nearly New Year

Hello, probably for the last time in 2009. What are you doing for New Year's? In a bid to be more sociable (Hubby and I took a personality test recently, which proves we are both sociopaths) we have arranged to go out for a meal with two other couples (sadly I am not going alone to a fancy dress pirate party with missionaries this New Year). The only problem is we don't know where. All the big hotels seem to be doing amazing New Years spangly events, but all we want is a plate of pasta and a bit of bubbly (not even that in Hubby's case as he is on duty so will not be drinking). Hope we can find somewhere normal where we don't have to pay a million rupees for a seat and watch some dubious 'entertainment' all night.

Feeling quite un-festive now as all the chocolate has gone. Went to the gym this afternoon to get the bad news - only put on one kilo this xmas (didn't stuff my face quite so much as last year, also the portion sizes in Thailand were paltry and I was hoping in fact to have lost some weight as a result, but no such luck).

I'm getting through the post Christmas holidays, although tomorrow looks a bit dire as we have just been blown out by the kids only friends (everyone else in the expat community has sensibly fled the country for the chilly, depressing post-xmas lull). I took them all riding today, which was a jolly expensive way to spend an hour, so I'm not doing it again tomorrow. Might have to resort to feeding the pigeons in Patan Durbar Square (kids have no interest in the seventeenth century erotic carvings/stunning architecture/religious symbolism on the temples and palaces in the UNESCO World Heritage site, but show them a plate of corn and a few scrawny birds and they're happy), or even the play park on camp (please, no - surely I can think of something better than this?). Oh well, only two weeks left to go...

Happy New Year!

ps - got given a Christmas present from the hairdresser today when I took the girls for a trim. All the kids got a painted head of the Hindu god, Shiva (who as I recall, is the god of death). So that's a nice cheery Christian gift for the customers, then.

Anyway, must give computer back to Hubby, who desperately needs to do something geeky.

xxx

catch up

So, the usual Internet problems here. We’ve just switched to a provider who promised super fast broadband, but it’s pants. Hubby says it’s typical, rubbish service because ‘the whole country is falling apart’, which sounds overly cynical, but is in fact true. There was even a leader in the Economist about it last week. Apparently the country is on the brink of yet-another (or rather, the same old) crisis. The choice seems to be between coaxing the (pro Chinese, natch) Maoists back into the peace process or letting the (pro Indian) army hold sway – although as I’m not a Nepali, this isn’t a choice for me, of course. The Maoists are getting increasingly restive – there were three days of bandhs before Christmas, but we missed it all as we were sunning ourselves on the beach in Thailand. Quite nice to escape political unrest and freezing cold marble floors for a few days (and this time Twin 2 managed not to vomit on the plane, so that was good). We were home in time for Christmas, and thankfully Father Christmas was not in the least confused by our lack of chimney (probably rather grateful to just have an open door and a set of stairs to contend with). He didn’t bring absolutely everything the kids wanted, unfortunately. In fact Hubby told me that Twin 1 was in tears at 5am Christmas day, because her stocking presents were rubbish. But I put this down more to being woken up at 4.45 Christmas day by her brother and sister. Blimey, I’d be in tears if I was woken up at 4.45 am and forced to wear Disney Princess lip gloss and eat chocolate coins.
We opened the rest of the presents much later in the day, and there were no tears, although I did have a minor anxiety attack when I opened my one from Hubby. It’s a new mobile phone. But you can also use it as an MP3 player, cam corder, GPS, and camera. I think if you press the right button it will also massage your feet and pour a large G&T. Which is fab, really it is. But it does entail me actually reading and digesting the instruction manual, and I am Mrs Luddite, so it’s all, well, just a little bit scary. Poor Hubby is trying to resist the urge to wrest it from me and take it away for some geeky tinkering. You know how they say that the best presents are the ones you want to keep yourselves? This Christmas present is certainly an example of just that. However, I’m not letting him have it because I have just trained it to recognise my handwriting, and I’m not going back to using horrible pokey text messaging ever again. No siree, Bob.
Anyway, it’s all over now. I polished off the last of the chicken and Hubby had the remains of the xmas pud for supper tonight (the kids had cheese and biscuits in front of the Lion King: there are now biscuit crumbs all over the floor where they were roaring in sympathy with whatever was going on, on screen, and bits of half-eaten cracker fell out of their mouths - delightful).
So, we’ve had a beach holiday, and the thrills of Christmas Day, and now there’s only a mere three weeks to go until the children go back to school (I curse the British School and its generous holiday entitlement: why can’t they just get a poxy two weeks, like all the kids in the UK? I mean it is supposed to be a British School, so should that Britishness not also extend to meagre holidays? It should, surely?)

easy life

Feeling like a proper lady of leisure now the book is finished. However, I have just sent the first four thousand words off to my creative writing group for critiquing on Monday. I'm a bit nervous because the standard of the group is pretty high, and I'm worried that their insightful comments will make me feel that my efforts are a bit pants. We'll see.

In the meantime I have time to do inane things like wrap presents and do the make up for the Twins' xmas play. Actually I won't be doing that today as today's performance has been postponed until Friday. There is supposed to be a big valley-wide bandh (strike/stoppage) today, so the school assumed that nobody would actually be able to make it past the burning tyres and flying bricks to watch 'Humph the camel' at the British School. However, as it turns out, the Maoists are getting soft on us, because they have partially cancelled today's bandh, which now only applies to businesses, not transport. This, I'm told, is because today is a big wedding day in Kathmandu (out here astrologers choose wedding dates, and today is a particularly auspicious day, astrologically-speaking, so there are shed-loads of weddings planned). How absolutely sweet of them to call off part of their bandh so as not to spoil anyone's wedding day. Who says the political can't be personal? You know, it gives me a really warm and fuzzy feeling about the whole people's revolution thing.

the end is nigh

Feeling quite excited because I have just finished editing the final draft of the book, hurrah. Now I need to go and get printer cartridges and lots of paper so that I can print it all out. This is such good timing as this week is ending up filling up with stuff. I have promised to do face painting for Twins xmas play, and there also seems to be random bits of admin to attend to. Anyway, I'm so thrilled that I might have to go to the supermarket and buy a celebratory can of diet Coke or something (woo hoo).

I know the fact that it's finished doesn't mean anything. It may will be a load of rubbish. But at least it is a complete load of rubbish!

Right, I could write more, but I need to go and buy stuff.

Cheerio x

Friday I'm in love

Feeling rubbish, much worse than when I had swine flu the other week. So fed up with having chapped nostrils and snot on permanent send.

Anyway, enough moaning. I'm off in a bit to get some reflexology and spend lots of money on cashmere (Hubby's Xmas jumper plus four pashminas for cousin's relatives - who are actually also relatives of mine, too, I suppose). The cashmere man will love me and hopefully give me a big fat discount next time I want to buy something for myself.

After that I'm off to school for the assembly, because Twin 1 is being presented with a 'fifty house points' certificate. She's been banging on about it all week, so I have to be there to witness her moment of glory on stage. Not quite sure how she has managed to get fifty house points though. We had a parents' evening earlier this week and the teacher tried, in a diplomatic and professional way, to point out that Twin 1 is a stubborn bossyboots who refuses to accept when she's in the wrong. Of course the teacher didn't actually say that, but we knew what she meant when she said she hadn't ticked the box for 'can distinguish between right and wrong' because she felt that was a target that Twin 1 was still working towards...

Twin 2, on the other hand, can distinguish between right and wrong, but apparently has no concept of what a repeating pattern is, or how to use a pair of scissors.

I can't really take it all that seriously because they are only FOUR. At their age, Son hadn't even started school, so having targets, boxes to tick and parents' evenings all seems a bit silly to me.

I'm quite sure that by the time they leave home to go to university, Twin 2 will know how to use a pair of scissors and Twin 1 will have some rudimentary idea of morality.

Cousin is still here - looks like he might have Swine Flu - we can only hope that he will be well enough to board the plane tomorrow.

Anyway, it's Friday and I'm in love. Not sure love is reciprocated though as Hubby can't bear to have romantic dealings with anyone as chapped and snotty as me.

Right, should get some lippy on and get down the cashmere shop, I suppose!

Bye for now x

the usual feelings of guilt

Um Bum. I really should be at the partner's club meeting right now. It's a general meeting, so I expect they'll be talking about all kinds of important things, and eating samosas.

I do feel guilty, but Hubby quite wisely warned me that if I went along, I'd end up getting sucked in, and I really don't want to have to spend my days organising raffles/bingo/shopping trips. So I'm skiving. In fact, I've had a very productive morning and have edited almost up to Act three of the book, which is great (although I do worry, as I'm doing it, that perhaps I should have written more - but ninety-odd thousand words must be enough, don't you think? I'm wracked with self-doubt!)

Anyway, there was something else I was going to tell you about, but it has flitted out of the vacuum that is my brain these days...

Sorry, anyway, need to go and dry my hair now so I don't leave the house looking like the love-child of Wurzel Gummidge and Courtney Love.

xxx

aliens and apple cores

Kids have got two of their little friend's round and, at Sons instigation, they are all playing 'martians'. He asked me to put Holst's Planets on the stereo. At the moment the Twins and their little friend are lying on the floor pretending to be dead aliens who have been killed by the baddy alien, so it's quite calm. For some reason, converting the living room into outer space involves pulling all the curtains away from the windows and draping them across the sofas. Other martian props include half eaten apples, discarded library books and upturned coffee tables. Almost exactly like being on the set of Star Wars, I think you'll agree.

Sorry, yet again, for not having written for ages. Mum and Dad have been and gone, as has my cousin's girlfriend, which just leaves him. I'm not sure what he's up to at the moment but if he ventures downstairs right now he'll be sucked into hyperspace.

Anyway, I've got over Swine Flu and now I've got a cold. Which is probably God's punishment on me for thinking less-than-Christian thoughts about my church-going bearded cousin staying for another week. I want to be a nicer person, but I'm not.

