‘You say: “Zirigu, wake me for eight.” At eight, I com’, you no wake. At ’a pas’ eight, I com’, you no wake. Now, you go wake because ’e be nine o’clock.’

‘But Zirigu, the door was not locked. You could have come and dragged me out!’

‘Ah, Massa, you make me laugh. Me, Zirigu, com’ where yourself sleep com’ pull you?’

‘Why not?’

‘I no fit.’

‘Okay, we shall not argue further about it. Thank you for managing to get me up at last.’

‘But weyting you think you fit do for this place so you wake up early so?’

‘Nothing really. You are right. But I just want to keep on waking up early. It will be bad for me to get used to sleeping late. I should try to get up much earlier than this anyway, but I feel very tired so I am going slow.’

‘But why? For Massa, you fit sleep late. Weyting you go do for office? Like me, I wake early, yes. But you, no!’

‘Zirigu, not all educated people work in offices.’

‘No?’

‘No. And one of these days, I think I’m going to tell you why I don’t want to get used to sleeping late.’

Christ I can feel it coming.

‘I don’ make you coffee for long time. Maybe now, ’e be cold. I go stand am for stove.’

‘Take your time, man. I’ll wash myself and then come and fetch it. Please Zirigu, I’ve said that you shouldn’t wait on me hand and foot.’

‘Massa!’

‘Well, I don’t see why you should. You are old enough to be my father.’

‘My white Massa!’

‘And I am not a white man.’

‘Massa!’

‘Listen, the kitchen is your territory and I shall not come and mess around there. Besides, I am a guest here so there are things I know I should not do. But I’ll be damned if you are going to get me to behave as though I were some accursed invalid or something.’

‘Lord, lord, Massa, such talk no fit for your mout’. I like yourself so you fit do weyting you like. The sun don’ com’ up long time. I wan’ go get good meat for you so I must hurry to market before twelve. Tell me what you sabe for breakfast make I do. Omelette? Poached eggs. Fried egg on toast. Eggs and bacon. Orange juice . . .’

‘Stop, Zirigu!’

‘Why, Massa?’

‘I’m not having any breakfast. Have you got fresh oranges?’

‘No? . . . Yes, in my wife’s kitchen. I go bring am for you.’

‘I will pay for it.’

‘No fear. When I go for market, I go buy you better. Plenty Massas only drink orange juice for the bottle.’

‘I’m mad but I think I’m sane enough not to drink pressed, homogenised, dehydrated, re-crystallised, thawed, diluted and heaven-knows-what-else orange juice, imported from countries where oranges do not grow, when I can eat oranges.’