to France, I don't know what I would have done without that thing.

A couple of hours later - the French medical care system is about as fast as any African country's - we got the verdict: the ankle was not broken but severely strained. Mrs.B got a plastic clamp around her lower leg and we could drive back home.

Easier said than done: with my wife in one chair and her foot in another, it was up to me to clean the bungalow, get everything into the car (luckily we'd packed the previous evening), return the key, get out the garbage, chase Wolf and his dirty paws out of the bungalow, etc. etc. But in the afternoon we could finally leave.

But it was not  the end of our troubles, because you try to drag a pregnant woman without crutches to the second floor of your hotel when there's no lift. Going to the restaurant alone was an endurance test in hopping.

So the first thing we did when we returned was go get some crutches. To be on the safe side, we made an appointment with our own physician. But he didn't need much time to conclude that something more serious was wrong with that ankle. A couple of X-rays later it was confirmed that a tendon (or part of it, I forgot) got loose and took a bit of bone with it. So recovery will take six to eight weeks, instead of three.

So ever since that fall, I've been running around like crazy. Not only do I have to take care of Mrs.B, but I also have to keep the house clean, do the laundry, do the dishes, get Wolf in and out of bed, get him dressed, bring him to the daycare centre, get him back in the evening, cook...

Six more weeks of this and I'll definitely need another vacation. Too bad that we'll have another newborn baby right about that time.

I never knew they're had been so many nuclear tests - plus the two times atomic bombs that were actually used in anger. Almost half of them were conducted by the US, with the Americans detonating 10 bombs for every 7 Soviet nukes (up to the early 1980, it's almost 2 US bombs for every USSR bomb).

France did its best too, with one-tenth of the total number of explosions.

Worst holiday destination: south-western United States. When you go camping in the Rocky Mountains, you don't need to bring a flashlight, you'll body glow up in the dark after a day or so.

(via Michel)

At the age of thirty-seven¹
he realised he would soon²
Ride through Paris³
in a sports car⁴
with the warm wind⁵
in his hair⁶.

(Ballad of Lucy Jordan, by Marianne Faithfull)

We took the belly to the gynaecologist the other day for another check. After a bit of mucking about with clear toothpaste and her echo scanning thingy, the baby doctor explained that all is looking well. Mrs.B is not having those dangerous series of contractions any more. The extra days of rest have worked - even the doctor remarked that she is not bouncing off the walls any more.

However, it's not clear whether Mrs.B's cervix has thinned or not - it just may have. so this Friday she has to have another check-up just to be on the safe side. If she passes that one, we can go on holiday to France. If we can't go, I may develop contractions.

What's also clear is that we're going to get a whopping baby, his or her measurements are well above average. Seems like Wolf is not going to push this little brother or sister around!

Welcome to the House of Bart, for another tale of terror and woe!

It was a cold rainy night, some time after midnight - as is customary in horror stories. On the second floor, a small child cries.

Dog tired, I drag my butt up the stairs to check on Wolf. In the dim light coming from behind me in the hallway, I see that he is sitting on his knees in the bed. But there's something strange about his face and arms. So I switch on the light, seeing that he's awake anyway.

I'm struck by the horror of the scene. Wolf's face and neck are covered in blood, as are his hands and arms up to the elbows. He whimpers softly. As I pick him up to inspect, I see there's blood in his hair and on his sleeping bag, with a large spot under his left ear. His bed is covered in blood stains too; his pillow is practically drenched in blood.

'What happened', I ask him, but he doesn't answer. I look for a cut on his head - maybe he's fallen out of bed - but I can't find anything wrong. So I take him downstairs, put him on the cupboard next to the kitchen sink and start to wash his face and arms. 'My hands are red', he says.

When he's all cleaned up he looks like a little boy again instead of a  character out of a Hitchcock film. There are not cuts on his head after all, it seems he must have had a bloody nose.

I return to his room to put clean bed linen on his bed, while he plays downstairs. When around 2.30AM, I'm finally ready to put him to bed, he protests that he wants to play and not go to sleep. But when I put him in bed, it doesn't take long before he dozes off.

I on the other hand, have more problems to go back to sleep. That image of his bloodied up face and the shock of fear I felt still keep my adrenaline levels way up.

We went to the gynaecologist's yesterday for the four-weekly check-up. The baby is fine and growing fast - which came as no surprise because Mrs.B just received a honorary membership card from the international ballooning society.

But the doctor's verdict on the mother's health was less positive. My sweet bouncing ball has had too much on the agenda recently. Our weekends are packed with birthday parties, spring celebrations, open school days (our first one!) and various social occasions. And her work has been driving her mad lately. She was supposed to have another colleague to assist her by now, but given that this person has yet to be hired, she's doing a double job while being five months into her pregnancy.

So the doctor was adamant: if she continues to work and live like this with stress levels going through the roof, the baby may come too soon. Much too soon. So Mrs.B has to calm down now or face lying down for weeks in the near future. Amongst other things, that would mean cancelling our vacation in France.