December 1st tomorrow, hurrah! Which means I can drag in the xmas tree, and we can start doing traditional family things like, erm, watching lots of DVDs and eating chocolate. Last year I put on a couple of kilos over christmas, so I'll have to be careful this year and try to share at least some of the chocolate biscuit selection box kindly bought by my visiting cousin (you see, now I'm feeling even more guilty about my attitude to his extended stay).

Twin 1 is now wondering around with a pair of pink stripey tights on her head, and plastic shoes three sizes too big. Because that's what martian's wear, apparently.

Incidentally, what are alien healthcare workers called? Doc Martians! I could make a fortune writing jokes for crackers, me. I might have to as well. The more I work on editing my book, the less convinced I am by its merit. Still, I have heard that there's a living to be made writing verses for Hallmark cards - and I could then call myself a poet, woo-hoo.

There's now some backseat driving going on in the space ship and it's starting to get a bit shouty, so I might relocate to Venus (my bedroom) in a bit.

Anyway, promise to try to write a bit more regularly in December.

TTFN x

stuff

Yeah, I know, I've been a bit remiss. Soz. So, it turns out that we've had swine flu (well, me and the girls anyway) - so that's what that chest infection thingy was the other week. So that whole quarantine thing was all completely unneccessary (ooh, way too many consonants in that word but I can't remember the real spelling, sorry), and it meant that Son missed out on showing off in his class assembly, and Twin 1 missed out on having the lead in the Christmas play. I don't think they're that bothered, but I'm quite sad about it. The old 'home schooling' concept never really got off the ground, so it's a good job they were only off for a week.

Anyway, beardy and welshy are in Chitwan at the moment, I think. And I think they are coming back here tomorrow. I'm not sure.

My parents have been and gone. They arrived Thursday evening and left this morning. Now they are on some posh train in India going to look at the Taj Mahal (and recovering from being covered in grandchildren for five days!).

I was going to get stuck into the book this morning, but Twin 1 had to go to hospital to have an ultrasound to make sure her kidneys and bladder are working properly, which they are. Blimey, this family is such a bunch of hypochondriac malingerers. Wonder whose turn it will be tomorrow. Perhaps I will succumb to suspected Ebola or something?

Hubby has not been back to the Red Rooster since his return from the UK ten days ago. I think this might mean that the whole Anna Kournikova thing has come to a natural conclusion. Which ex-sports personality will be next, I wonder? I heard that Sharon Davies has split up from her husband (I think I read it in Heat magazine at the hairdressers the other week), so perhaps she'll be on the lookout for a balding, grouchy late-entry officer? Oh, as well as the gout, he also thinks he might have arthritis in his right hand - he says it's always very stiff in the mornings (make of that what you will)...

Ooh, I do have some news. Hubby has been offered the option to extend here for another year, and I think we are going to risk the whole getting-annihilated-by-a-major-earthquake - thing and go for it (listen, I'm prepared to accept the very real chance of getting buried under rubble if it means I escape housework for another year).

Right, if I'm quick I might be able to edit chapter four before I go to pick up Twin 2, so I'm off now. Tootle pip!

fish wives and swine flu

So, last week I had the kids off school all week because they were ill; this week they are off school all week again, to keep them away from the other kids at school who might be ill. No irony there, then (also, no time in the gym, spa, and definitely no time for writing the book).

The problem is the whole scary old swine flu thing which has finally made its way to Nepal. In fact, the first case picked up in the BGN community was in Hubby's workplace.

Twin 2 is within the category of those who might suffer complications from swine flu, as she is under five and has borderline asthma (not sure if the cerebral palsy is really relevant). Secondary healthcare in Nepal is pants. So, after a lengthy conversation with the doctor, we decided it might be prudent to keep her away from possible sources of infection - ie school. But then we realised that there was no point keeping her off school and sending the other two in, as they could just as easily pick it up and pass it on at home. Hence, they are all off school.

Also, shortly after we decided on this course of action, our first lot of visitors arrived (bearded cousin and Welsh girlfriend - not that there is anything wrong with being bearded, or Welsh, or both; in fact I have several bearded Welsh relatives of both sexes). But you know, trying vaguely to 'home school' when there are exciting visitors to flirt with is almost impossible. I have resorted to just giving Son lots of books from my Usborne stock, and letting him get on with it.

Feel like such a fraud keeping them off as we are all perfectly fine - apart from being bored silly.

The only thing of interest recently has been Meena and Sanu's big row yesterday evening. Hubby asked if someone could come in and do a bit of washing up in the evening whilst we have guests, and asked if Meena and Sanu could work as a team to try to make this possible (Meena has been going home before six, now the evenings are darker, whereas Sanu finishes at three, but lives on site). There was much tears, bitterness, accusations and recriminations. I wish my Nepali was better because it sounded like a right fishwives brawl. Still, those two have always had an uneasy relationship, ever since our predecessors left Sanu with their old microwave and Meena had a huff and wouldn't speak to her for two months. The only thing that got them talking then was when we sacked Dinesh, the driver.

The obvious way to solve this rift and get them chummy again this time would be to sack someone else, I suppose. However, there is no-one left to sack - apart from either Sanu or Meena, which would be counter-productive.

Sunil promised to come tonight with a couple of shirts. What are the chances he'll turn up now, d'you reckon? Even at warp speed he'll never reach it through the intergalactic highway from Betelgeuse by nine.

Hubby has just phoned from Pokhara. He has had lots of whiskey and is now contemplating spending the rest of the night in the 'X-bar'. I'm wondering if Anna Kournikova knows about this? Perhaps she has quit 'Crazy girls' for the 'X-bar' or perhaps she has given up her pursuit of Hubby and returned to Enrico? He said, in a slightly slurred voice, that Pretty Woman was on the telly in his hotel and it made him think of me. Which is gratifying, I guess, except that I couldn't really look any less like Julia Roberts if I tried, so I think he may just have been thinking about women, pretty or otherwise.

Hmm, yet another day of exciting 'home schooling' to look forward to tomorrow. I'm counting down the days until Twin 2's swine flu vaccination arrives...

house of germs

We are the house of pneumonia this week. I had great plans, with Hubby away, of dropping the kids off at the school bus and then having a swift half hour in the gym and then putting in a solid couple of hours on the book before having to pick up Twin 2 from school. But then fate intervened in the shape of chest infections. Twin 2 has been off for three days, and today Twin 1 joined her. It's not too bad because it's during the week, at least, so the house is clean and tidy and the cooking is done. However, Sanu now has a bad back and Meena is complaining of flu-like symptoms, so I may be on my own again soon! Fingers crossed I don't get ill as well. At least Son is well out of it as he is off on a school trip until Friday afternoon - went off this morning looking like a tortoise underneath an extremely large rucksack.

Haven't heard much from Hubby, enjoying his steamy escape to Sutton with the lovely ex-tennis pro, no doubt (or alternatively listening to lots of men with very short hair talk about what they have to pick up from Tescos for the missus whilst they're back in Blighty). Hopefully when he gets back we will have some idea of where we are likely to get posted to next summer. My money is on me and the kids being in the UK and Hubby being in Afghanistan.

Kids are already starting rehearsals for the Christmas play. Twin 1 is a camel (I think, but she is a bit vague). This is her line: "Humph!". So it will be worth the grandparents sitting through the hour-long school DVD to catch that, don't you think? Twin 2 hasn't been given her line yet as she has been off school all week. I can't wait to find out what it is: maybe she gets to yawn three quarters of the way through Act 2, or something. Do you think she will be a camel as well? Last year they were unconvincing-looking polar bear cubs. It's all a bit disappointing, because in my head they are both little angels, or at the very least, snow fairies. Still, what can I expect when they are germ-ridden and snotty-looking as at the moment. And at least with these coughs they will sound like camels.

Supper time now, must go xxx

Crazy girl getaway to wanton West Mids

It's been ages again, hasn't it? Soz. So what thrilling things have been happening?

On Monday Hubby went on the raz with Anna Kournikova (see previous).

On Tuesday I went to a meeting of a new creative writing group (lots of scary high-powered people there, like barristers, political journalists, documentary makers, etc. However, I was the only one who had nearly finished writing a book, oh, and the only one with twins, too. So I managed not to feel too overwhelmed).

On Wednesday I went out for a meal in Thamel with a group of wives (there was a moment of drama on the way home when our taxi got a flat tyre in the middle of old Kathmandu and we were stranded in the deserted streets with only a rat, a beggar and a pack of stray dogs for company - oddly, I didn't feel worried in the slightest, not sure why).

On Thursday I didn't go out because it was Hubby's last night and he was packing.

Yes, I'm a single parent yet again. Woo Hoo, it's almost like the good old days on Chetwynd Barracks at the moment. (This weekend I also rather rashly agreed to have a friend's two children for the whole weekend as she was going to a wedding in Pokhara, making me effectively a single parent of five for forty eight hours. Luckily they are extremely lovely children and not at all brattish, so it was fine, although I am heartily sick of washing up now and we have totally run out of food.)

On Friday I felt a bit pants because Hubby got up at sparrow's fart to catch his flight and also was awake half the night with leg cramps (him, not me). Thought he might have DVT, or the early stages of gout or something hideous, but he assured me he was quite well enough to make it to his extremely important meeting/forum/symposium/conference thingy in Birmingham (perhaps he is taking Anna Kournikova with him?

Her: (stoking his thigh) Oh, Darlink, take me avay from thees 'orrible place!

Him: Well, I'm off to Sutton Coldfield on Friday to meet lots of other men just like me to talk about work, if you're interested.

Her: (stroking his chest) Oh, darlink, zat would be sooo romantic!

Him: And Enrico won't mind?

Her: (breathily into his ear) Enrico is nuzzink to me since I met you, you darlink leetle man! Him: Good-oh. And my early onset gout and male pattern baldness doesn't bother you?

Her: (letting her hair fall in a golden cascade over his face) I sink you are the sexiest man in ze whole of the small region of Patan known as Man Bhawan.

