One of our group - let's call him Paul (actually that IS his real name - although we call him "Smiley Paul". I could have 'changed the name to protect the innocent' but, in truth, I think he NEEDS to be named and shamed!) - had arrived in Plymouth the night before so we could all travel up in the same car.

Paul's what you might call..... scatty !

He'd already realised he'd forgotten to pack a beach towel and had to borrow one.

Only to find, when we got there, that he hadn't forgotten at all! Now he had two!

This was just the start of a week of events that kept us laughing at Paul's expense.

Can anyone have failed to realise there are now restrictions on what you can carry in your hand luggage on a plane? Yep! Smiley Paul!

We arrived at the airport in good time and checked in our bags.

"Have you packed them yourselves?", "Has anyone asked you to carry anything for them?", "Do you have any of these things in your hand luggage?" asked the girl on the desk, pointing to a poster outlining all the things you mustn't carry.

"What did she say?" asked Paul. "She's checking you haven't any liquids or sharp objects in your bag."

Pretty straight forward really.

We then joined the (already very long) queue to pass through security and into the departure lounge. The same posters we'd had pointed out at check-in were dotted along the route. No liquids, no gels, no pastes etc.

There were display cases showing some of the items that had already been confiscated from previous travellers. We even discussed the new security measures between the four of us, agreeing that even though it was a long, drawn out process these days, we'd rather be safe than sorry.

And so it was that Laura, Ian and I passed quickly and hassle-free through the scanners and started walking off the other side, before turning back to see Smiley Paul being confronted by a big burly security guard asking him to empty his hand luggage.

Over £40 worth of suntan lotion, aftersun, shampoo, toothpaste, water etc etc was confiscated. Much to Paul's total amazement and disbelief.

"I didn't realise THAT was included in the ban!"

But despite his protestations, he was sent away with a flea in his ear with a suggestion that he might like to pay a visit to Superdrug in the departure lounge!

WHAT A NIGHTMARE!

And you'd be forgiven for thinking that's where it ended. But no! Smiley Paul then spent another £40 or so replacing everything he'd lost - only to find later, when we arrived, that he hadn't!

He'd NOT replaced what had been taken from his hand luggage. Instead, he'd duplicated the other grooming products he'd packed in his suitcase!

You get the picture by now. Smiley Paul is great. Really. Every holiday should have one!

FLYING HIGH

The flight to Banjul is just about long enough really. Six hours on a plane is beginning to push the limits for me.

I have done longer trips (10 hours to Mexico) but by the time I've watched two crappy movies, had a coffee and a snack, shuffled around to try and get comfortable in a seat that could ideally do with at least another 4" of leg room and read the safety leaflet three times, I'm ready to get off.

Having said that, it was as comfortable a flight as you could ask for - with clear blue skies most of the way and the minimum of turbulance. (Typical, though, that the plane should start rock and rolling at the very time I decide to have a wee and ended up trying to balance with my head leaning against the wall, legs spread and trying desperately not to miss! "Ladies and Gentlemen the Captain has illuminated the seat belt sign, please return to your seats". Yeh, that's easy for you to say, but when a man's gotta go.....!)

I'm a sucker for a window seat. I love watching the world go by at just short of the speed of sound.

One minute you're looking down on snow-capped mountains, the next it's the baron plains of the Western Sahara. And you're in a tin can the weight of a diesel locomotive, with 200 other people about 10 miles off the ground. Amazing!

Slightly deflating then to travel 95% of the journey in sunshine, only to hit grey clouds about 500 miles before landing.

COINING IT IN

Despite the slightly overcast skies, the heat hit us as soon as the doors of the Boeing 757 were opened.

So here's your first tip if you're taking a trip to The Gambia: Make sure you take a pocket full of pound coins with you.

From the minute you get through customs you'll be tipping everyone in sight.

Bell Boys WILL load your bags on to their trolley and escort you to your transfer bus.

Traditional African drummers WILL perform for you just outside the airport.

Another local WILL take your bags off the trolley and yet another WILL load it on to the bus.

If you need the loo, someone WILL be there to point out the urinals before extending their hand towards you and turning their palm skywards.

Each one WILL need to be tipped.

Make sure you keep some coins back too, for: The driver, the guide who escorts you on the bus, the person who takes the bags off the bus, the person who takes them into the hotel and finally - for now - the hotel porter who takes them to your room!

It's all part of The Gambian Experience.

