Secret thoughts of Amy Waif, the army wife

Woo hoo. Can you hear my excitement?

2012-02-11T03:45:00.000+05:30

Hello, how's it going? We're just on the brink of half term, which is very exciting (if you're six or nine years old). Woo hoo. Can you hear my excitement? Can you? No, that's because I'm just thinking of all the additional washing and washing up I will have to do with kids out of uniform and at home. Also, no school for them equals no time to do coursework for me. At the moment I'm working on my next workshop piece where one of the characters gives birth. Writing it is almost as harrowing as actually giving birth, not least because I am almost guaranteed not to have it finished in time for my submission deadline.
What else is exciting? Lovely C and her daughter M are having an impromptu sleepover tonight. They didn't intend to; C is back for a visit from Nepal and only meant to pop in for a coffee in between visiting relatives. However, once she arrived, she came over all viral, so now she's trapped, poor thing, and not even well enough to watch a bit of telly and eat chocolate with me.
I know, I shouldn't be eating chocolate because I'm supposed to be on a diet. But I am so, so bored of living off quorn and noodles and things now. And, despite my tedious culinary existence, I have only lost about three pounds, which is rubbish, really (this might be due to cheating a bit this week - it's been so cold I have been having extra milk and sugar in my tea, plus the odd cereal bar...).
Anyway, I can't bear it any more, I'm off to get myself another mini bar of green and black's (if they're really small bars, they don't count, calorifically, do they?).
Night then xxx

If only Hubby were here to do the washing up...

2012-02-06T02:07:00.000+05:30

Hello, sorry it's been a while. Work does keep piling up and I'm not very good at washing up quickly and getting on with it in the evenings. If only Hubby were here to do the washing up. He is so much more efficient at these things than me. Ah well.
At the moment I'm hiding in the office and trying not to think about the Sunday roast dishes and Son's lemon cupcake pots, and the supper plates that need attending to, not to mention the school uniforms that need ironing. Hope there's something good on the radio (please, please not 'In touch' or The Archers) to get me through it all.
Apart from the scary prospect of a whole Sunday evening given over to drudgery, I'm in quite good spirits. I think having a nice snowball fight with the kids might have helped. There is something satisfying about singing 'I am the champion!' as four (yes, four because the neighbours' kids joined in, but Twin 1 was sulking inside because Son had got her a corker with one down the neck) children run screaming down the street from you. Even the recent discovery that Twin 1 has worms (which means all the rest of us probably do as well) hasn't dented my upbeatness (I tried doing that sellotape on the anus test, which was inconclusive, so I resorted to calling out 'Are there any worms up there? Please make yourself known!' up her bottom, and lo, one poked his revolting wriggly head out. Nice.). Perhaps it's because for the first time in several weeks, I'm ahead of myself with work. I've just finished reading a set text and only have one essay to read about it before Tuesday. I know, it's a blooming miracle - and won't last because next week is half term and I'll fall right behind all over again.
It's no good, I keep on thinking about the washing up. I really do have to go and do domestic stuff or I will be ironing until the wee small hours...sorry!
Take care xxx

2012-02-01T02:35:00.001+05:30

Honestly, I would love to write to you today, but things are truly mental at the moment. If only I could cope with less sleep! Take care xxx

'fun' and 'sports competition' are kind of mutually exclusive

2012-01-26T03:28:00.000+05:30

Hi again, how was today? I spent this morning ignoring the washing up and pretending to be Gustav Flaubert. We had to write a scene from another character's point of view in Madame Bovary, and I chose Emma Bovary's mother-in-law, who doesn't get nearly enough space in the book, and by golly she was glad of the chance she got this morning - she's been waiting one hundred and fifty years to tell the world what a useless harpy her daughter-in-law is - I wrote fifteen hundred words and then suddenly it was time to go to scary circuit training. I really didn't want to go. What I really wanted to do was go to bed for a cat nap, but I thought about my wobbly thighs and decided that I really ought to go...but then when I arrived the very nice young PTI said that we would be having a 'fun' session today as we were going to have a 'sports competition'. For me the words 'fun' and 'sports competition' are kind of mutually exclusive and a vision passed through my head of PE lessons of yore, full of fat welsh PE teachers with moustaches, shouting. So I said, "Sorry I don't want to do anything competitive - I don't want to be shouted at," and left. I went for a little run, had lunch and then a lovely sleep in my nice warm bed until school pick up time. Don't worry, on the way to school I stopped off to apologise to the nice PTI man. It's not his fault I have a competitive sports phobia, after all. Its scary Miss Davies' fault, in fact (she of the welsh ancestry, fat bottom and facial hair).
Right, I now have to read some more critiques of Madame Bovary and plan the next chapter of my book, and it's already 10pm and I still haven't washed up the supper dishes.
I have no idea what to write about. Here comes another looming deadline, a blank page, and, worse, a totally empty brain...
Right then, better get on with it! xxx

I'm jolly well well, thanks.

2012-01-24T02:23:00.000+05:30

Hi, how are you? I'm jolly well well, thanks. I can't hardly believe I managed to get thirty thousand words submitted in time, but I did, hurrah, which meant that Friday night I could have some nice wine and a curry with the lovely R family and not worry about a thing. Of course, once they left, I had to get stuck into Madame Bovary (is she a superficial tart, or a victim of misplaced romanticism? I'm not sure, but I'm guessing there's an essay in there somewhere), and lots of academic essays on the history of 'the novel' and what a 'novel' actually is (yes, I also thought it's just a long story without any pictures, but apparently it's way more complicated...which I look forward to being asked about in my workshop tomorrow). I have one essay left to read, and I'm going to read it in the bath, yes I am. I'm going to set Bertha to work on the kitchen floor and call it a day because all that reading has made me quite tired. Oh, and also the scary circuit training session I went to at lunch time. We did skipping (not at all how I remembered it from my playground days) and boxing. The boxing was done with a partner, and we were trying to think of punching someone we loathed in order to punch harder. My partner, a colonel's wife, said she was imagining the pads were 'Les Dawson'. I was a little confused, because I can't quite imagine what heinous crime the late star of Blankety Bland and Opportunity Knocks had done to her. After a bit of her thrashing out and saying how he was ruining the country and thumping the pads so hard that I nearly fell over, she suddenly paused, frowned and said 'Oh, no, not him, it's the other one I mean, the politician'. Turns out she meant George Osborne. I guess they're easily confused, what with one being a Tory MP and the other being a dead comedian...
I'm feeling quite perky, despite the scary amounts of reading and writing I've got to get through over the next couple of months (they say it's a year-long masters course, but it strikes me that they fit the 'year' into the space of about four months, and it is a bit full-on). However, the perkiness is making me feel mistrust, as I know it can only be a matter of time until I degenerate into a hormonal old witch again.
Right oh, I'd better get the robotic hoover out and get cracking.
TTFN xxxx

the gherkins worked...

2012-01-20T03:55:00.000+05:30

I used a combination of gherkins and pickled onions to get me through my marathon coursework session, and they worked (I'm not going to say that they worked 'remarkably well' because I don't know what marks I'm going to get). Hurrah. So I hope to be able to write a bit more over the weekend, in between reading almost all of Madame Bovary (I have neglected her a bit this week) and lots of critical essays about novel writing, which will no doubt tell me that I have been doing it all wrong these past few years...
xxx

ps

2012-01-14T02:23:00.000+05:30

In case you were wondering, Dog used his turn to vomit in his bed, wee all over the kitchen floor and wake me up at five in the morning.

2012-01-13T00:50:00.001+05:30

Don't expect to hear from me for a bit. I've just discovered that both of my short stories are four thousand words short of their word count, and the submission deadline is 23rd Jan. Yikes indeedy. No idea how I'm going to pull of writing eight thousand words worth of short stories plus editing the twelve thousand words of novel plus the two thousand word essay in less than ten days. If only the kids could go to school at the weekend...

a time of tears and high emotion

2012-01-12T02:55:00.000+05:30

It has recently been a time of tears and high emotion (if you're a six-year-old girl). Here's what happened: First, yesterday, Twin 1 had a huge hissy fit as we left school because we weren't walking home the same way as her best friend. She threw her favourite hairband on the floor and then was utterly distraught when it snapped in half. I managed not to laugh and suggested that we go to Tesco where she could purchase a new hairband with her pocket money. This caused more tears when she realised she'd have to replace the broken hairband from her own funds. So we all stumbled into Tesco, with me trying not to notice the other customers staring aghast at my wailing brat (clearly believing that I'd just given her a good beating). Eventually she managed to stop snivelling for long enough to choose not one, but two, identical hairbands. Her logic was that the next time she has a huff, she'll have a spare. I felt this showed wisdom and self-awareness beyond her years, and I was just telling her this as we left Tesco... when she walked into a bollard, and we all laughed at her and then she started crying all over again. So that was the first evening of drama.

Then today after school we all went to Twin 2's friend's home, because when I go back to uni in a couple of weeks the kids will be going there for an hour or so after school once a week. Twin 2 really likes this little girl and, having visited her house, now likes her even more because she has a pink television in her room. I think, if you're six, this must be the height of luxury. We couldn't stay long, though, because I'd promised Son that I'd only have a cup of tea and then we'd get him home to his rats. So, when I mentioned that we had to go, Twin 2 began to get upset, saying that she wanted to stay behind. She became increasingly agitated until she told me that she wanted to divorce me and go to live with her friend (lets call her A). She then howled all the way home, insisting that she wanted a divorce from me right now and that she wanted to go back and live with A. Eventually we made it home, where the wailing continued, culminating with her deciding to walk back to A's house on her own. Luckily, I'd forseen this, and put the burgler chains on. So I said, off you go, then, and waited for the sirens of despair as she couldn't actually escape...Throughout the entire episode I managed to remain calm and retain my sense of humour, but sadly I then lost it later on when she decided to jump off the bed...she told me she was going to do it and I said, no, don't because you've just had...[THUMP]...eye surgery - WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU STUPID GIRL DO YOU WANT TO END UP BACK IN HOSPITAL?!