Now calming down Mrs.B is not as easy as it may seem. In fact it's easier to tranquillize a charging rhinoceros with a syringe and a catapult, with a dose that's just enough for a small dog so you would shoot him about fifty times and retrieve the syringe before he gets to you. Trust me on this, I've tried.

So the gynaecologist looked very stern every time my wife uttered 'But I have to do this and that' and gave her the rest of the week off. And the coming weeks she can only work four days out of five. And she has to take medication. And if that doesn't work more rest will be described. And it's strictly forbidden to use that time to clean up the house or anything like that.

That baby needs to stay inside for another six weeks, at the very least. Another eight weeks and we'll be on a much safer side. But twelve weeks is definitely better.

We really hope the baby will hang in there until the end of August.

Mrs. B and I had a fight the other night. One of those typical 'you're throwing our money out of the doors and windows' fights every couple will eventually have when they're transforming the house. I want things to move on  - especially with a new baby coming soon - so I'll pop out to buy 'a couple of things' in the DIY shop. And then Mrs.B will go ballistic when she goes over the accounts and sees that I surpassed my 'monthly budget' (her idea).

So we had a lovely scene in the garden right in front of the neighbours and then some more - calm - discussions in the middle of the night. But still she feels I buy too much on credit and still I feel she treats me like a little baby with no sense of responsibility.

This morning Mrs.B took Wolf with her to buy some bread. Ten minutes later, I heard to doorbell. It was a taxi driver who'd lost his way and asked me if I knew a certain street. The streets behind our house are a typical 1980's maze of dead ends connected with footpaths and bicycle roads. I'd never heard of that particular road, so the chap asked me to come see on his GPS. 'Sure', I said.

So Mrs.B turns around the corner and sees me climb into a waiting taxi.

An icy feeling of panic grips her.

Meanwhile, I notice her and Wolf calling my name, as I apologize to the taxi man because I still don't know where that street is. So I get out of the taxi again and not realising at first what this must have looked like I say: 'you're back already? Did you find any bread?'

Storm clouds brewing over a village in Ituri

Last Wednesday, after a gruelling night-time flight and a couple of hours of sleep at home, I went to Wolf's child minder to pick him up. He was bouncing around like a rubber ball when he saw me, and flooded me with stories about what he'd done the last couple of days.

When we returned home in the car, I proudly told him that daddy had flown in an aeroplane. 'Me too!', he yelled.

You see, the funfair is in town and his teacher took the whole class there for a couple of rides on the merry-go-round. And so Wolf had flown in a real plane that goes up and down when you pull/push the stick.

I guess his flight was more comfortable. At least he didn't have to put up with a snoring, farting, armrest-hogging fat arse next to him for the entire duration of the flight.

First I take my underwear, generally for one week but I won't have time to do the laundry and I'll only be gone for nine days, so I take a bit more. Summer PJs, because it'll be warm, but also a sweater because at night it cools down quickly outside in eastern Congo. Then a couple of T-shirts and two polo shirts with the logo of my organisation. Three trousers with legs that I can zip off to turn them into shorts. I really should be some new ones, they're beginning to show their age.

Sandals, mustn't forget those! And a cap, to protect my head from the scorching sun; very important when one's hair is in retreat. Then it's time for the bathroom items. My toilet bag, a small towel and two washing cloths - mustn't forget to take a big towel from the closet in Wolf's room when he's sound asleep. I always forget that big towel - have to stuff it into my suitcase at the last moment.

Then it's time to fetch the medicine bag and check its contents. Sun tan lotion - although I never use it. Something against the runnings, something against headaches and fever, an antibiotic for when all else fails and doctors are far out of reach, something against terrorists and plane crashes and most importantly: a spray against mosquitoes.

Goes into the same bag: the electronics department: charger for my cell phone, charger for my iPod, webcam, headphones.

Down to the basement to delve into the camping box. Water flask, torch, compass, alarm whistle, sleeping bag, inflatable pillow and - again most importantly - mosquito net. Oh, that reminds me: mustn't forget the ball of string. You wouldn't believe the nets I weaved to hang that mosquito net from a mirror in one corner to the door and then a cross-wire to the nail in the wall and then trough the bathroom door to...

Did I pack some hankies? Oooh, this reminds me: the roll of toilet paper! Don't go to Africa without one. It's your one vital link to civilisation.

Finally something to read: three sturdy novels. Two in the big suitcase and one in the small backpack, to read on the plane. I'll stuff my photobag in my backpack too, together with my iPod. I bought new headphones today to replace the very basic fumbling things that are standard isue.

Batteries! I must recharge the batteries! Batteries for my camera! Batteries for my external flash! Batteries for my torch!

Tomorrow my plane takes off around 11:40 to Uganda, with a stop at Kigali, Rwanda's capital. The day after I'll fly to the border town of Arua with a local carrier, and then my colleagues will pick me up and drive me to Mahagi, where I'll stay for three days. At the end of the week, I'll fly to Kinshasa for two days of meetings. And next Tuesday I'll fly back to Europe, via Paris.

Good thing my suitcase has wheels.