Don't let it put you off. Go with it. It might cost you 20 quid to get from the airport to the hotel but so what? You're on holiday. And it's going to be a fantastic experience!

DRINKS BY THE POOL

By the time we arrived at the hotel (The Corinthia Atlantic - very nice!) and got to our rooms it was about 5.30pm. We'd been travelling for about 13.5 hours and it was time for a beer or two by the pool.

The hotel operates a cash-free environment where everything is signed for at point of sale and paid for at reception at the end of your stay.

We had heard tales that this could mean we'd be fleeced. It didn't. A paper receipt was issued for everything and by the end of the trip we were pleasantly surprised that the amount we budgeted for was about £30 OVER what we'd actually spent.

We'd booked half board but fully expected to have to leave the hotel to get a decent meal. We were wrong. We ended up eating in (or rather out on the patio, yards from the beach) every night. The food, and choice of food, was great.

Now here's tip number two. As soon as you're settled in make friends with the staff and they'll take care of you throughout your stay.

Lamin (the most common name for a Gambian male - meaning 'first born') at the pool bar made sure we never had to wait for a seat or a drink - and had correctly remembered all our names by the second visit.

Sainabu in the restaurant knew exactly which bottle of wine we'd want with our meal.

The Gambians are a very friendly people. And if you tip them £1 you're giving them roughly the equivalent of one day's wages!

And so we'd settled in - and by the end of day one had completely forgotten that it was winter in England and that only that morning we'd driven through temperatures of -4C.

Now we were listening to the waves of the Atlantic crashing on the shore, supping wine and enjoying great food, watching traditional entertainment and becoming very, very mellow.

It was 10.30pm (there's no time difference) and 22C. We'd arrived in West Africa and our Gambian Experience was just about to begin.....

DAY TWO

Now in the past I've not really been one to attend the 'welcome meeting'.

I used to think you'd be forced into joining in the knobbly knee competition and signed up to visit all the time-share developments within a 100 mile radius.

But more recently I've changed my mind, realising the worst that can happen is you spend 20 mins in the shade in return for a complimentary cocktail for your troubles.

Before we'd arrived we'd been told that the cheapest - and possibly best - way to see the sites was to use one of the local guides. Even by the end of the first evening we'd had a few Gambians offering to take us to see the crocodiles and trade markets.

We were undecided whether we should or not so thought we'd attend the welcome meeting and make up our minds once we'd heard what was on offer.

Amber was our Italian (and quite flirty) rep. She was an ebulient character. Well suited to her job. And by 11am we'd decided - for all sorts of reasons (not least of all holiday insurance) to go with the group tours. We booked three.

The rest of the day was spent on the beach where I frazzled to a cinder!

First Day; Sunburn, Last Day; Sunstroke - but more on that later!

SLAP IT ON

I'm rubbish at sunbathing. I love blue skies and sunshine and I thought that Factor 15 would keep me safe but I should have gone for double that. And more importantly, I should have applied it evenly!

Maybe it's my shape that makes some areas a little more difficult to reach....

By the end of the day my back looked like a map of Europe! My face looked like a tomato and the backs of my legs could be used to fry your breakfast on!

A cold water bath turned into a steaming sauna as soon as I stepped into it! And it hurt when I laughed!

And before you ask - there are NO photos! (One of the rules of a holiday with JG is no naked - or near naked - photographs! Well not of me anyhow!)

ALL GOING SWIMMINGLY

One of the things we'd been amazed by before we left home was that in every picture we'd seen of the beaches in The Gambia - nobody was in the sea.

Apparently - according to most of the literature I read - you take your life in your hands dodging the strong river currents, the stingrays that lay in wait ready to stab you with their tail when you tread on them, the jellyfish that brush past and sting you just for being in their vicinity and the shells that have been sharpened to a needle-point and jostle in the sand beneath the waves hoping for your vulnerable bare tootsie to step on them so you become impailed and bleed to death!

However, when the sun is beating down at 35C and you're crisping up nicely, the cool crashing waves of The Atlantic Ocean are just too inviting to turn down.

The green flag was flying so we just had to take a dip.

Thankfully - at least on this visit - the stingray, jellyfish and shells had taken a well-earned break and the only thing we DID have to battle was the current.

But it was a healthy and well-matched fight and so long as we kept our eyes on the beach it was easy enough to notice when we were drifting too far. And, boy, how exhilerating!