So bang goes my resolution to be less shouty with the kids, then.

I would have a large gin to recover from the palaver, but sadly I only have enough 'sins' left to have a small gin (although I did go to circuits today, so maybe I've burned off enough extra calories to have a large gin?), and the Tesco van hasn't arrived with the tonic water yet.

I told Son that it's his turn to get irrationally upset about something tomorrow, but he declined saying that he'd give his turn to the dog.

So I look forward to the dog running under a bus or biting the postman tomorrow.

"Going to the toilet and being a princess"

2012-01-10T04:09:00.000+05:30

This morning I struggled to consciousness with a bed full of kids (Twin 1 had a nightmare, so there was some nocturnal bed sharing, and then at quarter to six the other two piled in) I listened to a conversation between the twins and it proves, once and for all, that they may be genetically identical, but they come from different planets. Twin 1 announced importantly that her hobbies were reading and writing. She then asked Twin 2 what hers were, to which Twin 2 replied, "Going to the toilet and being a princess". I would have laughed, but it was far too early in the morning to even crack a smile.
Twin 2 was off school yet again today. She still claims to be seeing double, but I'm sending her back into school tomorrow regardless. Double vision or no, that girl needs an audience, and me, the dog and the rats simply aren't enough.
I tried to start my coursework again today. I'm working on a short story about a woman whose husband is due back from Afghanistan. It's not autobiographical at all, honest! Anyway, I didn't get very far as I kept getting interrupted by requests for water/apples/bananas/cheese/crisps and monologues explaining the minutiae of whatever programme happened to be on CBBC at the time. I now know that Dick and Dom are both funny, but one of them is funnier (I think it's the one who looks like Nicholas Sarkosy - hmmm, how do you spell his name? You know who I mean, the French president - and nice for him to know that when he gets booted out of office, a career beckons in British kids' TV...or maybe it's him already, and the reason he's making such a hash of his French premiership is that he's simply spending too much time making TV shows about burping and not enough time attending to his foreign policy. Wonder if Angela Merkel also moonlights on CBBC - perhaps she's the genius behind Hacker T Dog?).
I've decided to give up TV and Amazon shopping, which are draining far too much time and money respectively (after all, how many pairs of red pants and egg poachers does a woman need?). However, as I have also given up fat, sugar and processed food, my life is quite devoid of small pleasures right now. Luckily the TV ban doesn't apply to kids' TV as I think it's quite nice to sit and watch a bit of after-school telly with the little tackers. I think I might be spoiling it a bit for them though, as I insist on absolute silence when Horrible Histories comes on as it's my favourite, and really, really funny. No honestly, it is - watch it and I defy you not to laugh out loud.
Right, I should probably go and get some sensible sleep now.
Goodnight x

red pants and giant sushi

2012-01-07T03:04:00.000+05:30

I have been so efficient today that I decided to reward myself with some new red pants. Hubby says a man's pants are his castle. Perhaps so, but a lady's pants are a reward for doing three years' worth of tax returns and looking after a six-year-old who's convalescing from an eye operation. I'm now wondering whether it would be extravagant of me to buy an egg poacher, too. I have been after a decent egg poacher for even longer than I've been after a nice pair of red pants, but somehow the thrill of hitting the 'buy now' button on Amazon just isn't the same for kitchenware as it is for lingerie. Not sure when I will wear the red pants though. Do you remember Movember, when all the blokes grew facial hair for charity? Well, I'm doing Fanuary (except not for charity, just because I'm not likely to be wearing a bikini any time soon), so red pants might be a bit redundant - until there has been some serious epilation, at least.
I have just finished the fattest, hugest bit of sushi the world has ever seen. It was for sushi what the 'camberwell carrot' was to roll ups, and now it's in my tummy because, according to the Slimming World booklet, rice, vinegar and seaweed are all free foods, so don't count, so effectively I haven't eaten a sushi roll the size of a large hamster, I have eaten nothing at all!
Corononation Street is on now, so I'm off. Hope your new year is also full of red pants and sushi xxx

Happy 2012

2012-01-03T03:27:00.000+05:30

Hello and Happy New Year! New Year's resolutions? To lose half a stone and be a nicer person...how about yours?
I know people say you shouldn't make resolutions because you just break them almost immediately but I've ordered some bathroom scales and I haven't shouted at the kids at all today, so that's a start...
How was your Christmas, anyway?
We've been down in Devon in the rain, eating chocolate and watching telly, mostly. Oh, there's also been some card playing going on. Son and I taught the grandparents a card game that I learnt when I was trekking last year. It has a bit of a rude name, so we can't actually talk about it. Son told them that the game is called 'poo' but it's actually a bit worse than that, but best not to upset them as we've been eating their food and running up their heating bill for the last ten days or so.
Christmas was great, despite the twins waking up at 11pm on Christmas Eve to open their stockings and then only getting back to sleep at about 1.30, and then Son waking up at 2am. I think I had about three hours sleep...oh, and Santa left his false teeth in the yule log (my dad's idea...a bit unsettling though, to think of Father Chritmas's falsies in the chocolate cake, but hey, it's all part of that wierd bit of fabrication we do - I realised this year that I'm always very keen to let the kids know that the nativity is 'just a nice story' but with total hypocrisy tell them that Father Christmas, Rudolph and the whole Santa paraphanalia is all totally true. Oh, how do you spell paraphernalia? Ah, that's it...)
Spent a fair amount of time with the cousins (my sisters four daughters) between xmas and new year. They have been rechristened the 'goddesses' because of the effect they have on my children. Then on New Year's Eve I went to a wedding up on Dartmoor in a little town called Chagford. It was just fantastic. The very modern vicar mentioned the 'joy and delight of sexual congress' which elicited suppressed gasps and raised eyebrows and seemed to base most of his sermon on something Steve Jobs said about Mac computers (wonder if Apple has sponsored the church roof or something?).
The wedding breakfast was in the town hall and was a right ol' laff. I don't think I have ever danced so much to so many dodgy cover versions of sixties hits, or drunk so much white wine in a night. I finally made it to bed just before three, but the rest of the village pubs were all still open, and apparently most wedding goers partied on until four or five.
The morning after was one of those great hangover breakfasts where everyone is trembling too much to be able to lift a fork and drinks their bodyweight in orange juice.
Looking forward to getting back up to Nottingham tomorrow where I have all my coursework to do and three years worth of tax returns (yes, I know, don't ask).
Take care and Happy 2012 xxxx

It's the night before-the-night-before-christmas

2011-12-24T03:24:00.000+05:30

Hello! It's the night before-the-night-before-christmas, which is really exciting (if you're six years old), so exciting, in fact, that Twin 2 decided to fall down the stairs. It was a great stunt-double tumble, involving a double somersault and only being halted by the dog's basket on the corner. I was wondering the other day quite what career Twin 2 is likely to pursue when she grows up, and I think a stunt woman will suit her very well. She is exceptionally good at falling over.
Tomorrow morning we're up at five to head off to the grandparents', which is fantastic. I keep having conversations with people asking me if I'm ready for Christmas, to which I reply that I've bought a bottle of bubbly (for me - Christmas being the only day when it's totally acceptable to start drinking at breakfast time, hurrah) and filled the car up with petrol, and that's it. How thankful I am to have a mother who loves cooking and a father who loves washing up - roll on the hols!
I have mentioned to the kids that their grandmother's way of showing them that she cares is by cooking, so it's rude to say you don't like something that she's served up. Twin 1 has been practising: "I'm sorry but I ate a big breakfast today so I can't quite manage this" - hope she won't use this line at every meal time, but at least it's better than: "This is yuk, why can't we have a hot dog in front of the telly like we do at home?"
Of course I won't be getting a Christmas present from Bah Humbug Major Bumsaw, who is stuck in his office in the middle of the desert, so I sent the kids off at Tesco the other day with £10 and an instruction to get me something nice. I even gave them a nice spangly gift bag and some sellotape so they could gift wrap it and I really wouldn't know what's inside. Even better, because everything's on bogof at the moment, I'll be getting loads (although I'm not sure quite what I'll be getting loads of).
All the presents are packed up in the car, along with the stocking fillers. Santa has been quite communicative this year and sent a video message and a letter (although no email - I decided to avoid that one since inadvertently sending him viagra and porn adverts when my account was compromised last year). Twin 1 also sent him a letter in which she asked for a guitar and a colouring book (phew, thank goodness she forgot about the Wii and the DS).
Right, I'm off to finish my wine and go to bed, because my alarm is set for 4.30 am...
Have a fab xmas xxxx

this morning I was woken up by a pirate attacking me, running off and then running back in to moon me.

