Its not my problem, said Lady, with an enormous grin. He turned his back on me, propped himself up on his elbow, and, with his left hand, poured himself a long gugle of whisky. If youre going up the Motaba almost to its source, walking right across the watershed and then expecting to find a dugout in the middle of nowhere waiting just for you - he took a big gulp from the tooth-mug - a dugout, I guess, with a personalized greeting card from God stuck on it - you know the kind of thing - Dear Redso, every hair on your head is numbered and of course theres a mansion up here with your name beneath the doorbell-push-button but, in the meantime, heres a celestial canoe, old boy, just because youre such a jolly good chap, such a pukkah English pig-sticking pervert, oh yes, Redso, and I nearly forgot, Im sending jobs with wings to drop in a few supplies and lift you out when you break a leg - you wont get anywhere near Lake Tele inside three months.