The hotel pool was lovely - but I don't particularly like getting the flab out in front of an audience. And in anycase the family from hell had commandeered the rubber rings and were doing bomb-drops from their sunbeds! (We did think someone would do well to start a website called "Tossers On Holiday dot com" - but decided against trying to take any photo evidence to start it off!)

LIFE'S A BEACH

The hotel's private beach area has security guards to keep the 'bumsters' away from the guests.

Bumsters are locals who 'befriend' you before trying to sell you something. Anything.

From fruit to football shirts to tours to... well ANYTHING really! If you've got the money, they'll find the goods.

Almost all of them are friendly. But you do have to be quite forceful if you don't want to spend the rest of your holiday with them. Don't say "maybe later" or "not today". Any chink in your armour and they'll keep at you until you give in.

One of the best sports is to watch your fellow sun worshipper trying to make the short journey from sunbed to sea without getting stopped just before the water's edge. They come from nowhere.

The local kids have their own sport too. How close can they get to the tourists before the security guard turns and catches them and ushers them away.

It sounds worse than it actually is. So long as you're not the type to take things too seriously. Just say no - and mean it.

One of the more unusual sights you'll witness is when the locals herd their livestock from one end of the beach to the other.

In the morning they are taken from the abatoir to the cemetary where there's grass for them to graze on. Then in the afternoon they are taken back again.

The spectacle of ox and goats at the water's edge has the tourist cameras snapping.

DAY THREE

The first of our tours. Truck Safari!

There was good news and bad news on day three. The good news was that we were going on the first of our tours. That meant I could stay covered up and wouldn't have to make excuses why I didn't want to spend the day on the beach.

The bad news was we were about to spend the day bumping up and down in a Swiss Army Truck. The sunburn may have been covered up - but it still took one heck of a bashing!

Self-inflicted pain aside - what a great day!

We were collected from the hotel at 8am GMT (have I mentioned GMT yet? Gambian Maybe Time! There's no real call for accurate time-keeping in The Gambia. So 8am GMT became about 8.20am by my reckoning - but hey, you're on holiday, who cares?).

We piled into a very battered swiss army truck. The four of us took the back seats which was actually quite a good move; sit in the front and you end up sniffing diesel fumes all day!

After picking up at a couple of other hotels en-route we rendezvoused with two other truckloads before travelling in convoy to discover the real Gambia.

Our first stop was a school where the headmaster told us how difficult it was to fund staff and equipment.

We were shown around the school and watched the teachers in the classrooms. It was the first of a couple of occasions that brought a lump to my throat.

In the Gambia poverty lives side by side with affluent hotels and tourism.

I'm not sure how 'well versed' the head teacher was at coaxing donations from visitors, but even if there is an amount of scripted emotions, beneath it all it's not difficult to see conditions really aren't great.

We handed over half of the books and pens we'd taken with us and added our financial donation too.

FROM POVERTY TO PARADISE

The rest of the day involved dodging the branches that whipped faces if you didn't duck at the guide's instructions to "Mind De Sides"; the bumpy roads ensured we enjoyed the "Free Massage" and "Dancing Without Music"; and the open air toilets were all part of the "Fully Inclusive Gambian Experience!"

From the school we visited Uncle John's Palm-Wine Distillery.

"It smells much worse than it tastes," we were assured when passed a taster. That may be so but they can still keep it, thank you!

Then it was on to Paradise Beach (it does exactly what it says on the tin!) for lunch and a swim.

Laura and I ventured up the beach towards the brightly coloured fishing boats.

We were welcomed by a couple of young fishermen who chatted to us about their work, told us what fish could be caught and then gave us - as a sign of friendship - a couple of huge shells which Laura promptly put to her ear. "Gambian mobile phone," laughed one of the lads.

In return for their 'free' gifts. It was suggested we make a similar gesture - and so we sealed our new found friendship with 300 Dalasis! (They'd have been 500D in the shops - we were reliably informed!)

The day ended back at the hotel (about an hour and a half later than originally scheduled - Gambian Maybe Time coupled with a flat tyre) where the beers, a shower, supper and evening entertainment rounded off a fantastic day.

DAY FOUR

On day four, whilst the others toasted gently with their evenly spread Factor 400, I disguised myself as a mobile laundry; using extra T-shirts and shorts to cover the bits that hurt whilst trying to even up the bits that remained white.

By lunchtime I needed a break from the midday sun so Ian and I decided to go for a walk into Banjul.