Him: (brushing her hair off him in an irritated way) Oh, okay, then. And what do you think about water treatment?

Her: (pouting)Vat?

Him: Water treatment, you know, finding sources of potable water and subjecting aforementioned to a variety of chemical and technical processes until they fit in with WHO standards for human consumption, notwithstanding the inevitable issues of crypto-spiridium, ammonia, oh, and ammonium for that matter, and the optimum size of borehole required to access an aquifer?

Her: (eyes closed) zzzzzzzzz).

Hmm, not really right to imagine my husband getting intimate with Anna 'crazy girl' Kournikova, is it? Even if he does talk about water treatment until she nods off in boredom...

Ooh, ooh, I've just remembered, it's Anna Kournikova. Yes, I am trivia Queen! Good to know that the book of general knowledge crosswords I have just ordered from Amazon won't be a complete waste of money. I'm sure there will be a question about Anna Kournikova in there somewhere.

crazy girls

Well, I was going to either spend some time editing the book tonight or snuggling up with Hubby on the sofa to watch a DVD and I have ended up doing neither, so decided to write to you instead.

Hubby is out at the Red Rooster. He said that he was going for a quick one after work and would be home in time for the kids' bedtime. No, I didn't believe him either. The Red Rooster is a small bar off a side street, right next to the 'Crazy Girls' dance bar. And guess what, the picture on the sign outside the Crazy Girls bar shows the face of that Russian bird who used to play tennis before shacking up with Enrico Iglesias (apologies for poor spelling). Oh, you know the one I mean. I can't remember her name but she has long blonde hair and what my mother would describe as 'come hither' eyes. Anyway, it seems she is now working just down the road from the Gurkha camp in Kathmandu. Who would have thought? Wonder if Nepal is going to become a repositary for ex-sporting totty? Perhaps we'll see Sharon Davies serving dahl at the Summit Hotel, or Fatima Whitbread driving the school bus. Who knows?

Yes, so anyway, that's where Hubby is, consorting with clapped-out tennis totty and a half empty glass of whisky, no doubt. Which means the cuddling and DVD is on hold.

And the book? Well, I have spent a frustratingly long time trying to create Christmas cards via an online photo thingy, but the internet connection is just pants tonight, so the whole project was doomed to frustration and eventual failure. So, if you don't get a Christmas card from me then soz. Oh, and incidentally, if you do want a Christmas card from me, then you will probably need to let me know your address. My address book is shockingly out of date (as is my hairstyle and taste in underwear - but I digress).

The reason I didn't get any book editing done this morning is that I had to go on a school trip with the Twins. I hadn't actually volunteered for it, but had let the class teacher know that I could be available if she was desperate. She was, unfortunately (apparently one of the teaching assistants was at a funeral and the other one couldn't go because she had her period and was therefore 'unclean' and not allowed to go to temple - yeah, right, love, we have all used that one to get out of PE; I think she just knew what was in store and got her mum to write a note).

We took them all to a temple in Patan. I had both the Twins in my group, and two other little girls. Their class teacher gave us an activity sheet and told us to get on with it. Have you ever tried getting disinterested four-year-olds to count how many different types of butter lamps they can see? Or to let the scary-looking smelly old man put tikka on their foreheads? Sadly I think my group were distinctly underwhelmed by the whole cultural/religious thing, and just complained about feeling hungry.

Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a teacher, as I did notice another mum's group high-fiving and being congratulated on being 'great temple detectives!'

I was just relieved when it was all over. If I get asked to go next week I might have to get out of it somehow, I don't know, maybe by chucking myself under a Tata truck or getting swine flu. Both of which would be preferable options to another morning on a foundation class trip.

ps. What was that tennis player's name? Ivana? It will bug me all night now...

Sorry, it's been a while. Must be the wild excitement of having Hubby back home that has distracted me. Yes, he did finally make it back, but with not one single eensy weensy present in his big, fat sailing bag. So I don't feel even remotely guilty about the three mornings at the spa or the cashmere, especially not as he let slip that he gets paid more when he's sailing as it counts as a duty. Indeed.

What else? Doctor told me today that she has managed to get hold of a swine flu vaccine for Twin 2, but not for anyone else. So, come the lethal pandemic, she'll be fine, it'll just be the rest of us writhing around near death. You would think that it would be a good thing to have at least one member of the family vaccinated, to look after the others. Sadly, Twin 2's ideas of nursing are lacking, to say the least (Twin 1 however is getting a doctor's kit from father christmas, so she and her plastic stethoscope might be of some use).

I'm going out tonight, to a gig. Yes, how rock chick is that? Actually, not very. It's some of the Dads from school who have formed a mid-life-crisis band and are doing a fundraiser for Help for Heroes. Still, I am wearing ripped jeans (I had to lie on the bed and hold my breath to get the zip done up on them this morning) and will shortly be popping upstairs for black eyeliner and large earrings. Do you think my leopard effect jacket would be de trop?

Hubby is coming too, along with most of the expat community, including, I think, both the commander and the ambassador. Hubby is bringing his boss, who's out from the UK, and his entourage.

Should be a laff, I reackon, although Son is already trying to make me feel guilty by muttering darkly about how I don't have to go out. He says, Mummy it's not like it's your job to go to a party. He will not make me feel bad about it though, as his social life is way busier than mine, and anyway, it's for a good cause, right?

Thursday

Blooming internet is off yet again, but I’ll write this anyway and post it when I can get back online, as all kids are busy watching Star Wars and I am feeling too viral to do anything more productive (although I do have a productive cough, if that counts for anything?).

Just had Tihar holiday (long weekend). Handily enough, the swimming pool was closed, so we went to the zoo instead (zoos in developing countries – always a treat). Actually, the tigers have quite a nice enclosure, but the poor hippos barely have space to yawn. It’s all a bit sad, and, well, tedious really, but the kids seem to love it. I managed to keep them away from the truly hazardous playground, but we couldn’t pass by the gift shop without buying some absolutely essential plastic crowns and bubble mixture.

The following day we went on a picnic on the valley rim with a group of mainly missionaries. In fact I think kids and I were the only heathens. We didn’t have to say grace before the picnic or anything, and it was pretty relaxed, although some people freaked out when the driver came back from doing his puja (getting a blessing and a tikka at the temple) with a few bottles of fizzy pop. Not sure if this was a Christian thing, or just a middle-class parent thing. Honestly, you would have thought I’d produced cocaine, not coca cola (maybe there’s something about not getting into heaven if you have tooth decay?). Still, they got over it and we all had a jolly pleasant time.

I have been happily thinking that the Tihar break was the last weekend without Hubby, as I was sure he told me that his sailing trip finishes on Friday. It does. But it turns out he doesn’t make it back to Kathmandu until Sunday evening. He has to fly from Portugal to the UK and then there’s the whole time difference thing as well. Bummer! He is here for a week, and then back to the UK for a terribly important conference thing the following week, so it looks like I’ve got to be a single parent a bit longer. In response to this news, I have planned another morning at the spa and a new pashmina, as essential stress reduction strategies.

I suppose I should really go now and do something useful… or maybe I will just take a brufen and make some hot lemon and honey and let the kids watch Star Wars until bedtime…

Ps. I am just writing up my last scene (I did the ‘trapped under rubble’ one at the weekend, so it’s just the ‘big row’ one to finish off). Very exciting. I’ll do this scene tomorrow morning (I have to do it on Thursday, because on Friday I have essential single parent stress reduction morning of massage and cashmere shopping followed by lunch at nice hotel), and then all I will have to do is edit it (which will realistically take until Christmas, but I’m on schedule for my end of year deadline). Hurrah!

I decided last night that if it does ever make it to publication (slim chance, but fingers crossed), then I’m going to give a portion of my royalties to Help for Heroes, so remind me of that when I’m a famous author, because obviously there will be the temptation to blow the lot on liposuction and botox!

Tihar-tastic

This weekend is Tihar (like Diwali). In fact today is Dog Tihar (the day the dogs receive blessings). This morning Gary appeared with a garland of marigolds round his neck and a red tikka on his forehead. He looked so fetching that I just had to give him a Dog Tihar present of a bowl of chicken noodle soup with some chicken liver pate in it. I think he felt suitably blessed. There are some other Tihar days coming up: Cow Tihar and Crow Tihar (although not sure how they catch the crows to put marigolds and tikkas on them) and a few others.

This evening is a bit like a cross between bonfire night and new years eve: there are butter lamps, tea-lights and fairy lights everywhere, and mandalas outside houses and shops (to welcome in Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth), and fire crackers going off. I took the kids into town for pizza and by the time we'd finished it was dark - gets dark around six at the moment - so we crossed the road into the Garden of Dreams, which is a beautiful oasis of a garden, which was festooned with butter lamps, tea lights and mandalas. It was gorgeous, but the kids were full of pizza and coke and it was pretty much bedtime, so they were all a bit manic, and ran around pretending to be escaping royalty or something (I'm not sure, I know that I was supposed to be the grandmother and that I was supposed to run, hide and then gather food...). I felt a little sorry for the other people in the Garden of Dreams, many of whom it seemed had come to have a little romantic interlude near the water feature or chill out after sampling a bit of Himalayan herb. I don't think they had rampaging kids on a sugar rush in mind as ideal companions.

We bumped into some of the kids' little school friends, which would have been great in daylight hours, but I couldn't really relax and chat to the parents when Twin 2 kept wobbling about over stone steps covered in candles, and with kids waving sparklers around. Bless her. Her balance is not to be trusted at the best of times, but after dark in a park full of steps and flames, it just wasn't worth the risk of letting go of her hand and heading off for a swift G&T. I suppose if she had wobbled into a ring of butter lamps and become a human inferno, I could have just tossed her in one of the many fish ponds or water features, but it didn't seem a good idea at the time.

