The generator cuts out with 10 mins left of the game. I suggest hunting for beer, I think social anxiety might be making me brave, somewhat of a paradox? We wander around trying to find an establishment. It seems to me that nowhere looks in the least bit likely. However, on closer look things pop out. Places huffily materialise in front of you, with the defensive stance of the overlooked and self-consciously shabby. We nose deeper between the corrugated iron garages and breeze block frontings covered in adverts for car parts or car washing. It's like turning over a bland and unlikely looking stone in a rock pool, only to find a teeming efflorescence of surprising events taking place.

We accidentally wander into an illegal gambling game, the room is doomily dark and candlelit. Josh seems interested joining in, I'm a little nervous, my skill at gambling rests entirely upon my skill at cheating rather than strategy. I do not rate my chances or the consequences of cheating at cards in Kenya.

You seem to be able to wander through any doorway and into any building/home, which may or may not cater your needs, probably depending on nothing more than whether they happen to have in any of what you are looking for.

We finally find an actual 'bar'. It has a bathroom style china white sink next to the bar where the waitress clad in tight red crochet rinses her bar cloth. No sink at all in the toilets. Also the toilets are holes in the ground, there is dripping from the ceiling of uncertain origin. The beers are beers however, called Tusker, sometimes one's lucky enough to find Pils, although not today. As soon as we enter the bar we are spectacles, there is a pool table and we're challenged, one by one the boys lose and we are hustled. One fully baked man transpires to be rather more skilled, rather less baked, and rather more eager for a beer penalty per loss once he's gotten the best of Josh, Peter and Doug. I am glad at this point that Kenyan women are not expected to play pool, I feel distinctly out of my pub depth.