We'd passed Independence Drive a couple of times and I'd been told there were some great views from the top of Arch 22 (built to commemorate the 22 July 1994 coup) which stood at one end.

It took precisely 10 seconds into our excursion before we were joined by a bumster. He was friendly enough and not at all threatening.

He recommended a particular suntan lotion, tried to give us directions and sight-seeing tips and generally just chatted to us.

We crossed the road about five times and changed direction about four times before he finally got the hint and gave up.

Arch 22 is worth the entrance fee for the views alone. As an added bonus there's also a cafe half way up and a small museum at the top.

We turned down the lift in favour of taking the stairs and my head was spinning by the time we reached the viewing platforms.

You can really get a birdseye view (remind me to tell you about the birds later - especially the vultures!) of the island.

It gives you a true perspective of Banjul City. From the beaches to the river, the affluent hotels to the tumbled down shacks, the litter and the goats.

It was about 2pm when we got back to street level and something strange had happened to the outside world.

Independence Drive had come to a complete standstill and a silence had descended.

Vehicles had parked in the middle of the street, stalls and shops had stopped serving - even the bumsters were noticeable by their absence.

For as far as the eye could see - on pavements on both sides of the road - Muslim men, women and children were at prayer.

The only people on the move were us and a handful of Gambian Christians. I felt as though we were intruding. I wanted to take a photo but thought it would be disrespectful.

It was the second of my 'lump in the throat' moments.

I've never witnessed the power of religion to such a degree. It's certainly not something you'd see in the UK.

D-I-S-C-O

The rest of the day was spent with more sunbathing, swimming in the sea and in the pool (making full use of the fact that the 'family from hell' were not about) and then a couple of drinks before supper.

After we'd eaten, Lamin found us a table close to the band - but we didn't get a chance to enjoy another beer.

In minutes we were cajoled onto the dancefloor by the staff and however hard we tried to escape, we were just ushered back for more dancing!

It wasn't until the band played its fifth rendition of the 12" version of "Give Me Hope, Joanna" that we finally made it back to our seats.

Against our better judgement - and inspired by our new found dancing skills - we decided to pay a visit to the hotel's "80s Disco Night".

That's where we met Heidi and Andi (two young policewomen from Manchester) and Kevin and Annette (who'd also been on the same Truck Safari as us). Hi to you all if you're reading this.

We danced non-stop until 2am.

In the words of the song; "Oh What A Night..."

DAY FIVE

Saturday was a lazy day. At last my tan(burn) had evened up so I could bare my bits once again. We HAD planned a night on the town in Koli - but we're all in our 40s now..... lol.

We ended up having an early night, ready for an early start and tour number two in the morning.

TWITCHERS' PARADISE

I said I'd tell you about the birds.

When we first arrived at the hotel we were a little disappointed that our rooms didn't have much of a view.

It looked like we backed onto waste land.

It wasn't until we looked more closely that we realised we were right next to the hotel's own bird garden.

It doesn't look much but each morning about 7.15am the dawn chorus was amazing.

Standing on the balcony, fruit bats with a wing span of about 18" would fly right past you before hanging upside down in the branches.

Red Eyed Doves would coo and chameleons would scuttle across the ground and up trees, changing colour to match their surroundings and make them almost invisible as they soaked up the day's sunshine.

And always, high up above, there would be bigger birds like vultures and black kites. It's a twitcher's paradise!

MAKASUTU FOREST

Sunday was another early start for us. Our second tour was to Makasutu Forest an eco tourist destination founded by two Englishmen.

Once again we were collected at 8am GMT (about 8.30am) by Swiss Army Truck. We sat at the back again.

This time (most of) the roads were a lot less bumpy.

We arrived at the forest in time for coffee and biscuits before climbing in to a dug out canoe for a trip up the Mandina Bolong - a tributary of the Gambia River - spotting the wildlife along the way.

I sat just in front of the young rower. He was friendly and we chatted lots. He told me how he had been to school and done well in his education but that the only job he could get was as a cleaner.

I asked him what he wanted to do. He aspired to be a waiter.

"It's not what you know but who you know that counts here," he told me.

"I love the Gambia but just because you do well at school doesn't guarantee you a good job.

"Some people with little education get good jobs because they know people in government. Others with good education get nothing."

He told me he planned to save money and go back to school to study IT.

Half way through our trip, the canoe ran aground and we were pushed off the sandbank by a group of children who'd been playing in the river.

"They cannot talk," my new friend told me, "and because of that, they're not able to go to school."