2011-12-18T05:39:00.000+05:30

Hello. Here I am, alone in bed, with nothing but my hot water bottle and my fulsome body hair to keep me warm (well, if your spouse was away for months, what would you do? And, actually, if there were ever any remote possibility of me thinking cheeky thoughts or getting into a situation where I could even consider a little adulterousness, it really would never happen with the amount of hair I'm now sprouting. If I was a bloke, I'd have a beard, 1970s sideburns and a big fat beer belly - yes that's the extent of letting myself go since my husband disappeared into the desert).
I have just spent the evening massaging the dog and eating the last Cornetto (because in the end I didn't eat it the other night, when I really deserved it), watching 'Ten years younger' on some sub species of ITV and leafing through the Slimming World manual with vague thoughts about how I should really pull myself together...but not until 2012.
'Ten years younger' is one of those guilty pleasures things, isn't it? I know, I ought to be watching Channel Four news and appraising myself of the developments in the euro crisis, but somehow it seems more urgent to discover what that woman is going to do about her bingo wings, crows' feet and candyfloss hair (whilst massaging the dog's arthritis and eating the last Cornetto).
Anyway, I needed to veg because of my frustrating time with electrickery...I was trying to get some Dr Who stories off the laptop and onto my phone, so that I could play them in the car on our marathon journey to grandparents' for xmas. It didn't work. Now, if Hubby was around, this would be the point where I would have said "It doesn't work..." and looked pathetic until the master of gadgets sorted it out. I know that's useless of me, but I'm very lazy, you see: I would rather look utterly stupid than have to engage with an instruction manual. I was half hoping that Hubby would phone from Afghanistan and I could ask him how to do it (at least it would give us something to talk about), but the phone call didn't happen. I tried burning the Dr Who files to a CD, but that didn't work either. And then eventually I did read the instruction manual, which was not an enjoyable or fulfilling thing to do, but I did it, and I did do something that I thought was technically competant involving the phone and the laptop, but after leaving the phone doing something active through the USB cable for the entire evening, Dr Who still has not shifted onto the phone. Ah, well, now I'm full of wine and Cornetto and top tips for looking ten years younger I'm no longer in the mood for pfaffing about with an irritating little piece of electronics; it will have to wait until the morning. Which will only be a few short hours away, now... this morning I was woken up by a pirate attacking me, running off and then running back in to moon me. Then the pirate's sister came and did the same thing. Outside my bedroom door I heard Son killing himself laughing, as he'd set them up to it. So if today is anything to go by, I shall expect to be ambushed by some kind of evil fancy dress child in about six hours...
xxx

Tesco arrived, time for some wine....

2011-12-15T02:23:00.000+05:30

Waiting...for the Tesco van to arrive (and somewhat impatiently as I'm out of booze)...last week it took the poor man over an hour to find us as he got lost on camp, and his English wasn't very good, so he couldn't understand the directions they gave him at the gate.
My super dooper Cruella de Vil coat arrived in the post this morning. I bought it on ebay and I shall wear it to a winter wedding (which I'm very excited about - the wedding that is, oh, alright, the coat as well). Actually it's more of a Cruella de Vil meets Bet Lynch thing. It's red leather with black faux fur cuffs and a huge faux fur collar. And it has a quilted lining, so it should be nice and warm.
I know I have to stop the ebay thing now. I know I do. But I had to have something to wear for this wedding...
Right, sorry, I'll stop banging on about my coat now. What else? I finally made it into university yesterday for the final session. Whoop, whoop. Amazingly nobody was ill. Of course, it couldn't last, and this afternoon on school pickup I was told that Twin 2 had been feeling sick...again!
Yikes, Tesco arrived, time for some wine....
take care xxx

week of vom

2011-12-10T03:38:00.000+05:30

It's the end of the week, so here I am with my salt and vinegar crisps and a glass of rose in front of the telly. Classy, that's me. I know I should be lighting my Jo Malone scented candle, slipping into my White Company cashmere socks and sipping a large riocha, but I think I'm clearly a sub-standard officer's wife (or at least, that's how I feel after my lunch in the mess the other day...).
Anyway, a small celebration is in order as it's the end of the week of vomiting. Twins decided to support the teachers' strike by keeping off school ever since, bless 'em. I've been probably the most unsympathetic mother, however, as they were both dumped in front of the telly with a sick bowl whilst I got on with writing. By yesterday afternoon Twin 1 was begging me to take her to school, so she went in, but Twin 1 had yet another day today of lying on the sofa watching kids' TV and shouting for me periodically to re-heat her hot mouse thing (it's a cloth mouse filled with grape pips that you heat up in the microwave) and bring snacks. This evening everyone seemed to be better though, so I might even get a night's sleep without having to share my bed with an ill girl tonight. I can't wait - I might even crack open another one of my teeny tiny bottles of wine and see if I can hunt down that old cornetto that I know is lurking somewhere in the back of the freezer.
Right, so other than vomit and rat poo, there's not much been going on this week, so I'm going to go and glug back some more booze and hop into my empty bed.
Night x

a bit tired and faintly viral...

2011-12-07T22:29:00.000+05:30

Hi, how are you? I'm feeling a bit tired and faintly viral. Having had ill children sharing my bed every night this week I am now a) suffering from sleep deprivation, and b) succumbing to whatever lurgy it is they've had (it seems to be a yummy combination of tummy bug and cold, a kind of buy-one-get-one-free virus, if you will). Twins were off school yesterday, and I had to get a baby sitter in in the morning so that I could get to uni for my 'consultation' (I think once you're postgrad they stop calling them tutorials), which was basically just a bit of a chat about my work. When I set off on my bike the sun was shining, although the clouds looked quite dark, and I remarked to a passing neighbour that it looked like it would snow later. How prophetic I am. It started to sleet just as I was far enough away from home not to be able to turn back and get the car, and continued to sleet all morning, so I had to cycle back in it as well. I had a very soggy pashmina by the time I got home, and ended up retiring to bed for a bit to warm up and recover, whilst the ill kids watched yet more CBBC.
Last night I only had one child in bed with me, and that was only for the latter part of the night, so I thought it might be safe to ship them both off to school today. Had a productive morning working on the next academic essay (dialogue and point of view in Graham Greene's Two Gentle People) and decided to skive circuits in favour of an officers' wives' lunch in the mess - which sounds posher than it was. As it turned out it was toasted sandwiches and lots of talk about how Waitrose really is cheaper than Tesco (I kept quiet about my Lidl addiction) and I wasn't too gutted when I got a call from school telling me that Twin 1 was feeling sick and had to come home (I wonder if I could do a deal with the school secretary to do that next time I'm listening to a conversation about the best value turkey to buy?).
The good news is that as it's wednesday supper is hot dogs in front of the telly, hurrah, and my wednesday night chore is to clean the bedroom, which Bertha is doing as I write, so I may end up with almost no chores tonight and an early night, fingers crossed!
Take care xxx
ps - I will try to find something more exciting to tell you about next time...

'I bet you looked good on the dance floor...in 1984'.

2011-12-03T06:47:00.000+05:30

So, blogging when you're drunk. A good thing or no? Lets find out, shall we, as I recount in tedious detail what was the adventure of the wive xmas party 2011....
I was sat with the lovely K, who is lovely, and agreed to come to the function with me, and I'm jolly glad she did, because I soon realised that I didn't really know anyone else. At all. K was sat next to a beautiful woman who told us a lot about her platinum jewellery and about the fact that her husband is her stepfather's best friend (as is the way in North Devon). The disco played a nice selection of music, including Black Box's 'ride on time' and B52's 'love shack' so of course, in my head I was eighteen again. Do you remember the Arctic Monkey's had a song a few years ago 'I bet you looked good on the dance floor...in 1984'. I think they had me in mind when they wrote the lyrics. I'm quite sure I did look good on the dance floor at some point in previous decades, but certainly not now. However, after many glasses of wine, I didn't care.
The disco was interspersed with karaoke. (Yes, it doesn't really bear imagining). I persuaded K to join me in a rendition of Madonna's 'like a virgin' but sadly the DJ had to leave before he got to our number. (Do you think he might have seen my dancing and thought better of letting me have control of a microphone?)
So then I got home to the delights of dog sick and rat poo. Quite a lot of dog sick, actually - I think giving Dog chips and beans for supper wasn't a very good idea, in retrospect.
If this blog is somewhat incoherent, I apologise, but place the blame squarely on the poor quality of the wine in the sergeants' mess.
Good night xxx

I survived the teachers' strike:

