I know a lovely woman who actually does something worthwhile. She's saving the planet. She's currently in the Sudan. She summarises her problems as this: "So, there's a flood. There's also a civil war. You kind of assume that the really bad flooding would stop the civil war. But no. There they are, up to their necks in water, shooting at each other. Tiresome."
We have an evening of cocktails in a rooftop bar. She insists on paying the ludicrous bill ("Darling, we only got Cappucino in the Sudan last month. How long do you think it'll be before we get a decent martini?").
There's gossip. About randy aid workers, lustful body guards, and corrupt UN officials. About almost hopeless challenges and terrible terrible things. She says how one night they found the woman in the next door tent trussed screaming to her bed by her three bodyguards. When asked what they thought they were doing the bodyguards calmly replied, "We're gonna have a little fun."
She tells me all this and I think "I couldn't do your job." And then she starts talking about the plumbing and I think "I really couldn't do your job."