Thoughout my trip to The Gambia, I learned lots just by talking to the locals.

Fiddler crabs waved to us from the river bank and we passed oyster fishermen checking their nets at the base of the mangroves. Then we disembarked and walked back to base.

MONKEY BUSINESS

A quick drink stop and we were on our way again. This time for an hour and a half's walk through the forest.

Baboons inhabit the trees and pathways and there are termite hills everywhere. (Don't peer into the holes: Empty termite mounds are often inhabited by Cobras who could make a play for your eye!)

We stopped at the local Bush Doctor who read our palms for 100 Dalasis and told us what our charity (or lucky charm) was.

I was instructed to throw water at a doorway and jump over it before leaving the Gambia and returning to the UK. I did!

"There was another chance to sample Palm Wine... mmmm delicious!!!!! And an opportunity to try and climb a palm tree. Smiley Paul had a go and did really well.

Back at base we enjoyed a buffet lunch and some traditional African dancing before heading back to the hotel in time for Happy Hour.

LAST DAY

And so, all too soon, it was Monday. The last day and the final trip. It was also Independence Day (18th Feb) and if we'd planned better we'd have chosen to stay around Banjul to enjoy the celebrations.

However, the Roots Tour is one not to be missed.

It was also to blame - I think - for my sunstroke!

We spent three hours on a boat heading up the river. The water was flat calm and dolphins and flying fish entertained us on the trip.

There was no horizon today. It was hazy and the water and the sky merged into one. The thermometer up on top deck read 98F in the shade.

We were heading for Juffureh, the village where Alex Hayley's book and film ROOTS is set. Kunte Kinteh's relatives still live there.

On this trip we were accompanied by two security officers from the 'tourist police'.

We were advised not to get separated from the group too. Not because we'd be in danger but because begging is rife!

I did read 'Roots' when I was younger, but that was many years ago and I think I'm going to have to get the book and read it all over again.

Walking in to the village, the paths were lined on either side by children banging out a 'welcome' on old pots and buckets and, in one or two cases, actual drums.

We visited the slave museum and met the only female tribal chief in The Gambia.

One of the resident guides provided much more information than our own tour guides; filling in the gaps and explaining more about the villagers and their customs.

When we got to the middle of the village I asked if I could give our remaining pens, pencils and notepads to the children.

"You'll start a war," he told me.

I explained that some of the gifts had been donated by listeners back home and that I'd really like a photo to show them when I got back, so he came up with a plan.

He rounded up all the youngsters and made them stand in a line about 20' away from me.

Then one by one he called them forward and I gave each one something from my bag. What an amazing experience.

A trip to the trade market allowed me to buy two large African carved masks for 350 Dalasis - that's about £9 for the pair and about a quarter the price they were charging in Banjul, then it was back to the boat for a buffet lunch on the crossing to St James' Island.

STEP BACK IN TIME

St James' Island is the holding island where slaves were detained before being transported around the world.

It was once six times larger than it is now but erosion has seen it diminish in size.

Nevertheless, looking back to Juffureh you can see why, when slaves were told they'd be granted freedom if they managed to swim to the shore and touch the flagstaff on the mainland, many of them drowned in strong currents.

Our boat was too big to get to the island so we moored up and used canoes to get to the landing stage.

There's not an awful lot to see now. But still you get the idea and realise just how many slaves were crammed into such tiny cells.

Isn't amazing what we do to each other as a human race?

With the sun still beating down, we meandered back up the river towards Banjul with the ripples sparkling all around.

Each time 'Captain Crocodile' spotted dolphins playing he'd swing the wheel and take a detour so we could watch.

I spent much of the trip standing at the front of the boat watching the flying fish fling themselves out of the water and skim across the surface.

After supper that night, things changed for me.

I didn't feel too well - I knew so because I couldn't finish my beer! That was the start of my "Banjul Belly" (or more likely self inflicted sunstroke!).

HOME TIME

I was up to the loo most of that night and the trip home the next day was nothing if not interesting! (Especially the six hour flight!)

There's a phrase; "The bottom's fallen out of my world". Rearrange those words and you'll understand exactly how I felt.

Laura had suffered one day during the holiday but a couple of tablets seemed to put her right. No number of tablets had any effect for me!

It's now Sunday, almost one week later, and today was the first day I've been able to have a full meal and be brave enough to leave the house for any length of time!

But was it all worth it?

You bet it was!

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