I'm a bit worried that the parents now think I'm rude because I didn't chat very much. I will have to apolgise for being so distracted the next time I see them. Anyway, I do think I need to work on my manners because I just got a message from facebook about where I rank among my friends and apparently I score pretty poorly for 'niceness' or being 'well mannered'. Although wierdly, I top the list for 'athletic', which anyone who did PE with me at school will know is just a load of old cobblers as I am possibly the least athletic person around. Which just shows what a heap of rubbish those ranking things are, I suppose.

The kids are on holiday again (for Tihar) and the swimming pool on camp is closed, again. I was so annoyed this morning when we schlepped all the way in, only to see a note on the door saying that the pool would open again on Tuesday. I know that Tihar is an important festival etc. but the pool closes at the end of October anyway, and the Lifeguard will then get four months leave until the pool opens again in March. Does he really need to take this weekend off? Does he?

Oooh, I was hopping mad.

I have to stop getting angry though, because I'm getting angry-old-woman lines on my face (mouth like a cat's bum from being pursed in a crosspatch way), and I certainly can't afford Botox or fillers to sort them out, not unless I kick the ebay and cashmere habit, anyway.

Right, should probably go. Kids were up at five thirty this morning, so I shouldn't risk a late night.

Might just fit in a swift G&T before I head up, though...

Nightie night x

hmmm...

Think of all the money we have saved by not employing a driver for the last month or two (especially as we have handily avoided the whole Deshain 13th month bonus thing)? Would it be wrong to divert those funds into a gorgeous cashmere long cardigan-jacket thing in a beautiful blue-green? Especially with the exchange rate so favourable right now...

topic talk

Went to Son's 'topic talk' at school today (each term the teachers outline what the children will be learning). I was suddenly struck by how much more interesting school is these days. In art, for example, Son will be learning about Kandinsky, and the relationship between mark-making and emotions (!). When I was his age (7), I think art involved making Santa Claus waste paper bins out of old baby milk tins. So I sat there being flabbergasted with the standard of education he's having. Other parents, however, seemed more concerned about the fact that the children are not being forced to do pages and pages of neat handwriting or learn times tables by rote (I thought, 'who gives a monkeys about neat handwriting or times tables?' but I didn't say anything). One very nice, but evidently quite concerned mother said: "Well, surely at some point they will have to learn what eight nines are?" I said I still didn't know what eight nines are (perhaps that's what's been holding me back all these years?) and the teacher showed me a trick to work out your nine times table on your fingers - won't bore you with it here. Ooh, you learn something new every day, don't you?

Almost all the children at the school have high-achieving parents (UN or DFID or similar if they are expat, and really really rich if they are Nepali), so there are quite a lot of pushy middle class parents, as well as the occasional child of enlisted filth like us. Sometimes I feel a bit sorry for the teachers here (not often because they have great holidays - another long weekend this weekend and we've only been back at school a week!), because whilst they have motivated kids and parents and small class sizes, they do also have to contend with, well, pushy middle-class parents (of which I am one, of course, albeit one who still doesn't know her times tables).

Maybe later in life, when Son is approaching forty and looking at what he has yet to achieve on the 'things to do before forty' checklist, he'll think: 'Oh, but I could have done so much more with my life, if only I had had neat handwriting and known my nine times table properly.'

It's the Twins' topic talk next week. I wonder if anyone will lament that they are not getting enough Play Dough time or alphabet chanting?

I say bring back the dunce's hat and the birch and make them all write with quills!

the final chapter

So excited! Have almost finished writing the book. I now have eighty five thousand words saved and just those few extra scenes to write that I told you about. And then it's just a matter of tweaking it up a bit. Should easily be able to get it done by Christmas, which is my self-imposed deadline (but will also mean it qualifies for the Romantic Novelists Association new writers scheme, which accepts manuscripts from January 1st). I mean, I know it's a long shot. How likely is it to actually get picked up by an agent or a publisher? But it means that I have a chance, however slim, of achieving my ambition and becoming a published author by the time I'm forty (my other 'things to do before forty' list - which I compiled in my mid-twenties - included having kids and running a marathon, both of which I have done. Oh and I'm also supposed to have made a patchwork quilt, but we'll just gloss over that one, because it's never going to happen. Oddly, my 'to do before middle age' list didn't include any mention of career development. Good job too, being as my career had amounted to diddly squat, much to my parents' disappointment, I'm sure. I think they had be down as the future Sue Lawley, not some random soldier's trailing spouse - and although I confidently expect Son, Twin 1 and Twin 2 to become an astro-physicist, mountaineer and oscar-winning actress respectively, I will have to remember not to be upset when they don't...)

Anyway, must go and pick up parcels from post office now - it's ebay-tastic!

Tuesday afternoon

Hi, Twin 2 is asleep upstairs and Meena is just about to bring me a masala tea and I've just snaffled a party sized Snickers from the fridge (which actually belongs to Twin 1, but I'm sure she's forgotten all about it and anyway, I think of it not as depriving her of a treat, more of aiding her dental health), so all in all life is good.

Out here it is starting to feel a tad autumnal - marble floors area trifle chilly in the mornings- however, a season change is always a good excuse for shopping, I feel. I know about the whole ebay ban thing, but I've decided that only applies to bidding for frivolities for me, not winter clothes for the kids, so I've had a pleasant spot of retail therapy over the last couple of days, and Son will now have a nice Boden rugby shirt (brand new with tags), and girls have princess vests and furry gilets to look forward to. I have also started to compile a big fat list of all the things I have to (I simply have to) buy before Hubby is posted, but I'm banning myself from actually shopping until I have finished writing the book. It is almost done, amazingly. I've got more than eighty thousand words already saved, and I've just got a few more scenes to type in and a couple more to create (nice, meaty ones, too: someone trapped under rubble, and another scene with a big row in the middle of a pub), which I'm really looking forward to writing. So the second draft should be ready by the time Hubby comes back from sailing, and I might make him read it all - will make a change from his usual fare of military history or business strategy stuff, at least.

Not too much Nepali insanity to report: there is now cash in the banks, hurrah.

My yoga teacher is still infuriating (today he told me that I must NEVER drink water during yoga, which was somewhat irritating as I had gone to yoga straight from the gym so I was sweaty and thirsty. I smiled and said sorry I was de-hydrated as I had just been on the rowing machine, then I couldn't help but mutter under my breath 'Anyway, it's not going to kill me, is it?'. Presumably even if drinking water during yoga was a life-threatening situation, then the cure would be yoga in any case, after all, it cures cancer, according to the yoga teacher...), so rather than leaving the yoga class relaxed and full of goodwill to humanity, I leave feeling cross and rebellious, which seems to defeat the purpose. Never mind, I can nearly touch my toes now, woo-hoo.

Anyway, should go now and pick up Twin 1 and Son from school. Need to leave plenty of time as you never know what might be on the road. The other week I was late for school because I got stuck behind an elephant. You know what it's like when you get stuck in a country lane behind a horse, and you're really scared of overtaking in case the horse gets spooked and rears up and crashes through your windscreen (well, that's what I worry about, anyway)? Well, imagine that, but magnified a lot. I mean, I think elephants are generally calmer and nicer than horses, but you wouldn't want to risk getting the wind up an elephant, would you?

Hubby is still away. I have a nice surprise for him when he gets back: my cousin is coming to visit, closely followed by my parents (I confidently expect him to pull an urgent work-related trip back to the UK when he hears the good news).

TTFN x

ps - how do you get an elephant to come down from a tree? tell it to sit on a leaf and wait until autumn.

rainy days and Mondays

It has rained all blooming week. Kids on holiday, no Hubby and rain, rain and yet more rain. Have barely made it out of the house.

Yesterday, however, I was a good mother in the morning and took the little blighters out to Patan Durbar Square, which is a Unesco world heritage site, and choc-full of temples, artefacts, etc. They ran amok in the museum, pausing briefly to climb up display cases and fall out of windows. Kids really don't give a stuff about history, do they? And I knew this, which was why I had never bothered to take them into the museum before, but hey, what else is there to do on a rainy day in Kathmandu (the only soft-play centre here is half made out of wood and about as safe as a deep fat fryer on a wobbly cooker)? Still, they all enjoyed feeding the pigeons outside, and I felt virtuous for having giving my offspring a bit of a cultural experience. I felt so good about it, in fact, that I elected to take the afternoon off, and let Son choose two DVDs to watch, both of which were very long Star Wars ones, which gave me time to go to the gym and have a shower afterwards, and by the time the DVDs were finished it was time for bed, hurrah.

Tomorrow we are going out to the Sterling Club (the British Embassy). Yes, we are, and I don't care if it's hailing snakes, we are getting out of the house. I have booked transport, invited little friends and everything.

And then it's only the weekend to get through until they're back at school.

And I'm quite certain that when I wave them all off on the school bus on Monday I'll be a bit sad. Maybe I'll wander dolefully home and do a Disney princess puzzle or mash a bit of play doh on my own for a bit, just for nostalgia's sake.

Or on second thoughts, maybe I'll get straight in the car and head down to the spa to take advantage of that special offer, which only lasts until the end of the month, you know!

cold turkey

So I have got through the whole weekend without bidding for anything on ebay. Uh-huh, quite an achievement for a sad old housewife with Hubby away and no telly, don't you think? Ah, all those Brand New Without Tags bargains just a mouse click away and I have resisted. I have, however, eaten quite a bit of chocolate. Oh, and been to the spa for their Deshain deal, which I have to say was super-dooper. Today, I had a full body massage, facial and reflexology for less than twenty quid. Lush or what? I felt so good that I only had a teensy G&T this evening and even read all the children a bed time story (although poor Son got to listen to a Michael Morpurgo book that he wasn't really interested in but I told him that if he didn't want it then I would put it in the present box and give it to one of his friends at the next birthday party - of course that wasn't an option, so now he has to listen something by the children's laureate rather than Enid Blyton, which would be his preference - still, he needs to have something in his childhood that he can be resentful about in adolescence. I can just imagine the conversation now:

Me: What time do you call this? You're treating this house like a hotel!

