Fun Dad!

Hello chaps, Wednesday night: kids in bed, dreaming about Star Trek and Barbie respectively; Hubby in Pokhara, about halfway through his third whisky chaser, I'll wager - and here I am, keeping my touch typing skills up to speed (you never know when I'll have to fall back on them as a career option, as obviously my career path is looking ever less like an exponential curve upwards and more like a bit of a downward spiral every day. Career path - pah! What am I even talking about? Since when has an army wife ever had a career?).

Just read a thingy on the BBC website about how appalling customer service is in the UK. And I was moved to respond in one of the little boxes where you can post a comment. Anyone who thinks customer service is bad in Britain should try living in Kathmandu, I remarked chippily. Well, no, I didn't mean literally, as that would hardly be practical, would it? To have every single person who moans about a surly teenager serving them in McDonald's suddenly selling off their worldly possessions and hopping on a plane to Nepal. That wouldn't work, would it? Unless they did a swapsie and an equivalent number of Nepalis jumped on a flight to London (where they would be flabbergasted at the cleanliness, politeness, etc. Yes, even London compares favourably to Kathmandu!). Okay, you're right, it would never work. A little bit of blue sky thinking there...

Blue sky, that reminds me...Oh, yes, I'm off on a trek on Saturday, hurrah!

I'm doing the Annapurna Base Camp with four friends (whether they will still be my friends after a week of me moaning about the steep hills and lack of decent hot chocolate is another matter) and I will be away from home for nearly nine days. The kids can't blooming wait, the disloyal little critters. They say it will be great to spend a week with Fun Dad, because apparently he will be so much fun! He will be fun all week! Even after work when he is really tired and stressed and has to listen to two very slow and boring reading books from five-year-olds, wipe one five-year-old bottom, hear all about an imaginery galaxy known only to one hyperactive eight-year-old, make three packed lunches, pack three school bags with the right stuff, say nice things to the cook and the housekeeper, and make some bread so everyone can have toast for breakfast, he'll still be so much FUN!

No pressure there, then, Daddy.

The other day Twin 1 told me that Daddy was FUN, and I wasn't, but I was NICE. Is this what you'd call Damning with faint praise?

Personally I gave up the 'fun' tag several years ago, and am happy just to stick with ...erm...being around if someone hurts themselves and stuff label.

Off to Thamel tomorrow to buy down slippers so I don't get frost-bitten toes (oh, you think I'm joking? I'm also going to be wearing my padded bra all next week, and not because I want to look slinky up in the Himalayas, but because the pain of cold nipples is something I cannot even begin to describe to you, and I will do anything in my power to mitigate it).

Right, off to make a nice strong hot toddy and boot the dog out.

Night then xxx