Danny wants to quit when he has difficulties learning how to ski downhill.

Danny doesn't want to practice with his relay team, but there is no such thing as a one-man relay.

A personal history of serving with the Foreign office in the Middle East in the 1950’s and 1960’s. A memoir looking at the region from the traveller’s point of view rather than the politics of the era. Looks at wonders and strangeness of the Levant region. ‘Don’t worry Mr Wood, nothing has ever happened in Basra’ said the Iraqi Major General in charge of the port when I paid a courtesy call on him after my arrival. Recalling Sinbad the sailor and the arrival of the Anglo Indian Expeditionary Force to throw out the Turks in 1914, I took this advice with a pinch of salt and was justified in June 1966 when Iraq in company with all other Arab nations broke off diplomatic relations with us sparking student riots against our consulate, the breaking of many windows and our departure. Before that the unexpected had happened in Beirut where the Americans arrived dramatically to quell a civil war in 1956 to relieve a non-existent threat to a temporary garrison of the staff of our Embassy there waiting to defend the place against a non-existent mob. This account of a few Foreign Office postings in the Middle East may show what life was like for a junior diplomat in 50s and 60s. The dig at Nimrud in 1956 under the inspired leadership of Max Mallowan and his wife Agatha Christie is also recalled from the social point of view and is a reminder of the glories of the ancient past many of which have been destroyed by the recent depravations of the fanatics. It should be added that Agatha’s contribution is not generally recognised in archaeological publications but her management of the administration of the dig from weekly baths to the sewing on of buttons, from proper coffee to decent arak and even typing of other people’s less inspired writings were phenomenal. There are also photographs taken by the author of this dig and one on the cover of the canebrake at Khosr.

Matt wakes up in the Chihuahaun Desert, beaten and apparently left to die. Although he has a bad knock on his head and a broken rib, he survives the night in the desertbut only just. An old prospector finds Matt and calls for help. A helicopter responds to the call. It lands, places Matt on a gurney and flies him to Las Cruces Medical Center. The police question him, but Matt is too addled to identify suspects at that time. Matt recalls nothing except his name and has no idea who might want him dead. Matt proposes to produce a narrative of his life in the present and past, hoping to scour out suspects. The police always consider the spouse as a suspect first. But, Matt and his wife are so madly in love that Matt does not accuse her in his narrative. A poignant memory is the vehicular accident in which Matt and several of his teammates are involved in front of a womens dormitory. Matt worries that his brain has been injured when he hears God advise him that his lifetime partner is in the crowd of spectators and to go find her. Kathy, in her third-floor dorm room receives the same message. She puts on her robe and hurries downstairs. Matt and Kathy quickly find one another. They stare at each other for a few moments and then they rush to hold one another.

The seasons, flowers, trees, birds, and other animals, the artistry of spider webs, the beauty of sunsets, especially the omnipresence of the river are all interwoven with sincerity and emotion. This book features the best memories of the author's life along the Wisconsin River.