2011-12-01T03:40:00.000+05:30

I survived the teachers' strike: made xmas cards, cupcakes and even managed to get to the gym for another near-death experience. Kids are ridiculously excited about the prospect of advent calendars in the morning. I have made a command decision, however, to keep the Twins' calendars in my room, so there will be no repeat of Twin 2 deciding to open all the windows in one go (she has no concept of delayed gratification, that one). Because of the strike, I haven't be able to write much this week - Wednesday is usually a great writing day. I have been trying to think more deeply about one of my characters and get into her psyche before writing some extra scenes for her, but all I've been able to do read a bit of Mary Churchill's memoirs, order some cardboard dividers for chapters (somehow I think if I can split it all up, it will be easier to manage - not sure why I think having bits of coloured card will make me a better writer...), and worry about what I won't have time to write by my Friday deadline. I tried writing a scene tonight, but then had to go to the laptop to try to discover what Grosvenor Gardens looked like in 1941 and then got sucked into Facebook and now it's gone ten and I have to go to bed. At least I remembered to change the bed sheets - Son brought a rat in to see me in bed this morning and promised me that it wouldn't wee or poo. Of course, the second the little furry vermin got on the sheets it immediately did both.
Feeling slightly sad and wishing I could talk to Hubby, but I can't, so I'm going to swig down the rest of my wine and fill up my hot water bottle instead.
Nightie night x

important military hardware

2011-11-29T04:27:00.000+05:30

Hi, here I am, in bed, with a hot water bottle and a glass of wine (oh, alright, an empty glass of wine). I have been drinking a whole bottle of wine a night since Hubby left. No, no, it's okay, I have been deliberately buying those teeny tiny bottles (two for three pounds in Tesco right now, hurrah), so I don't turn into a total lush whilst he's away.
At the moment I'm waiting for my cousin's girlfriend to appear on Tibetonline TV news. She's an amazing stained glass window artist and has made a window for a school in Dharamsala, which was officially unveiled the other week. Hmmm, just had another look at the link, and all I'm getting is the weather for Tibet on 19th November (cloudy with only occasional sunny spells, it looks like, so don't go booking any last minute breaks to Lhasa is my advice).
Hubby has been gone just over a week now, and although I have been feeling a bit gloomy, it's fine. Sort of. I sent him a parcel today - he said he needed a hole punch, so I bunged one in jiffy bag. How army is that? Lets keep up the morale of our brave boys by sending them...hole punchers. Surely by now he should just be able to burn holes through paper with his thousand-yard stare?
Today, apart from sending out important military hardware to the front, I've been Mary Churchill's autobiography, in order to give me some inspiration for one of my characters. Sitting at home reading a nice book and having cups of tea hardly seems like work, does it, but I keep telling myself that it's essential research. I did break from the 'essential research' to go to circuits for yet another near-death experience. We did shuttle runs interspersed with sit ups, press ups, etc. which I know doesn't sound difficult - and probably wouldn't be for anyone who hasn't spent the last three years sitting on their bum in Nepal - but really was. Will it ever get easier? Will I ever lose any flab off my chubby haunches? Who knows? Not me! xxx

Pam goes magical realist

2011-11-23T20:20:00.000+05:30

We're doing something about 'magical realism' on the course at the moment, and the brief for this weeks submission was to pick a god and have him/her/it helping out in a specific contemporary situation, which got me thinking about Pam, from Hair by Pam, and I just wanted to share what I came up with...

(gə-nāsh') also Ga·ne·sha (-nā'shə)

n. Hinduism

The god of wisdom and the remover of obstacles, depicted as a short fat boy with four arms and elephant's head. He likes to eat sweets. His mode of transport is a giant rat.

Oh, look at me, I’m all fingers and thumbs today. Can you pick that up for me, Shelley? My back’s playing up again…Thanks, love. Do you want a cup of tea, Mrs Jones…A Cup Of Tea? Yes?...Shelley, get Mrs Jones a cup of tea, will you.

Who died, Mrs Jones? Your sister-in-law? I’m very sorry…oh, your son-in-law. How terrible. That must be very hard…do you want larger rollers at the front, like last time?

Here’s your tea…Tea…careful it’s hot. Careful! Run and get a cloth will you Shelley, love.

[A bell rings as the door opens and closes]

Oh, hello Mrs Lavery, you’re early today. You caught the eleven fifty? Well you can always use the toilet here, you know. Yes, they do a lovely cheddar cob. Shelley, help Mrs Lavery to the toilet, will you.

Now, Mrs Jones, lets get you under the dryer, shall we?...Under The Dryer…watch out for your…Shelley, love, get a dustpan, will you, and clean up this broken mug.

There, are you comfortable Mrs Jones? Would you like something to read while you’re under?...Something To Read?...Shelley, bring Mrs Jones a magazine, will you. Thanks, love.

Oh, Mrs Lavery, is that better? Yes, it is in a bit of an awkward place, I keep asking Ken to fix it. There you are, sit down and I’ll get Shelley to bring you a cup of tea. What are we doing this time? Did you like Ash Whisper or would you rather go back to Silver Mist? Yes, it is, yes, very flattering on your skin tone when you’re…

STOP SCRATCHING YOUR BALLS!

Sorry, Mrs Lavery. Shelley, love, get out there and tell him. I won’t have people hanging about outside and doing things like that. And tell his friends to stop gawping. We’re a salon, not a zoo. Now Mrs Lavery, where were we? Thanks, Shelley. Will you get Mrs Lavery a cup of tea, thanks love. So you were saying, Silver Mist…

PISS OFF!

Sorry Mrs Lavery. Shelley, will you tell those ethnics to sling their hooks. I do apologise, Mrs Lavery. Where was I? Yes, banana boat, you’re quite right. And it’s our taxes that pay for them, I know. Here’s your tea. Careful, it’ll be…Shelley, love, run and get the cloth, will you.

So you’re settled on Silver Mist, then? Let’s just comb it through before we start. How has your week been? Biopsy? Oh, yes, Ken had to have one of those when…anal probe? Yes, I should think you would. Hypo what? Oh, glycemic. What’s that when it’s at home? Biscuits? Yes, you can’t take any chances. Shelly, love, go and see if we’ve got any biscuits for Mrs Lavery.

I’LL CALL THE POLICE, YOU LITTLE SHITS!

Sorry, where was I? Yes, Mrs Lavery, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry, but they live in our country now, and they have to abide by our laws. Yes, I know, and in the middle of the High Street, too! What’s that? Goat curry?

Did you hear that, Shelley, Mrs Lavery says goat curry! Shelley, what is it, love? No? Oh, well, take fifty pence from the till and pop over the road for some. And if you see those ethnics, tell them I know where they live. What’s that Mrs Lavery? No, I don’t.

[A bell rings as the door opens and closes]

Oh, hello Mrs Quaite, how are you? Just take a seat and I’ll be with you in a moment. Shelley will get you a cup of tea when she gets back. How’s the new flat? They charge you to what? …Did you hear that, Mrs Lavery? Mrs Quaite says they’re charging her twenty pounds to change a light bulb in the new flat. I know, they say not to climb up on a chair in case you fall, and then - I tell you what, Mrs Quaite, next time give me a call and I’ll get Ken to change it for you, for a fiver! What’s that? No, we never have the radio on, the council won’t let us have a music licence. It must be Shelley’s phone. Sorry, do you mind Mrs Lavery, I’ll just take it for her…Hello? No, it’s not Shelley, she’s just popped out for custard creams. Oh, I see, I’ll tell her when she gets back. It’s the school, Mrs Quaite, Gracie-May has fallen off the monkey bars. They’re taking her to hospital. Monkey bars? It’s like a climbing frame.

[A bell rings as the door opens and closes]

Oh, Shelley, love, I’m glad you’re back. You’ve just had a call from the school. Gracie-May has fallen off the monkey bars and they’re taking her to hospital. Give me the custard creams and you get your coat. Monkey bars, Mrs Lavery…it’s like a climbing frame. Yes, Shelley, love, but we’ll manage, you get yourself off and go and be with your little girl. Really? Close by? Qualified? No, I don’t mind having a man in the salon. Well, I could use an extra pair of hands now Mrs Quaite’s here too. All right then. Ganesh. Thanks Shelley, love, and give Gracie-May a kiss from her Aunty Pam.

[A bell rings as the door opens and closes]

Right then Mrs Lavery, if you’d like to come over to the sink.

Mrs Quaite, I’ll have to do your tea in a moment.

How are you, Mrs Jones, is it too hot under there…Too Hot? No, good. I’ll check on you again in a little while, then.

Oh the phone!

Hold on a second, Mrs Lavery, just leave the water running.

Yes, Mrs Quaite, I’ll get you a magazine when I’ve taken this call. Yes I do smell burning.

Are you sure you’re alright under there, Mrs Jones…Mrs Jones!

[A bell rings as the door opens and closes]

Oh, Ganesh, love, get the phone will you? Mrs Jones, I think you’re done…You’re Done! Yes, let’s get you up, shall we?

Ganesh, when you’ve written down that appointment, will you get Mrs Quaite a magazine and a cup of tea, thanks love.

Hang on, Mrs Lavery, I’m just coming. You’re right, there is something wrong with the shower head. I keep telling Ken to fix it, but you know what he’s like.

Ganesh, love, when you’ve done the tea, can you just use your trunk to sluice down Mrs Lavery’s hair and then shampoo in half a bottle of Silver Mist. Thanks, love.

Happy with your magazine, Mrs Quaite?

Ganesh, when you’ve done Mrs Lavery, can you bring Mrs Quaite another magazine. No, Jordan was last week’s. She wants the one with Kerry Katona going into the Priory. Thanks, love. Oh, and bring the custard creams…Mrs Jones, if you just sit down here by the mirror.

Ganesh, if you could just towel off Mrs Lavery and make a start with her rollers. The pink ones at the back, bric-a-brac – not too tight, mind, she’s got a sensitive scalp.

Mrs Jones, let’s get these rollers out, shall we? What’s that? Shelley looks different today? No, love, it’s Shelley’s friend Ganesh…Ganesh…he’s just helping out because Shelley’s Gracie-May fell off the monkey bars and they’re taking her to hospital…Monkey Bars…its like a climbing frame.

Ganesh, love, I can see a traffic warden coming. You’d better pop out and move your rat before you get a ticket. No, you can just park at the back next to the wheelie bin.

That colour has come up lovely, Mrs Jones, let’s brush it through. Do you want hairspray today? …Hairspray? Yes, that looks really nice.

