Deep-sea fiasco

I’m currently in Kenya with my wife and four children and have just returned from the coast where we spent four nights at the Serena Hotel in Mombasa. My only complaint is that all the DVDs in the Kids’ Club were pirate copies — a bit off, considering the hotel is owned by the Aga Khan.

Every morning I was approached by an employee of the hotel’s aquatic centre who asked if I wanted to go deep-sea fishing. I said no because the cost of renting the boat was £220, but on the last day he told me that someone else was interested and willing to stump up half the money. It was too good an opportunity to miss, particularly as there’d be room on the boat for my three boys. I’ve been reading Ernest Hemingway’s East African short stories and, according to Papa, nothing is more guaranteed to transform a boy into a man than hunting big game. It’s no longer legal to kill the ‘Big Five’ — elephant, rhino, lion, leopard and buffalo — but sailfish, tuna and bonito are all on the menu. So what if my boys are only four, five and seven? This would be something they’d remember the rest of their lives.

My fellow passenger was a short, fat Swiss man who clearly didn’t like children. Either that, or he resented the fact that he was subsidising our family excursion.

‘Are they coming on the boat?’ he asked.