Him: Whatever

Me: What kind of attitude is that, young man?

Him: Take a chill pill, Mum

Me: I'll give you chill pill, young feller-me-lad! And will you turn that racket down - it's not music, it's noise.

Him: I didn't ask to be born...

Me: I beg your pardon?

Him (loudly): I said, I didn't ask to be born. You've never understood me, never. You're always having a go. Remember that time when I was seven and you read Michael Morgpurgo to me at bed time when all I wanted was Enid Blyton? That's the kind of mother you are! (storms off and turns music up)

Me (crying bitter tears of frustration): But you were always such a happy little boy!

etc. etc.

Oh, how I look forward to those days. I guess that's when the MoD's quite generous boarding school allowance will really come into its own.

stop the insanity!

Right, that's it. I've gone a bit ebay insane. I blame it on the misery of Hubby going away. Anway, I have spent or bid far too much today. So, you can be my witness: I hereby promise not to log on to ebay at all for the rest of the month (except to pay for stuff that I win, natch). Deary me, I really and truly meant to write some more of my book this evening and instead I have cosied up to ebay. I mean, in many ways I have saved lots of money, because everything I bought is way cheaper than it would be in the shops. Plus, I do actually need some new ankle boots this winter, and the Twins need new gilets for the cold weather (yes, I know it won't get cold for another month, but the post is rubbish at the moment), and I need a bikini for our holiday in December and the girls need new swimsuits, and Son needs a new rugby shirt and some socks and, well, I suppose I didn't actually need the lipstick, or the other bikini top...

Anyway, I'm going to ban myself from evil forbidden ebay pleasures and stick to writing the book during my lonely evenings in future.

Yes, I promise!

Cheeky cow

Really sorry that there has yet again been a lengthy gap between postings. No excuses, really, soz.

We did manage to get away to Pokhara, hurrah. We stayed in a place called Tranquility Lodge, which was recommended by our Nepali teacher as being a really lovely place to stay (it's owned by a friend of his who is also a poet). All I can say about it is it was pretty much what you'd expect for somewhere where you're paying less than a fiver a night. The poet-owner was clearly too busy thinking about stanzas or rhyming couplets or something to remember things like emptying the bins or providing replacement toilet rolls, but it was fine, really.

As we couldn't all fit into one room we had a boy's room and a girls room. The boy's room had all the electronic gadgetry: music, DVD player, etc (courtesy of Hubby's techno-nerdiness). The girl's room had a couple of fairy stories and a large selection of pink pants - you can never have too many pink pants, as we found out later on in the holiday when Twin 2 got food poisoning...

I have to say I was quite jealous of the boy's room, particularly after the first night of sharing a bed with the Twins (after which I asked the poet for an extra mattress and slept on the floor instead).

We didn't actually do very much in Pokhara except go swimming and eat in cafes, but then that's about as much as we do anywhere, we are really not an active family. However on the final day Hubby did take Twin 1 and Son out on the lake in a rowing boat, whilst I was holed up in Tranquility Lodge with Twin 2, the final pair of pink pants and a sachet of dioralyte.

We came back on Monday, and Hubby left to go sailing today for three weeks (no, it's work, honestly!), but luckily we had some nice little friends round this morning to relieve the holiday tedium.

I'm planning a quiet weekend at home. Not because I especially want to, you understand (I have pretty much had my fill of activity books and play doh already), but because all the nice friends are away somewhere and I am trying to eke out the last bit of cash, as apparently there is still none in the coffers on camp (Hubby did manage to get some for us to go away with, in the end). The nice admin lady said I might be able to cash a cheque on Monday. I do hope so, because after a weekend at home with no adult company, I will be desperate for a teensy bit of time off at the spa (and they have an excellent Deshain offer on at the moment: reflexology, facial and aromatherapy massage for just eighteen hundred rupees - £15 ish - it's a steal!).

Anyway, I will try to write a bit more often now, sorry about the gap.

By the way, I got head-butted by a cow in Pokhara main street. I know they're supposed to be sacred, but it didn't stop me being really quite cross with the bolshy bovine.

Must go - time to wake Twin 2 up from her afternoon sleep or she won't go to bed tonight.

Ta ra!

money, money, money

I just went into camp to cash a cheque in the admin office only to be told that 'Sorry, there's no money, ma'am'. I said no worries, and that I would go and cash the cheque in the bank on the High Street, which has an agreement with the Gurkha camp, only to be told that 'Sorry, there's no money there, either, ma'am'. It transpires that Nepal has run out of money. There's none to be had in the ATM machines or the banks and apparently people are having their credit cards refused as well (in the few places that accept cards). Bummer, huh? I am down to my last twenty five rupees (about 20p) as well, and we are supposed to be going on holiday to Pokhara tomorrow morning. Feeling a bit sad at the prospect of cancelling our little holiday jaunt. Have you ever known a country to run out of money? And here it's the equivalent of our Christmas holidays. It's like telling everyone on the day before Xmas eve that there will be no cash available until after Boxing Day. Can you imagine? Only in Nepal...

anarchy and mess

The housekeeper asked me to buy some floor cleaner the other day. I really meant to go, but got engrossed writing a scene and suddenly realised it was time to pick up Twin 2. As I drove past the supermarket, I couldn't help but notice that the car park was littered with broken glass, bricks and military police. So, we might have had to suffer a dusty floor for a couple of days, but at least I didn't get my head stoved in by rioting supermarket staff. So that's a good thing.

Hmm, what else has been going on? Oh, yes, we had that super-dooper fun-filled evening in the mess (maybe you saw the invitation I posted the other week?). As well as the really enticing invitation, which made the evening sound like a glorious night of fine dining and gorgeousness (yes, okay, it made it sound more like a school detention), there was also a two-page admin instruction that we received a few days prior to the event. There were ten points on the admin instruction for the event, which included details on how to pass the port correctly, dress code, etc. Point number ten was "It should be an enjoyable evening".

So, we were not only ordered to come to the event, we were also ordered to have a good time.

One of Hubby's colleagues was on duty that night, and therefore couldn't drink, so he elected not to come to the dinner. I heard the Deputy Cheif of Staff muttering that she hoped his absence would be reflected in the comments in his annual report. Luckily she doesn't actually write his report, or there probably would be some petty blather about him failing to attend a compulsory dinner.

Anyway, we went, and we had a good-ish time. I seem to remember that the invitation promised 'suitable entertainment' after the dinner. What was deemed to be suitable was, erm, standing outside next to the flower beds so that the smokers could go and have a fag and still be within earshot of the scintillating conversation (irritating yoga teachers, the difficulty of Nepali dancing and the problems of teaching your cook to make a decent cheescake, mostly - personally I'm not a big cheesecake fan, so I did glaze over a bit at this point).

I had one, brief, half-decent conversation with a retired half-colonel, who disagreed with the current government's policy on integrating the training package for the navy, army and air force (there are some bits of overlap between the forces). He thought they should all be trained separately to maintain individual corps ethos, and I thought it didn't really matter so long as they were all trained to the same level, and it was saving the tax-payer some money. Of course I was swiftly branded a 'Guardian-reader', and the conversation moved onto other things.

The good thing is that we went and tried to have fun (so far as this is possible), thus obeying orders.

I suppose what's so wierd is that out here we are utterly surrounded by anarchy (rioting supermarket staff, etc), which is why it's doubly odd to feel under such control by your Husband's employer.

Hubby has been asked to organise the next dinner night. I may suggest a Nepali theme: we all bring black flags, start shouting abuse at senior ranks, have a massive food fight and burn a few tyres in front of the mess.

I feel that would be entirely within keeping of the cultural sensitivities of Nepal at this time, and should make all the Gukha soldiers and their wives feel totally at home.

Feel I should write something tonight. Actually, think I might do a bit of light internet shopping instead (honestly, I have nothing to say - not that that makes any difference usually, I know). Today I spent what felt like forever, but was in fact two hours, at a fifth birthday party, and then I had to drive home (no driver), and then I had to cook supper (cook is off on compassionate leave because her husband is in hospital). We still haven't managed to recruit a gardener, either - feels like the world is falling apart around me. Hence need for retail therapy. Tootle pip x

yoga anger

Have to get this off my chest. I just walked out of yoga. The yoga teacher told us that yoga cures cancer within six months, and this is "fully scientific". For some reason I saw red. I was absolutely livid. Maybe its because I'd just seen on the news that Patrick Swayzee has just died of pancreatic cancer. I don't know. I tried to hang on in there and calm down, but then he started telling us that if we rub our left thumb it will improve our eyesight, or something. Now, I'm not anti complementary therapies at all. I have reflexology regularly to calm hormonal madness, and it does help. Telling me that yoga will reduce blood pressure, I could cope with, but telling me that it can cure cancer is just a load of rubbish. And I think what annoys me is that all of us will have our lives affected by cancer at some point, and nonsense like this just gives people false hope.

I'll go back to yoga again and if he can stay off the pseudo-scientific pontification and stick with the lotus position then I may start attending regularly again.

Surely yoga is supposed to calm you down, not make you angrier than a big slice of angry pie?

Canadians like to talk. A lot.

As a matter of fact, the dancing went quite well, since you ask (I think the triple whisky I downed just before going on stage was a factor in my performance). Show me a stage and I'll show you an exhibitionist - tragic really, but not as tragic as the make up and costumes we were forced to wear. Myself and my co-performer, who were, as you know, supposed to look like pure-hearted mountain girls, were got up to look like what can only be described as the love child of Danny La Rue and Widow Twankey in a seaside gypsy tent. Hubby said he has honestly never seen me looking quite so bad. And, given that he has been present at the births of all three of our children, that is a fairly damning statement. Anyway, the good news is that I managed to do the whole thing and didn't get one step wrong. I felt sick afterwards, though (the come down after the stage rush, I guess). Hubby's speech in Nepali went well, too, I think (I couldn't hear much of it as I was at that point locked in a dressing room and having blue eyeshadow and a fuscia pink head scarf forced upon me).

