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.