Ganesh, can you take Mrs Jones’ money and help her on with her coat. No, Ganesh, the sweets are for the customers. Get your trunk out of there! Oh, he is a cheeky one, isn’t he, Mrs Jones? I Said He’s A Cheeky One. Goodbye Mrs Jones. See you next week.

[A bell rings as the door opens and closes]

So, Mrs Lavery, lets have a look at those rollers. Oh, Ganesh has done a nice job. Where did you say you got your qualification, Ganesh? Dharma? No, not heard of it, is it near Mansfield?

FUCK OFF, YOU BLOODY ETHNIC BASTARDS!

Ganesh, love, do me a favour and set your rat on them. I know, but if you call the police they do nothing about it, and I’ve had it up to here with them today. Thanks.

[A bell rings as the door opens and closes]

Right then, Mrs Lavery, lets get you under the dryer, shall we?

[A bell rings as the door opens and closes]

What’s that Mrs Quaite? Yes, the screaming is a bit loud, isn’t it? I’d turn up the music, but as I said, the council won’t let us have a music licence.

Ganesh, love, can you get your rat to disembowel the ethnics a bit further up the street. Yes, it is a bit loud, especially with us not having any music on. It’s putting Mrs Quaite off her magazine.

[A bell rings as the door opens and closes]

So, Mrs Quaite, would you like to come and sit down next to the mirror. We were talking about you going russet for the festive season…

"Stop scratching your balls!"

2011-11-23T04:11:00.000+05:30

This morning Son woke me up at six thirty to helpfully let me know that Dog had left diarhoea all over the kitchen floor. Not the best start to the day. Then Twin 1 refused to get dressed and I shouted at her. Hmmm. We resolved it, and I apologised, etc. but then today she came home with a note from school explaining that she's getting a good behaviour award in assembly this week. So maybe she's only huffy at home? Or maybe I really am an evil witch.
After the kids went to school I went to Hair by Pam. The eponymous Pam wasn't there, but I'm hearing tantalising details about her. Apparently she has been known to run out into the street and tell random passers by to "Stop scratching your balls!" and to tell youths glancing in through the salon window to F-off. Given that the average age of the Hair by Pam customer is eighty-odd (I am not kidding, you should have seen the look I got when I asked if they had any serum), there is something unsettling about Pam getting salon rage with hapless Beeston youths. One day I shall have to make an appointment on a day other than Tuesday and meet the legend in person. Or maybe not. It might be a bit scary.
Yawned my way through uni this afternoon. I told my tutor that the main reason was that I was up very early cleaning dog poo off the kitchen floor. I'm not sure writer's lives are supposed to be like this. Shouldn't I be having angst-ridden-drug-addled nightmares in an attic somewhere? Surely real writers don't clean up dog poo and have their hair cut at Hair by Pam?
Right, it's twenty to eleven now. How did that happen? I have to go to bed, just in case there's another early morning spot of scrubbing to attend to.
Goodnight x

Luckily Dog didn't die

2011-11-22T04:28:00.000+05:30

Watching military wives sing at the Albert Hall for 'The Choir' was probably not the best choice today. Blub? I should say so!
Hubby went off to Afghanistan last night. Everyone pretended to be fine with it, but Son was awake three times in the night, Twin 2 had a bad dream, and Twin 1 has been in a foul mood all day. So I think that secretly maybe we're not okay.
Luckily Dog didn't die on the vet's slab today. I got a call when he was under, and the vet said in a sombre voice that he needed to talk to me. I immediately assumed that he had some hideous tumour and was not going to wake up, but it turns out the vet was just checking I was happy for him to have his teeth cleaned. It turns out he just has rotten teeth and a bad back, just like any old man. Good job we have pet insurance, as otherwise Christmas would definitely be cancelled (I'm not going to tell you how much the dog's x-ray cost, but lets just say it was more than the price of a robotic hoover).
Just been speaking to lovely M, which is why this blog isn't longer (blame her!).
Will try to write more soon xxx

tired...

2011-11-16T05:13:00.000+05:30

I know, I ought to be asleep and tomorrow I will pay for becoming increasingly nocturnal. But now at least the xmas shopping is done. Yes, even the stockings and the present from the dog (he is helpfully giving them all socks - such a sensible hound). I guess if he dies before xmas these will have to become a present from the rats instead. The rats are imminent*. Son is counting down the days. Hubby has promised to take him to buy them on Friday, whilst twins are in choir doing soaring ballads (Let the river run by Carly Simon, specifically).
Oooh, actually I am really tired now, and I guess I ought to go to bed before midnight (it was 1am yesterday as I was busy sorting out a present for the in-laws)...
Well, night then xxx
* Hubby is being replaced with rats when he goes on tour - I've mentioned that already, no?

An absent husband, a dead dog and a reputation for scaring speech therapists and angering poets...

2011-11-12T03:31:00.000+05:30

Eleven Eleven, always makes me blub. Was feeling outrageously emotional this morning and then went and got all teary in front of Twin 2's speech therapist at school this morning. I'd only just met her - she probably thinks I'm a nutter, now. We had lots of long discussions about Twin 2's speech and other things, but perhaps she was just humoring me, in the way you do with people you suspect are a bit mentally unhinged...
It all started last night when Son was on the local BBC news. The school had arranged a remembrance service here on the army barracks, and the reporter had a chat to some of the army kids. Son explained that his dad was off to Afghan in a couple of weeks and this 'shoved a worried feeling down into his tummy'. I had to go an snivel in the kitchen with a big piece of kitchen roll after that. Then, even though I'd promised myself I'd do some writing that evening, instead I spent far too much time wandering vacantly round the house and going to bed too late. So then this morning I was all tired and over emotional, and after the speech therapist incident I went into uni for a discussion with some poets and managed to upset them by suggesting that the way to increase interest in their poems would be to get actors to read them at public performances. Woah! That really didn't go down well. I had to apologise and explain that I wasn't a poet or an actor and I really didn't know what I was talking about (at least I didn't cry).
Hubby has just interrupted my train of thought by suggesting that we get Dog stuffed when he dies. He thinks perhaps a cushion cover would be nice. Which is especially cheery, when I have Dog booked in for an exploratory x-ray the same day Hubby deploys. An absent husband, a dead dog and a reputation for scaring speech therapists and angering poets...this isn't quite what I had in mind on my return from Nepal.
Oh, yes, and now I have writer's block. Which I have never had before. I'm learning so blooming much about great writing that I'm beginning to realise how un-great mine is. And I have another six thousand words to write for next week.
Now I'm off to have my third glass of ginger wine, and you can't stop me.
Take care xxx

I am still here, honest

2011-11-10T03:05:00.000+05:30

I've got time to write a quick blog, hurrah. I don't think it means that my time management is getting any better, just that I packed the kids off to bed early. Son is just back from a school trip to somewhere muddy in the peak district (and that's about all I know about it, other than that they sold slinkys in the shop) and needed an early night, because at the activity centre they all went to bed at half past nine (shock: I wasn't planning on bed times that late until he's at least sixteen).
I've been madly catching up on all the work I should have done during half term, but didn't because we were all busy having fun. So I've handed in my essay and my workshop piece and my portfolio piece and now I just have to write another six thousand words by next week, which should be easy, right? Just so long as nobody gets ill...
We had our early Christmas this weekend. The kids all got bikes and pajamas (Santa is nothing if not practical), so we were out in the rain, riding around the block this weekend. Of course peddling and steering and braking and balancing is all a bit too much for Twin 2 to cope with, so we had to attach her bike onto a grown-up's one, so all she has to do is hang on for dear life and try not to go flying off on the corners.
I made a lovely roast dinner (free range chicken, not turkey, since you ask). In the great traditions of xmas dinners it was an hour late, by which time everyone had eaten far too many sweets and was not the slightest bit interested in sprouts or roast parsnips. Good to see that nothing has changed since I was a child.
We had a christmas cake. The kids managed a small slice each, but I declined (mixed fruit, yuk), so Hubby had to eat the rest of the cake himself. Oh well, he'll need the extra insulation as those desert nights can get pretty cold at this time of year.
Even though I didn't eat any xmas pud or xmas cake, I still feel like I've put on a christmassy amount of weight - in fact, I'm too scared to even set foot on the scales as it will just depress me, and I'm sad enough about the prospect of losing my husband for six months, so I don't need any more bad news, thanks.
Anyway, I went to circuits today (which of course nearly killed me). I know that in order to lose flab one needs to eat less/do more, but I'm not one hundred per cent keen on the 'eat less' side of that equation, so I will just have to do more. Apparently typing burns up calories, so maybe my six thousand words for next week won't be totally wasted...and I have promised myself that I will go to circuits twice a week for the next six months - by the time Hubby gets back I'll be fit as a butcher's dog (whatever that means).
Anyway, I'm going to go now and have a look at what Santa bought me - a new Kindle, thanks Santa!
xxx

busy student - not oxymoronic, it turns out...