Not much happened over the weekend, although we did go for a grown-up meal out with the parents of Son's best friend from school. They were very nice development-type people. He is English and she is Canadian. Now, I have quite a bit of admiration for the Canadians because they have produced some tip-top writers over the years (Margaret Atwood, Alice Munro, and I'm sure lots more that I can't remember right now). I have only met a handful of Canadians personally (four, actually), so this may be a sweeping generalisation, but my goodness they can talk! Hubby, even when he hasn't had a few whiskys, can usually sneak in the odd anecdote about his time on the tanks, or some random yachting yarn, I think managed one sentence. In fact, I think we managed a sentence each (I had to interrupt to get mine in). His was: "So how was your last posting?" Mine was "Good job your leg wasn't eaten by a bear!"

I think we were at the restaurant for around three hours - still, you can fill in the blanks yourselves.

Anyway, it's a school day tomorrow, and Hubby has just reminded me that he's up at five thirty for a run (and good for him), so I should go.

Nightie night xxx

Pure hearted mountain girl, my arse!

Still contemplating an attack of 'swine flu' to get me out of Nepali dance thing tomorrow night, although I somehow feel that I'd be letting everyone down if I did. We have a dress rehearsal in the morning, yikes.

It feels that all I have done this week is dance. I have been dreaming wierd Nepali dance moves.

In Nepali dance you're supposed to lip-synch to the song whilst you're dancing, but my Nepali language skills are only marginally better than my dance ones, so that's out of the question. Apparently I'm supposed to be singing something like this:

I don't need expensive blouses

I don't need silk saris

I don't need nose rings or earrings

I'm just a cute little girl from the mountains

I'm a pure hearted country girl who will never leave my mother land...

blah blah blah (but in Nepali, natch).

Now bear in mind that this will be performed by two middle-aged English women. Hilarious, eh (except for me and the other expat wife involved)?

I'm not sure whether all popular Nepali songs are as ridiculously sentimental as this, but anyway, the lyrics are a big fat lie because if you offered any pure-hearted country girl in Nepal a visa and a flight to the UK, she'd be off like a shot, as the UK is shortly to find out once its inundated by throngs of ex-gurkha families, thanks to La Lumley:

I don't need blouses or saris, I do need TK Maxx and an out of town retail outlet, etc...

dance dyslexia

I am so far out of my comfort zone that I want to cry. No, really, I do. I have rather rashly agreed to do a dance for Hubby's work Deshain (Nepali Xmas equivalent) do. Ho, Ho, I thought, that will be a laugh, forgetting, of course, that dancing requires an element of hand-eye co-ordination and flexibility, neither of which I possess, at all. The dance teacher was really lovely, but it's like I have a kind of 'dance dyslexia'. It just takes me right back to PE at school (except that our fat-bottomed, moustachioed PE teacher wasn't nearly as nice as this Nepali girl). The last time I felt like this was when I was on exercise with the TA. That made me want to cry as well. I always thought that the feeling was down to the bad karma of handling a killing machine, but I now realise that it was just utter frustration with my own physical inadequacies.

However, it does make me even more proud of Twin 2, though, for whom just learning to walk was the equivalent, for her, of learning a very complex Nepali dance.

I'm torn between just grizzing it out, and having a couple of swift drinks on the night to give me courage, or just wimping out right now. I'm not sure if, even with a couple of pegs of whisky inside me, I can face the humiliation!

I am off to sob into my soup now.

waiting for brownie

I'm waiting for some chocolate brownies to cook. I have to provide something for both "The Big Brew" (a charity fundraising thing on camp) and a PTA tea party on Friday. I am so useless at that kind of thing that even with plenty of help from Betty Crocker (ie. I bought a packet mix, so only had to add water), my muffins were sloppy and lacklustre. I blame this partly on cooking at high altitude (no, really, you have to set your oven to a higher temperature and add extra flour) and also my US cup to fluid ounces conversion: the chart said that one cup was equivalent to half a pint or eight fluid ounces. Well, which is it? Because on my jug half a pint is more than eight fluid ounces by some not inconsiderable amount. In the end I just guessed. Which is probably why the muffins are more just puffy pancakes, really. I hope the brownie does a bit better. I have high hopes for the brownie because they are acceptable in a variety of consistencies - some people like them cakey, and some prefer squidgy. I guess if they don't work either then I can mush the whole lot up with some melted chocolate and call them 'high altitude truffles' or something. Anyway, I'm sure no-one will care, it's just that my lack of domesticity gives Hubby ammunition for mickey-taking. But when was the last time he baked anything, hmmm? It's been a good twelve years since the last treacle tart, and I always thought that was a bit on the gungy side.

Hopefully it's cooked now...oops actually, I think I might smell burning...

send in the fun police

I just wanted to share this with you. It's an invitation to the next BGN function. Now, is it me, or does this invite just suck the fun right out of it?

Subject: Release-authorised: 20090828-U-LADIES GUEST NIGHT SAT 19 SEP 09-BGK 11202

Sirs et all,

1. The Kathmandu Mess will be holding a Ladies Guest Night on Sat 19 Sep 09. The night will take the form of a formal dinner night followed by suitable entertainment.

2. Attire for the evening will be Summer Mess Kit or Black Tie and Saree/Long Dress for the Ladies. Single pers can bring a partner but please do notify Mess Secretary with his/her details. All members are to be at the Mess for 1900hrs.

3. Please be informed that this function is a “3 Line Whip” hence nil return required. Mess members who are unable to attend due to unavoidable situation are requested to submit their non-attendance to the PMC by Wed 16 Sep 09 at the latest. Thank you//

surprise discovery past

I'm going out for lunch today, which means missing out on Nepali lesson. Shame! And we've been learning a new tense as well - the surprise discovery past tense. This is a tense specifically for when you discover something that happened in the past, but you've only just found out about it. For example, "Oh, look, the dog did a poo behind the sofa yesterday!" or "Oh, you have syphilis, you must have had an affair!"

I'm sure it will come in very handy when I am taking taxis or telling the housekeeper how Hubby would like his shirts ironed.

Another one bites the dust...

So, another one bites the dust. Another driver, I mean. I feel slightly more guilty about it than when I sacked Vasu, but not massively. Here's what happened: Hubby was getting huffy about our staff wages bill, and we realised that we were paying for a gardener and a driver, when in fact one person could easily do both jobs (after all, the driver was employed between two and six in the afternoon, but was usually finished by three, or at least, had an hour or so hanging about between jobs), so why not combine the post. Initially Anil agreed to do some gardening (honestly, we have a titchy garden, so it would hardly be taxing) and we sacked the current gardener (the housekeeper's son, who is on the brink of joining the Gurkhas or becoming a trekking guide in any case). Then, today, Anil turned up and said he'd decided he didn't want to do the gardening as he 'doesn't like that kind of work'. I asked him if he was absolutely sure he couldn't take it on, and he said no, so I said I would pay him for the work he's done and he could go. Now, you may think this is heartless, but really it wasn't unreasonable to ask him to mow the lawn occasionally or trim the hedge during the hours he spent hanging about in the guard room waiting for the next driving job. It was really silly of him, because I was on the brink of giving him his Deshain (Nepali Xmas equivalent) bonus and buying him a couple of new shirts. So now I have to drive. Or get a new driver. But I really can't face going through the whole rigmarole all over again.

Still, I wrote a very nice scene about a woman on the brink of suicide this morning.

So, all in all, it's been a cheery day!

Sunday, sunday

I would like to tell you all about my exciting weekend, but the truth is, we did bugger all. Oh, we did go swimming, and Twin 2 picked fights with the marble steps to the front door and the concrete step at the swimming pool - so she now looks like a case for social services. And we took Son to his book club this afternoon. I'm not entirely sure what went on up there in the little room above the bookshop, but he came out just bursting with pent-up boy-ness and proceeded to rush wildly around the outdoor cafe with his two little mates until Hubby got a strop on and we suddenly all had to go home (I missed out on most of the action as I was upstairs buying books and agreeing to do a reading at a Roald Dahl day in a couple of weeks time).

Hubby is still quite sad as we have no nice DVDs left to watch. We have done the eight-month-old Buzzcocks and also similarly aged Top Gear and the only thing left was 'The diving bell and the butterfly", which has great reviews, but looks a bit too much of a tear-jerker for us to face at this time on a Sunday evening.

Hubby is now reading his MBA coursework and I am off to wash off a face pack. There, that's a nice insight into the intimacies of our domestic life.

I'm sorry it's not a bit more interesting. Maybe I should run out into the street in the nude or throw crockery from the roof or something to add a little spice to our life... or maybe I should just wash the face pack off and have an early night.

Cheerio x

I am a sociopath

So, I was offered a girls' night out on the town and I turned it down in favour of watching an eight-month-old episode of Never Mind the Buzzcocks on DVD with Hubby and a glass of flat lager (yeah, in the DVD vs hanky panky dilemma, the DVD definitely won tonight. What, watch a DVD and have hanky panky? Are you utterly insane? That would really be burning the candle at both ends now, wouldn't it?). Does this mean I am finally joining Hubby in turning into a grumpy old sociopath? Or is it merely that I just could not be arsed to have to wash my hair and put on high heels, when there was the option of a comfy sofa and an early night? When I am old (and wear purple, etc.) I shall certainly regret this. However, right now I'm quite looking forward to a nice long kip and not feeling like death in the morning.

Tell me I'm not the only saddo who feels this way...

more of everything...

