"Rock and roll!" I said desperately. Getting to my feet, I dragged Ted, who luckily had only been crouching, up with me. "Come on," I said, holding firmly on to his arm. "Let's go. Over there, where the music is."

Ted, looking totally bemused, nevertheless allowed himself to be led to where the dancing was certainly more concentrated. It was quite some distance, beside some makeshift speakers, on the other side of the camp fire, well away from Babs and Celia. As we joined the throng and swayed along to Coldplay, I saw some of his students on the sandy dance floor nudge each other delightedly. They danced up close to us, grinning, mobbing him up. He grinned sheepishly back. After a bit he leaned in.

“Not sure I'm quite drunk enough for this!” he confided loudly, above the din.

I wasn't entirely sure I was either, but Babs and Celia - I glanced over my shoulder — had at least stayed put, so needs must. I grinned and nodded as if I couldn't really hear him. We swayed along to another number, and then actually, suddenly, as if by magic, I was drunk enough. I began to feel most peculiar, in fact. Remarkably mellow and — yes, graceful. I waved my arms high in the air, swaying along. Ted looked amused and I hoped it wasn't because I was displaying too much bingo wing, but no, he must surely see that what I was actually doing was reaching for the stars, which I grasped, and which then turned to sparkling gems in my hands. I stared at them in wonder. I really was up there, with Lucy, in the sky with diamonds, how extraordinary. And it was slanting slightly, the sky, which made grasping that much easier. I leaped about like a gazelle, seizing sparklers, in fact . . . I was a gazelle, I realized, as my legs grew long and bony, with hocks and hooves. I stood still. "Look!" I implored Ted, tugging his arm as he danced. "Look at my legs!"

He gazed down, surprised. “Very nice."

"But I'm an animal — can't you see? In fact . . .” I gazed down incredulously. “I’m an impala,” I told him importantly.

Ted laughed softly. He took my arm. “So you are. But I've obviously had less impala puff than you, which puts me at something of a disadvantage. Why don't we retire to that quiet spot yonder by the rocks, where the youth have conveniently left a bottle of plonk and some cups, and see if I can catch up?"

It seemed a reasonable enough suggestion under the circumstances and he led me away. But I had to trot, obviously, because I had hooves. And shake my head. As I settled down beside him on the vast sandy plains of the Maasai Mara, folding my long back legs beneath me, I gazed about admiringly. Ted was pouring me a plastic cup of wine.