2011-10-29T23:47:00.000+05:30

Really sorry for the silence. Who would have thought that being a student would be so busy? It's not how I remember things at all (but this is possibly down to the fact that last time I was a student I didn't have three kids...).
At the moment I'm printing out the novel I wrote in Nepal because it has been long-listed for a first novel competition. I was thrilled when I discovered this; however, having re-read some of it through my new creative-writing-masters-student eyes, I'm worried that quite large portions of it need substantial revision.
So I'm not expecting to win.
I've told Hubby not to expect me to win, either, thus dashing his hopes of a new yacht/car when the royalties start rolling in.
Deadlines are good. But Hubby's leave, parental visits and half term have all taken their toll and I am now so behind with things that I will have to sell my soul to the devil in order to be able to get through my workload this week. Not sure if the devil would actually want my soul though - it's a bit wrinkled and irritable, these days.
Talking of devils...here comes Halloween, hurrah, just a few short days after the dentist sombrely informed me that son has so much decay in two of his molars that they will have to be taken out. Oh well, let him stuff himself with candy first - the extractions aren't planned until the end of November. As usual, I left the dentist feeling guilty and immediately went to spend a fortune on new mouthwash, toothbrush, etc. etc.
I think the dentist and the vet must be in league (with the devil?) - just playing on my feelings of guilt and inadequacy to spend ever more money.
Right then, manuscript done.
Better get on and do some work, I guess...

tiger stripes

2011-10-13T01:40:00.000+05:30

Bertha is busy in the hallway, bless her little bristly rollers.
I'm not going to talk about my hair-by-pam experience (and anyway, it wasn't by Pam, it was by lovely Michelle, who did apologise for the tiger stripes on my crown and for the lack of serum/paddle brushes/mousse in the salon, and for the fact that her low blood pressure gave her the shakes when she was weaving in the highlights - which might account for the tiger stripe effect, but lets not dwell on that because she is absolutely lovely, and two hours in the chair gave me plenty of time to finish Chekhov). If Chekhov were alive today, he would probably write a short story about a hair salon in Beeston, and the futility of hair products, because we will all die an ignoble and faintly comic death sooner or later anyway. He would, however, do this via a skilled use of shifting viewpoints (as I learnt by the time my three-hour workshop finished on Tuesday).
There is more Chekhov promised throughout the course, along with a generous helping of Flaubert, who seems to be less than cheery as well. Might have to up my dose of St John's Wort, then...
Finally finished the first draft of my first chapter today and sent it off to the others on the course for feedback. I also sent it to my mum, who immediately emailed back telling me that I'm getting my apostrophes all wrong (I blame going to school in the seventies and eighties, when nobody gave a stuff about grammar - but maybe it's just because I'm a bit thick).
I have to go now and do some more reading - thankfully not Chekhov. I'm sure Bertha will put herself to bed when she's ready.
Night then x

Hair by Pam

2011-10-11T01:30:00.001+05:30

Its already nine, and I have to read a Chekhov short story by tomorrow. Chekhov is like East Enders - you just know it won't end well. Will chocolate and wine help ease the Russian misery, or just plunge me deeper into despair? I was thinking that maybe I could read it tomorrow at the hairdressers (I'm having it done at Hair by Pam. I think having your hair done at a hairdresser called Hair by Pam bodes as well as a Chekhov story. By this time tomorrow I may not only be saturated with Eastern European gloom, I'll have a pants hairstyle as well), but I would rather leaf through an old copy of Hello and talk about hair serum for an hour. Must go and face the vortex of doom xx
ps - Son's thought for the day: Did you know that you can get a dodecohedronal prism?
Nope, me neither.

supper time

2011-10-10T03:40:00.000+05:30

So, Twin 1 looked pensive at the supper table...
Her: Mu-ummy....
Me: Yes, darling, what is it?
Her: When I'm dying, yeah?
Me: Well, I don't really want to think about it, but what?
Her: Well, d'you know what I'm going to do when I'm dying?
Me: What will you do, sweetheart?
Her: I'm going to eat cake.

I think my daughter has the soul of a very old woman.

aggressive housekeeping

2011-10-09T00:58:00.000+05:30

Alcoholic ginger beer - what an inspired creation! Anyway, I'm going to save the rest for watching in front of Dad's Army (yes, I truly am a crusty old fart these days).
Hubby is here, reading something for work whilst we wait for Son to stop watching Merlin and give up the telly to the delights of 1970s comedy.
Hubby has been learning lots of new stuff for work, and relating it back to me. If I ever bump into a brigadier, I will be able to wow him with phrases like 'deep dive', 'handrail' and 'aggressive housekeeping' (oh yes, really - doesn't it just conjour up the image of a huffy old general in a frilly pink apron with Marigolds at the ready?), all of which are current military terminology. Apparently the chaps at the top aren't terribly keen on 'aggressive housekeeping' as armed forces jargon, but nobody can think of a better phrase for the particulars of managing the Afghan drawdown, so lots of top brass and senior civil servants are having serious chats in the corridors of Whitehall about aggressive housekeeping.
Talking of which - Bertha has been doing very well, recently (I've dropped the 'mini' and just accepted her as the only housekeeper worthy of the name in this house). Hubby has become, over the last 24 hours since he got home, somewhat obsessed with her, which may in part be due to her military pedigree (apparently she's a direct descendant of bomb disposal robots). He has spent most of the day following her around, cleaning her brushes, and marvelling at her efficiency. He was never like this about Sanu, or Meena (or me, either...). Dog, however is less impressed. Perhaps he senses the competition. Bertha scurries around, looking cute, and moreover, actually contributing something to the household, rather than just being a hairy parasite that costs a fortune at the vets. Dog has been huffily trying to shed hair at a faster rate than Bertha can clear it up. But nobody can beat Bertha; it's an exercise in futility to try. Poor Dog. Oh well, he should hurry up and think of something useful to do, like make lasagne or change the bedding, in order to justify his (increasingly miserable) existence.
Only three minutes until Dad's army so I have got to go.
Enjoy your weekend xxx

quickie

2011-10-06T21:18:00.000+05:30

House-full again: Big H, Little G and E from over the road. Twin 2 has just told me I have to go upstairs to tidy up her bed and that if I don't she will turn me into a tadpole, so I guess I'd better go...BTW I have just discovered that I have to write six thousand words for constructive crit by the class by next week, which isn't daunting at all, honest (not sure if I'll get that lemon cake book finished now). Cheerio x

pre-loved rodents

2011-10-06T01:28:00.000+05:30

I'm sitting on the stairs to keep out of mini-Bertha's way and looking up rats online for Son. It turns out there's a rat rescue home in Nottingham - who would have thought? Unfortunately they have no pre-loved rodents at the moment, but who knows, one might turn up by the time Hubby deploys.
Today I turned down the offer of a coffee morning and worked from home. It doesn't feel like work because it's too much fun, though. I wrote a short story and then rewrote it from a different point of view and then looked up books about women soldiers during world war two. I'm hoping that the university library can get a loan of a book of memoirs of an ATS woman from the Imperial War Museum, which would be fab.
When I went to pick up the kids from school, Son greeted me with a calculation about how many nanoseconds there are in a minute. He says sixty million. Is he right? Who knows! I said, well done, Son and handed him a carrot. What's he going to be like by the time he reaches secondary school?
Big H and little G came round to play after school and the house was swiftly filled with leaves and crisp crumbs and I didn't care because I know that mini-B would just relish the challenge.
So tonight, coursework reading (Chekhov) or the rest of the lemon cake book? I know I should be disciplined, but Chekhov does make me want to top myself, so I may have to plump for the lemon cake thing.
Ooh, tired now, must go. Night night x

shut up and stop embarrassing me, mum

2011-10-05T02:09:00.000+05:30

Mini-Bertha has gone to bed (when she runs out of energy, she just takes herself back to her docking station and has a good old rest, bless her), and big Bertha has gone, too. Rebecca Bryan got left behind in the university, so now it's just me and a large spritzer and some chocolate.
It has been an exciting day for Bertha. Not only did mini-Bertha get an outing, but she took delivery of a very large washing machine, as well. Unfortunately the washing machine is flashing up an error code, which isn't in the instruction manual (which actually got read from cover to cover, honestly), so she has had to email the engineers. Bertha is keeping her fingers crossed that it's nothing serious.
It has been an equally exciting day for Rebecca, although sadly for her, Amy showed up at university as well, and filled an awkward silence before the workshop began by talking over-excitedly about her new robotic hoover. The other students gave a kind of shut up and stop embarrassing me, mum stare and Rebecca cringed internally whilst maintaining an outward calm.
Must remember in future to try to only be Rebecca in university. Amy simply is not cool; she likes to talk about lipstick and names her household appliances. Deary me.
Kids were all crazy and shouty and over-tired by the time I got back, but lovely, and didn't seem to care a jot that supper consisted of carrot sticks, hummus, salami and chocolate muffins (stop it, they had chicken curry followed by some kind of pie for lunch at school - and Amy was trying to save Bertha excessive washing up).
Have to go now and read 'The peculiar sadness of lemon cake' for next week's book club. It's very good, so far...
Night then x