Anyway, I'm back from school now and everyone is either watching Beauty and the Beast or reading Fantastic Mr Fox, so I can finish off telling you about the mad-scary-eyed yoga teacher and his enlightening comments. He told me, for example, that one must never breathe through one's mouth. He said that dogs breathe through their mouths (they don't, they pant, which is their version of perspiration, but anyhow...) and they don't live very long, ergo, if we breathe through our mouths we won't live long either. Hmmm, I'm sure there's a flaw in his biological reasoning or logic somewhere along the line but I can't quite put my finger on it....Oh, yes, that's it - he's talking a load of shite. However, I do desperately need to flex up a bit, so I'm prepared to gloss over that. Apart from the breathing and the Om-ing, and a few yoga poses that I vaguely remember from previous classes, we also do 'yogic-jogging'. Yes, new to me as well. It seems that yogic jogging owes quite a bit to Jane Fonda aerobic videos of the late eighties (I know, because I had one), and involves tummy-twists, star-jumps, lunges, etc. The scary-eyed teacher confidently told us: "If you do five minutes jogging there is no need for your morning walk; it's fully scientific, fully scientific!" So that's okay, then.

Here I am, dissing it, but the fact is I need yoga. If I don't do it then I confidently expect to snap at some point in the next decade or so, probably when I'm reaching for the loo roll or something. Also, the fat-busters went out with the trash, so I have to do something. I just wish it didn't involve being told pseudo-scientific tosh and making me feel like an old lady. Well, it's my own fault for all these years of not stretching after going for a run, I suppose.

Oh, there was something else I wanted to vent about as well: one of the mums at school was upset because her little girl doesn't seem to be settling in foundation. I sympathise, because she only turned four at the end of the summer holidays, so she is just about the youngest in the class. However, she used to do full days in pre-school, so it's not as if she's missing a vital afternoon nap or anything. The mum said that it wasn't fair, because Twin 2 is allowed to do mornings only at the moment but her daughter has to do full days. I wasn't quite sure how to respond. I blurted, "But she has cerebral palsy!" (I almost stuck my tongue in my lower lip afterwards, but it seemed somewhat inappropriate). I wanted to say, "If your daughter has permanent brain damage, I'm sure she could do half days too." But I didn't. I mean, der!

Am I being over-sensitive, or was it a pretty stupid thing for her to say?

yoga

Right, I've got ten minutes before I have to do the school run. I'm hoping that Twin 2 will fall asleep before I go. I have just had to be a cross mummy and put her back to bed. Trying to sit cross-legged to write this in a vain effort to improve flexibility: went to second yoga session this week - teacher is appalled at my utter inflexibility. This is the third time I have tried yoga, and the teachers are always consistently appalled at how rubbish I am, the only difference is that this one is not quite so good at covering up his feelings as the others! Still I suppose it's good for the other people in the class to have someone to gauge their level against. It must be heartening to know that however pants you are, there will always be someone in the class who is worse (ie, me). So I guess my attendance is a bit of a public service/morale booster type thing. Although not for me. It is all a bit more religious out here, and we have to say 'Om' quite a lot and chant things too. The yoga teacher says that yoga will bring God into our lives. I'm not sure I want God in my life - I would just like to be able to touch my toes. Is that too much to ask (yes, actually)? Ooh, I can hear Anil starting the car so I should go, although there is so much much more interesting yoga stuff to tell you. Shame, will write soon - but not tonight as it's Corrie night x

It's raining again

It's raining and I've got a jumper on! Yes, I know, madness! Feeling very English today, sending the kids off to school in raincoats and wellies. After they left, I went back to bed for a bit. Feel a bit jaded today. No excuse, I know, except that I went out five nights in a row (well four and a bit, actually) and I'm not used to it. We had a birthday party on Thursday, a pub quiz night on Friday (my team won - no thanks to my input apart from recognising Bob Ainsworth in the picture round, which I was very proud of, oh , yes and I remembered that Bill Clinton has just visited North Korea, too, so i was responsible for two of our 87 points!), then there was Teej on Saturday and a poetry reading last night. Did I tell you about Teej last year? It's a bit surreal, really. The Gurkha wives put on a do for us Brit wives. We all have to wear red - most people wear red and gold saris but I decided to be a bit of a rebel and wore a red and silver kurta instead. Sadly I think my choice meant I missed out on the 'best dressed lady' prize - that and the fact that I got ready in about ten minutes, whilst all the Gurkha ladies had obviously taken about ten hours, fake hair pieces, nail art and all. So we all had some nice dahl and rice and a very big raffle. I was hoping to win back the bottle of wine I donated as a prize as I'll be needing it this week, but instead I ended up with a miniscule jewellery box. I have to admit to being slightly disappointed - you can't drink a jewellery box whilst watching Coronation Street.

On Sunday morning I did another scary 6.30 am run, which exhausted me for the rest of the day. Then in the evening I had promised my Nepali teacher that I would go to his poetry reading at the local bookshop and he in turn had promised to read some of the poems in English. I kept my side of the deal, but he reneged on his. I was a couple of minutes late and ended up sitting right at the front of a room full of Nepali literature students. I couldn't understand a blooming word. I did listen and had the occasional brief flash of understanding. One poem was about his mother and one definitely had the past perfect in it - or was it the present continuous? - my utter imbecility was a trifle embarrassing, to say the least. Still, they were handing out free gin and mango juice, so it wasn't a totally wasted trip. I shall have to ask Manjul to write a poem about being in a taxi, including the words: meter okay, turn left here, please stop, and then I might be in with a fighting chance of understanding it.

I have just spent most of the morning writing about my heroine's greif at the death of her brother (okay, I spent a few minutes looking at shoes on Amazon as well), so I feel quite wrung out now, and ready for a nice big plate of lasagne to cheer me up. Of course what would really cheer me up is some new shoes, but I am on a shoe ban until next month now. We are on cost-saving measures so we can afford our Thailand beach holiday at xmas. In terms of cost saving I am tempted to sack the Nepali teacher, who is lovely, but costs us a fortune, and, I realise since last night's poetry debacle, has taught me almost nothing (although this may also be my fault for not practising at all). Hubby thinks we should also consolidate our staff, so it looks like the new driver might get asked to do some gardening and the gardener might be sacked. But I'm going to leave Hubby to sort this one out. It's a bit tricky because the gardener is our housekeeper's adopted son - he is nineteen and actually lives in the compound as well. Hubby thinks its high time he moved out, stopped sponging and got a proper job. He can be quite scary when he is being rational and business-minded. Bharat had better manage to get in the Ghurkas this time (recruitment starts next month). Maybe I should suggest he starts coming for runs on a Sunday morning?

Anyway, should stop blathering and go, I suppose.

Cheerio x

friday feeling

I have a few moments to write whilst Son and Twins are watching a DVD with a friend. The friend, a boy, has been pestering his mum to come round to our house all week. We can't work out whether the attraction is Son's old box of dinosaurs or Twin 2 offering him unlimited kisses (she is a jezabel). I suspect the former. It's been pretty rainy all week - which is a good thing - and last night it was even cool enough for me to wear jeans (I think the temperature may have dipped below twenty five degrees). The non-fat-busting shoes have all arrived and are all lovely, but now I have blisters in all different places from new shoes. Wonder if I should start bathing my feet in surgical spirit, or is that just something that tramps do? Oh, no, that's right, they drink it.

We have no plans for the weekend, except a very exciting princess party on Sunday. I'm having Ariel costumes made for the Twins, who are so excited about it that they are likely to pop at any moment.

Anyway, I'm going to try to sneak up for a shower now whilst everyone is happily watching a cartoon dinosaur film with a really lame plot.

Toodle pip x

fat bottoms and paddy fields

I went for a run this morning, for the first time in about a year. I had to meet my co-runner at six thirty outside camp, and I was so nervous I was awake at about five. Turns out, I was right to be nervous. My running buddy was another mum, who is lovely, and not a scary racing snake. Nevertheless, I was out of breath within three paces, and pretty much incapable of conversation as we trotted pleasantly (in her case)/in a nightmareish lumbering waddle (in my case) through the paddy fields. Occasionally we passed a local or two and were generally regarded with utter incredulity. "What on earth are these fat-bottomed bideshi women doing, staggering around our farm at this time in the morning," was what I could pretty much hear them thinking. The mud and the shame of my fitness levels aside, it was blooming lovely to get out into the fresh air and green fields and escape the urban sprawl for a bit. I came back all springy and full of bonhomie (that's endorphins for you), but the awful reality of having woken up at the crack of dawn is now kicking in and I feel the need for a cat nap coming on...

Straight to the point

Twin 1 says she wants her new teacher to be her mummy. When I asked why, she replied that it was because her new teacher has nicer hair than mine. Apparently it's longer, and straighter. Twin 1 says she doesn't like curly hair, and mine is a bit curly, especially if its been raining.

On the one hand, I feel defeated and inadequate - I will never have hair as long or as straight as the new teachers. On the other hand, this could be a boon to many other mums who have parenting issues and are desperately reading self-help parenting books or watching re-runs of super nanny on the TV. All such advice is clearly pointless. If you want to be a good mother, all you need to do is grow your hair and crack open the GHD straighteners.

shoes and stuff

Don't tell Hubby, but I have just bought another pair of shoes from Amazon. Well it's his fault. He has practically ordered me to get rid of the fat-busters, and I have to replace them with something (several things, in different colours, actually). But, they are all in the sale, massively discounted, so just think how much money we are saving, hmmm? And in any case, every girl needs a pair of red shoes, doesn't she? I know, I already have some, but I can't actually walk in them, or even stand still holding a Pimms glass in them, and I have to walk to the mess in my trainers, and hide them in the shrubbery to walk home in. So I have purchased some practical-yet-elegant shoes that hopefully I will be able to manage more than a couple of teeters in, without doing a Naomi Campbell (no, I don't mean hurling my phone at the maid).

Apart from buying shoes (that I need, can afford and can't get cheaper anywhere else, honestly), I have been frantically writing the novel. I did a word count today and realised that I'm about twenty-five thousand words short of my target. Hmmm, that's some sub-plot to shoe-horn in, or alternatively I re-work it for a Mills and Boon market, as they like books around seventy thousand words, which I could probably manage. What d'you reckon? People pooh-pooh Mills and Boon, but people also buy escapist novels in a recession (I know this is true because I read it in the Economist - apparently Mills and Boon were the only ones to buck the last great global recession in the 1930s - so it's tempting. Might go and have a look at their website now, actually).