mini-Bertha

2011-10-03T19:04:00.001+05:30

Hi, here we are in October. October! How did that happen? I guess the summer just went unnoticed because it wasn't, well, summery. At all. Instead of enjoying the record-breaking Indian summer we're now experiencing (and, incidentally, have you noticed that in the UK we're all in a perpetual state of surprise about the weather: it hasn't been this hot in October since Edward the Confessor; the last time it was this rainy was when Boudicea was in power, etc.) because I'm just resentful that it wasn't like this in August when we were camping indefinitely on a windswept Dorset cliff top.
Anyway, weather-related resentment aside, I'm jolly happy because I have finally got my robotic hoover. My inner Bertha is jumping for joy - the house will be so much cleaner. I thought I wasn't going to get one because just as I was on the brink of ordering it, the washing machine broke down, so I had to buy a new one, of those, and then felt that we really couldn't justify the robot hoover...but then, our old hoover broke too (and it broke when Hubby was using it, which was a relief, because he couldn't blame me of sabotage). As the hoover drone stopped, and Hubby's voice rang out with expletives, my heart leapt. However, it was a bit of a roller coaster of emotions, because he then tried to make me buy a normal hoover. Nooooo! He said that a robotic hoover won't clean under or behind things. I said that as neither will I (and neither did Meena, for that matter), it makes no difference, and in any case you promised me this when you found out you were off to Afghanistan. He reluctantly agreed, and I pounced on the laptop and got on Amazon (putting thoughts of gargantuan credit card bill to the back of my mind - surely the kids won't mind if we cancel christmas this year?). So mini-Bertha is now sat on her charging station and will be ready to tackle the house in just sixteen short hours. I already love her almost as much as I love my children and certainly more than I love the dog.
I start being a student 'for real life' (as the twins would say) tomorrow, which is pretty exciting. We won't be having lectures, we'll be 'workshopping' tomorrow afternoon for three hours. I'm a tiny bit daunted, especially as I'm the only one in the group from a non-English Lit background, and we'll be discussing an extract from Flaubert's Madam Bovary and a short story by Chekhov (I'm guessing Joanna Trollope is not on the syllabus....). Universities are very different places these days, let me tell you. Even the process of going to the library is somewhat intimidating. A very nice librarian who was trying so hard not to be patronising showed me how to loan a book today (they have a self scan system, like the tills that nobody uses in Tesco). Then I had to zip to the doctor's to get antibiotics for my spotty chin. The doctor was very nice and called it 'peri-oral dermatitis'; however basically I look like a spotty fresher, but with the addition of wrinkles - nice combo, as you can imagine. Its good to know that even my skin and hormones are getting in the swing of being a student.

multiple personality disorder

2011-09-28T02:37:00.000+05:30

Hi, sorry I've been away spending time with the unpacking fairy. It's all nearly done now and I've been channelling my inner Hausfrau (Bertha) to try to keep it looking nice. Bertha is just the latest in a growing list of alter egos to help me keep my life together. Clearly there's Amy Waif, the army wife, and also Rebecca Bryan the fearless novelist, and now there's Bertha, too. My problem is that none of them really get on. Rebecca thinks Amy is a bit flaky. Bertha thinks Rebecca should do a little less thinking and a little more hoovering. Amy is a bit scared of Rebecca and Bertha and would rather avoid challenges of the intellectual or cleanliness variety and go out for a nice latte and bit of chocolate tiffin.
Frankly, it's all getting a bit confusing.
This morning Amy leafed through the Avon catalogue and ordered a new lipgloss, only to be elbowed aside by Rebecca, eager to get on with university induction, but by the time Rebecca got home, Bertha was ready with the Mr Muscle and the cleaning rota. I have to admit that by eight o'clock Rebecca and Amy had patched up their differences and decided on a bath and a glass of wine instead of the hoovering...
(I'm holding out until next month to buy my robotic hoover - but next month is now just days away, hurrah. Can't blooming wait.)
So, yes, multiple personality disorder aside, everything's fine. I'm now a mature student, single parent (almost) and reluctant housewife.
The other people on the course are far too young to be let out of the house without parental supervision. One of them asked me if I had always written, and I said no, only since I had kids, ten years ago. A look of befuddlement flitted across her eager young brow and I realised that ten years ago she was probably still in primary school. I tried to be friendly with them all, but I am quite probably as old as their mums, so there wasn't much point. There is one other mature student (who was wearing a very nice green jumper, must ask her where she got it from), but she's poetry, not fiction, so I won't see too much of her. So I'll have nobody to moan about homework and school trips with. I'm quite sure the others on my course will be far better writers than me (I am a bit downmarket, stylewise - more Lidl than Waitrose), but luckily they won't dare criticise my work because it will feel like they are insulting their mothers, so I think I'll get an easy ride.
Tomorrow I have to go in and show someone my first degree certificate. It's nearly twenty years old...

real food, pul-ease!

2011-09-12T01:01:00.000+05:30

Hugh Fearnly-Whittingstall (spell check is confused by this and so am I) is doing something yummy with a rabbit on telly and I'm still resentful of the fact that the hotel's restaurant was closed for a private function this evening, so we had to traipse across to McDonald's yet again for supper. Hugh is eating tasty potted rabbit. I had a crispy chicken wrap followed by a Mc Flurry. It's not fair. I want some real food, now!
Oh well, homelessness is due to end tomorrow morning when I finally take over our quarter....

My new friend Mrs Starbucks hot chocolate

2011-09-08T02:19:00.001+05:30

I've been hunched over the laptop in the darkened bedroom for a bit (really couldn't face the loo again), but I think everyone's asleep now, so I'll turn the lights back on - not that it would matter if the lights were still out as I can touch type, you know. Yes, if I fail to make it as a novelist, a successful career as an audio typist beckons. In fact, when we first lived here, way back in 1998, just after I became an army wife, I was an audio typist, briefly. At the time, I was trying to break into freelance journalism, having just spent lots of time and money on a postgrad journalism course (oh, there is a bit of a pattern to my life emerging, no?), but at the time all I'd managed was a short feature on a heroic pooch for Dog's Today and something about drugs for a youthwork magazine, which meant I was a bit skint, so I had to put my Pitman certificates to good use by typing death letters for the Boots pensions department. I would spend hours typing letters asking people to send in their spouse's death certificate and letting them know that in future their pension would halve. What a cheery time that was.
Today has been a bit emotional. Kids all looked very spiffy in their uniforms, and I sent them off with a hug and a smile, and then as soon as I walked out of the school gates I burst into tears. However, a caramel latte and a dip in the hotel pool revived me a bit. Oh, and I'm a couple of pounds lighter on the scales in the hotel changing rooms, so it was nice to be under ten stone again - so nice, in fact, that I had to celebrate later with a hot chocolate with whipped cream (discovered that as Starbucks is in the hotel I can simply charge the cost of my beverage to my room, which is psychologically the same as getting a freebie). I did also do a bit of admin - I spent about a million hours filling in forms to register with the local GP, and I bought PE bags and things - but I'm finding it a bit hard to whip up the energy for stuff as I secretly just want to sit in the room with my new friend Mrs Starbucks hot chocolate and watch old movies on Film 4.
Right, I think I'm safe to turn on the TV now without waking anyone up.
Do you think it's possible to get a Starbucks delivered to my room?

hiding in the loo

2011-09-07T01:13:00.001+05:30

I'm hiding in the loo (can't say toilet because my husband is a major now, so must use the posh word) with the laptop, which sounds as if I ought to be doing something illicit, but the truth is I'm waiting for the kids to go to sleep. We're sharing a room, as you know, and I'm desperate for them to get some sleep because it's the first day at school tomorrow, hence the hiding, to keep the bedroom dark.
Yes, so, Twin 2 is going to start school with the others. I took her into school to meet everyone and they agreed that she's a big faker (I think I heard the head mutter 'disability my arse' under his breath) and she will be starting school along with everyone else. Hurrah.
I have plenty of things I ought to be doing tomorrow (registering with doctor, getting a car pass, etc.) but I'm planning also on spending just a teeny bit of time in the jacuzzi...oh and Starbucks....and I may also pop into TK Maxx...(although can't actually afford to buy anything as I have just written an enormous cheque for the whole term's school dinners - if I hear reports that the roast turkey followed by apple crumble tomorrow wasn't snaffled right up then there will be more than one Bumsaw in the family, that's all I can say).
Feeling a bit overwrought today (good word, never thought I'd use it to describe myself, but there we are - I'm an overwrought middle aged lady, how blooming depressing is that?), which I'm putting down mainly to lack of sleep, because any other reason sounds a bit pathetic.
Right, I think everyone is asleep now. I did give them some 'sleeping potion' (oh, the power of the placebo - it was of course Bach Rescue Remedy) so I think it's safe to go back in and do some important form-filling for school.
Haven't heard from Bumsaw/Hubby today at all. Maybe he's socialising with new friends (Major Look, Major Stare and Major Loseyourunderwear, perhaps?)
Take care xx

The Smacked Bottom by Major Bumsaw

2011-09-06T02:11:00.000+05:30

Hello. Still suffering mild post traumatic stress attack from camping trip. It hasn't, in fact, put me off camping per se, but it has put me off being homeless with three kids. Next time there's a gap between Hubby's posting date and our quarter becoming available I'm going to think long and hard about whether I actually want to hang about with no fixed abode for weeks on end.
At the moment I'm still camping, but a little more luxuriously in the Village Hotel in Nottingham. I'm sharing a room with the kids - it's about the same size as the tent, but mercifully about ten degrees warmer. I have drawn the very short straw by getting to share the sofa bed with Twin 2, who has a cough and a runny nose, lucky me.
We're in one room at the moment, because we're paying the bill ourselves this week, and Hubby is somewhere else, learning about important operational things (don't ask, I don't know the details and secretly I'm not sure he does either). Incidentally, he's a major now. I've decided to rename him Bumsaw (Major Bumsaw - get it? Oh, say it out loud) not for any sordid or smutty reason, but just because it reminds me of a spoof book title I saw once: The Smacked Bottom by Major Bumsaw, which made me laugh (and still does). On Friday, when Bumsaw returns, the army will pick up the tab for the final three nights, and he and I shall move into the extravagant splendour of the interconnecting suite (exactly the same as this room, but without Twin 2 snoring and snuffling).
Talking of books (The Smacked Bottom by Major Bumsaw, specifically), it seems as if I'm going to be the last person in my whole family to get a book published. I still have not heard from the agents I contacted so I'm guessing that in this case no news is, well, bad news. However, my Dad has published a book about the history of farms in the South Hams and my Mum has published a history of their local village and my Uncle has published a book about archaelogical dowsing. Oh, yes, and of course Major Bumsaw published that one about the smacked bottom. Me? Diddly squat. Bummer.