Right, I've been buying shoes and now I'm going to look at the Mills and Boon website. Does this mean I am becoming a stereotypical bored housewife?

Incidentally, a bomb went off in Kathmandu this afternoon. I know I blather on about shoes and stuff, in a Marie-Antoinette-ish kind of way, but I am aware that things are all going a bit pear-shaped out here, to say the least. Nepal is on the brink of a famine ('food crisis' is the term used, but when more than half the kids are malnourished, I think that's pretty much on the brink of famine), still has no properly functioning government (the Maoists keep buggering things up), and because of the delayed monsoon will also have water and power shortages again this winter. It is all pretty dire, and whilst I live in my La La land of red shoes and lattes I do realise that this is a real crisis for Nepal and the Nepali people. In moments of selfishness I just thank God that we are from a developed nation and we can escape at a moment's notice. Otherwise the situation just makes me angry - the people in power seem to care more about petty political squabbling than actually doing something for their people. And I also feel powerless, because I am, after all, just a trailing spouse, who is only here to look after my kids.

new term

Just a quickie. Kids are all at school. Hubby walked them to the bus stop. My involvement stopped at precisely seven thirty (Son had an alarm set) when they walked out of the front gate. So odd to be in an empty house. Usually there's someone here, even if it's only Meena or Sanu. Of course, the temptation would be to go straight back to bed and just read and drink cups of tea all morning, but I have been very organised and working on the novel since eight fifteen, I'll have you know (it would have been eight, but I wanted to put on some make-up before I started - these things are important!). I'm having a break at the moment for hot chocolate and chocolate flapjack (I am going to the gym tonight, yes I am). I just have that whole new-term rush. I have this urge to go out and buy a new pencil case with Snoopy on it or something. Anyway, must go. Hot chocolate getting cold and must must finish book by Christmas (which isn't as far away as you think and in fact I have already ordered some stocking-fillers from amazon, which you may think is a sad indictment of my empty life, but means that in the week before christmas I won't be scurrying round the shops in a panic, I will be sunning myself on a beach in Thailand. Yes indeedy.) xxx

BB gun

Hubby was home from work on time for a family supper tonight, hurrah. Then immediately afterwards he had to rush out to buy a 'B B gun', which is a kind of air rifle thing. His plan is to use it from the balconies to take pot shots at neighbours' dogs that are, in his words, "persistent barkers". I tried to point out that everyone in this area has guard dogs, who live outside, and their job is to bark and thus deter burglers. But of course my arguments have gone unheeded. The gun looks scarily real (I know this because I was in the TA once, for about a millisecond, and it was guns just like this that made me want to cry and ultimately leave the reservists for good. That and that I was probably the most useless soldier in the history of the planet.). Hubby and Son are now practising together. I am deeply unsettled by the sight of Son with a big gun in his hands and an even bigger grin on his face. Also it brings back memories of my own father taking pot shots at cats and lining us up to practise aiming with his air rifle - the only difference is that he used to make effigies of Hitler for us to fire at (yes, really).

The whole thing is making me so unnerved that I might have to crack open the bag of chocolates that was intended for the Twins' teacher (they start foundation next week). And maybe have a beer as well. After all it will be another week until the black flip-flops are made, so there's still time for the fat-busters to work their magic...

farewell fat-busters

The other day Hubby pointed out that my fat-busting shoes really haven't busted any fat at all since I got them. Worried that I might dissolve into tears, he hastily added that my legs aren't really that much worse than many other women's legs, just that the fat-busting shoes make them look worse. He is the King of damning with faint praise.

So the fat-busters are on their way out. I'm having some black flip-flops made instead. I know it was wrong of me to succumb to spurious marketing claims like cellulite-zapping. I know that I should just have got normal shoes in the first place and eaten a few less chocolate-coated kiwis. Next week I shall just start going back to the tedium of the gym again, and forgo the pleasures of cocoa.

Why does it have to be this way?

book club

I have just rushed back from book club so that Hubby can go back into work. It's 8pm. Luckily the book club conversation was pretty much trailing off anyway, when I scampered off in Cinderella-mode (not that my clothes were about to turn into rags, but if I had been late I suspect my marital relations would have been in tatters).

Anyway, what a super-dooper book club it was. We actually talked about the book: the author, the socio-political context, the characterisation, etc. Fab.

The last 'book club' I went to was more of a drink-and-gossip venue, where discussing the text was dismissed as being a bit swotty. Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy the previous 'book club' back in the UK, but the title of the evening was a bit of a misnomer. I haven't had the chance to really talk about a book like this for about twenty-odd years (a sobering reminder of how my life is ebbing away, which was kind-of the theme of the book in question: story of a nobody by Checkov).

Of course, reading great literature makes me realise that my writing is to the literary tradition what, I don't know, Pot Noodles are to Delia Smith, or something. However, at least my book will have a happy ending, which is more than I can say for the poor old characters in Checkov's book, who all come to a hapless end. Nobody had a good time of it: the choice seemed to be either a life of dissolution and futility, suicide or TB, best as I could tell. It made me quite glad I didn't live in pre-revolutionary Russia. Although the two Nepali women in the group commented that pre-revolutionary Russia had striking similarities with pre-revolutionary Nepal (ie ten years ago out here).

But despite realising that I will never be a Checkov (or even Jilly Cooper, in all likelihood), I have decided to plough on with my novel as soon as the kids are back at school. Not planning on playing with the idea of the futility of human existence, though. I just want them all to live happily ever after (maybe I've been watching too many Disney princess films with the Twins)...

ps. have you ever tried chocolate coated dried kiwi fruit? I can heartily recommend!

sorry

Sorry it’s been so long. There are various reasons for this: partly because I felt a bit strange the whole time in Bangkok, and partly because since we’ve been home we’ve had no internet access. A chap promised to turn up this afternoon and have a look at our connection, but of course he didn’t turn up - so by the time you read this it will be even longer since anything got posted. I’m truly sorry.

Bangkok was all a bit of a blur of skyscrapers, scary shopping malls and tour guides who looked like Gok (and had about as much interesting local history to tell us as Gok would have, were he there, but he wasn’t - he was probably wowing someone with an amazing High Street find that everyone would mistake for designer, woo hoo. I suspect that’s what our guide would rather have been doing too, but instead he was ferrying our ungrateful arses around).

Hubby and I have returned from holiday considerably more tired than when we left, which isn’t how holidays are supposed to be, surely? Still, the kids got to stroke snakes, feed catfish, and do various other things that they don’t get to do in Kathmandu. And it was nice to be somewhere where the toilets were clean and it was safe to eat ice cream and sea food, but it’s fandabidozi to be back home again.

Different city, same bacterial infections...

Here we are in Bangkok. It is much the same as we are anywhere, involving swimming, watching DVDs and fending off tummy bugs (my fault for eagerly suggesting we had satays off a street stall to eat in the park for supper last night - I assured Hubby that it would be fine, because street food is always freshly prepared; however, today three out of the five of us are ill, so it looks like I was wrong). Anyway at least we managed to find a park, which is a real novelty after Kathmandu. Actually Kathmandu does have one park, Ratna Park, but you would not take your kids for a stroll and a picnic there in a million years, so the whole play park, pedallo and ice cream thing is a real novelty. This morning we went to a snake farm. Twins pretended to be scared, and Son pretended not to be scared, and I annoyed Hubby by forgetting which button to press on the camcorder and thus missing the moment when he had a Burmese cobra round his neck.

This afternoon we had a right old monsoon downpour and didn't feel guilty at all for staying in and watching Narnia, followed by Treasure Planet. Well, that's what Son did, whilst clutching a casserole dish, in case he suddenly felt the urge to have a chat with Uncle Huey.

Tomorrow the plan is to go to the aquarium, so long as we are all safe to go for more than twenty minutes without needing the loo!

the fantastic three

I promised Hubby he could have a lie-in this morning: being on leave is really wearing him out, it seems. He got a bit huffy when I said it was no bother, as he doesn't contribute very much to our mornings anyway, other than making me a cup of tea. Unless you count spending forever in the bathroom listening to the World Service as a contribution to family life, that is.

The kids decided not to do their naked dancing this morning. Instead they are having a meeting of their secret society (pronounced sauce-ity if you are Son, and don't think of trying to correct his pronounciation, he won't have it), cleverly called the fantastic three (the alliteration only works if you are young enough to be unable to pronounce 'th' properly!). They have already made up a secret sign and secret password. I think it's only a matter of time before they start solving mysteries involving sinister-looking gypsies camping in the orchard, or something. Not sure what the 21st century nepali equivalent to 1950s Enid Blyton land is - maybe finding some Maoists and preventing them from having another bandh?

naked dancing in the mornings

Kids have taken to wowing us with 'naked dancing' first thing in the morning. They rush into our bedroom and whoop with glee as they prance about in the altogether. They think it's hilarious. What they fail to understand is that nothing is hilarious at six in the morning. No, not even that very funny scottish comedian with the beard whose name suddenly escapes me because I'm developing early-onset dementia. What is his name? You know the one - married to the woman who used to be in Not the Nine O Clock News. Deary me, I am useless these days.

Later this morning, when I was capable of functioning, Twin 1 drew me aside for a private word. "mummy," she said, "d'you know what? sometimes I pretend I have a willy."

"Oh?" I replied, thinking we should perhaps start funnelling her child benefit into a trust fund for gender-realignment surgery.

She took a breath.

"Yes, and sometimes, I pretend I have a mermaid's tail."

"mmm, really?" I said, relief coursing through my being.

That's okay then. I suppose. Unless in fifteen years time, or so, she says, "I just always felt like a mythical aquatic-human hybrid trapped in a small girl's body..." and we have to spend the trust fund on having a tuna-tail grafted onto her waist...