AWOL, no dongle

2011-08-30T21:47:00.000+05:30

Sorry I'm absent without leave at the moment. I'm camping in Weymouth whilst we visit the in-laws. They are very helpfully letting us use their washing machine, etc, but even having nice clean clothes can't make up for the horror that is camping in a howling gale. I had visions of what late summer camping by the seaside should be: lots of lazy evenings sitting outside our little tent with a glass of Pimms, perhaps, whilst our angelic children slumbered peacefully inside, and all was quiet but for the odd barn owl or some such. Well, that'll teach me to daydream. Too cold to do anything but hop right on into the down sleeping bag, wearing pajamas and a cashmere jumper and pashmina (no, I'm not kidding). And certainly no late night drinkies as I can't risk needing the loo and having to get up in the torrential rain in the middle of the night. Furthermore, what with it being bank holiday weekend, the campsite was rammed with people in camper vans with really loud televisions. Still, we have seen the grandparents and watched Punch & Judy and had fish and chips, and Hubby is still managing not to instigate divorce proceedings, as I slouch around with a frown, thinking longingly of a place where we had to put the air conditioner on at night to make it cool enough to sleep, and there was someone else to do the washing up...
You might not hear from me again for a bit, as I haven't got a dongle...

holidays etc.

2011-08-19T21:46:00.000+05:30

We had another sleepover at the cousins' yesterday - will the holiday excitement never end? Sense and Sensibility on DVD in one room and Harry potter and the order of the phoenix in the other and pizza for supper. And today I have continued my pursuit of payback for national trust membership by visiting another old country house, this time in Cornwall. It was very lovely and so were the ice creams, thanks. Tonight another enormous pile of ironing is lying in wait for me, boo. But tomorrow Hubby is back, hurrah - and he will be all perky because he has been re-learning how to be a soldier again this week, which always makes him happy (not sure why running about in the rain and shooting things makes people happy, but it seems to work for him).
Take care xxx

a bad dream of snow and poo

2011-08-17T01:01:00.000+05:30

Yesterday at my sister's I did get too sit down with a cup of coffee, which was fab. However, someone also suggested a picnic, so we walked for miles, through nettles: me, my big sis and seven kids (yes, we are a fertile family), trying in vain to avoid being leapt upon by posh people's out-of-control Labradors with alcoholic names ('Pimms, come back here now! Pimms! PIMMS!! Oh, she is a naughty girl, you know'). When at last we reached the picnic site it started to rain. After our hastily-scoffed cheese sandwiches we traipsed all the way back, but this time with one exciting difference: Twin 2's wellies had given her blisters, so I had to carry her all the way. Oh the joys of summer hols in Devon....
Right, I'm back again had to break off there for a moment so that Twin 2 could tell me about her bad dream (something about poo and snow?) and Son could borrow my mobile phone to tell Hubby about an exciting development in Star Trek.
The sleepover was fabulous, of course. Nobody got any sleep whatsoever, and as a result were very underwhelmed when we took them to Dartmoor Zoo today and saw tigers feeding, falcons flying and racoons doing racoony things (the spellcheck says that's not how you spell racoon, and it's American, so it should know. However, I don't).
Twin 2 is calling me because there are apparently more details of the snow/poo dream that I have to hear in order for her to be able to get back to sleep, so I should go.
Bye x
ps - still no news from agents (is this a good thing?), boo.

stop throwing those bloody rocket propelled grenades at me

2011-08-15T01:06:00.000+05:30

Son has just told me that my watch must be wrong: it can't possibly be bedtime as it's still light outside. I blinded him with my superior knowledge about the tilt of the earth and the northern hemisphere etc. and we have decided that bedtime can be whenever Star Trek finishes, which is good, as it gives me time to write to you.
Kids are wildly excited this evening because tomorrow they are going for a sleepover with their cousins. They have been counting down the days. I have also been counting down the days, because I know that as soon as we get to my sister's house, my kids will be whisked off, and I can sit with a cup of coffee and (hopefully) a nice open tin of biscuits and not feel like I ought to be doing colouring in or taking people for healthy walks in the fresh air. I do like a bit of colouring in, and also nice walks in the fresh air (although I have to say that it's a bit too blooming fresh here - will somebody tell the weather that it's August, for goodness sakes? I did bring a pashmina with me, as a precautionary measure against the vagaries of the British Summer, and it's been so nippy that I've been wearing it to bed), but, you know, there are still weeks of the holidays left to go and I wouldn't mind a bit of down time.
I weighed myself again on my parents' scary digital scales the other day, and got excited because I thought I'd lost half a pound - turns out it was just because I weighed myself first thing in the morning (probably just after a poo), as I was back to lardiness later on. Boo.
Hubby has gone up to Nottingham today. He's got a week of learning to be a soldier again, after three years off. He said, hopefully, that he thinks he can still tell one end of a gun from the other, before he zoomed off in his hire car. I hope so too, because if the army's cuts keep coming as thick and fast as they have been, there'll only be him and a couple of others left, and Camp Bastion will end up like a re-run of Rorke's Drift ('Stop throwing those bloody rocket propelled grenades at me!' - to be said in Michael Caine-type voice).
Star Trek over. Have promised to have a thumb war before lights out. Must go xxx

tag in the bath

2011-08-12T23:09:00.000+05:30

Girls are playing tag. Yes, that well-loved playground game, but with a twist: they are playing it in the bath. I'm going to keep writing this until I'm called upon to do emergency resuccitation (oh, that's not how you spell it? How do you spell it then?) Twin 2 suddenly wants to get out. Perhaps she's realised that tag-in-the-bath isn't a brilliant idea if you are a young girl with physical disabilities, the numpty. Gotta go xxx

rain, fog and chocolate

2011-08-12T00:58:00.000+05:30

It's foggy and rainy, but we have chocolate and Harry Potter, so I'm still happy to be back. Hubby keeps coming out with comments about how much of a relief it is to be back in the UK - even driving to Tesco is a joy (although I suspect the thrill of it will wear off eventually).
I'm getting increasingly reluctant to check my emails, because my book has been sent to an agent, and is also with an author who said he'd have a look at it and possibly also recommend it to another agent. Every time I check my mail, I hope that I'll get a good response from one of them, and also dread getting a bad response from both. But what if? What if one of them reads the first three chapters, thinks I'm brilliant and can't wait to get in touch and set up a meeting (slim chance, I know, but hey)? So I'm having dancing a crazy dance of emotions every time I glance at my aol account. Phew.
I'd like to tell you about something thrilling, but I really did mostly eat chocolate and watch Harry Potter today. I did go for a little run this morning (in the rain, natch), which almost made me feel okay about the chocolate, until I saw my big sister in her size eight skinny jeans having nothing but a bit of carrot soup for lunch.
Now I have to go and search for camping shops, because it's not long until our epic camping trip....

Back home

2011-08-08T21:35:00.000+05:30

Hi honey, I'm homeless! Well, only for another five weeks, until we can move into our quarter.
I'm quite enjoying being back in the UK and taking full advantage of our nation, it's culture and traditions: I have already had a McDonald's, a KFC and been to Lidl. Oh, and I've also watched a whole episode of 'Come dine with me' and a little bit of an old Bergerac. Fab. Because that's what makes Britain great, you know.
Actually, it is very nice to be back, with un-pot-holed roads. And to see the family of course (probably should have prioritised them above the road quality, really).
My mum is being a top hostess and cooking lots of tasty food, and has stuffed the cupboards full of jaffa cakes and walkers crisps, which I can't eat, because it's been so long since I had a tummy bug that I am now far heavier than I ought to be (although I can't possibly diet, because I'm still on holiday). Those scales in the gym at BGN, they lied! I thought I was still quite slender and waif like, but it turns out I'm a tub of lard, bummer!
I have just heard my mum asking the kids where I am, and them saying 'no idea', so I guess I ought to go downstairs and be available.

the final countdown

2011-08-01T21:26:00.000+05:30

Just had my last yoga session. I'd like to say that I'm sad, but frankly it's a relief not to have to go through the humiliation again. However, I did get a bit sad when I went to the blue shop today to do final shop for cartons of milk, Chocos and many bottles of bleach (I'm trying to run down the food before we go. Kids are very dis-chuffed at the lack of anything tasty in the cupboards at the moment - at snack time today I offered cream crackers or cereal bars, and was met with some very underwhelmed expressions). When I got in the car to come home I realised that it would be my last ever trip to the blue shop. Boo Hoo! I don't think I was really upset about the shop, I think it was just symbolic, if that makes sense. Anyway, I couldn't let myself be upset for long as it's not safe to drive with teary eyes out here, you need your wits about you not to mow down dogs/sacred cows/small kids on large bicycles, etc.

We've had final swimming lession, final physiotherapy session, final trip to Thamel and to Patan Durbar Square. Tomorrow will be final speech therapy session and trip to the American Club. I don't think I've yet had my final near-death experience with a manic motorcyclist - quite looking forward to that one, though.

So, we're onto the final countdown (da da der da, da da der da da - oh, surely you remember the supergroup Europe? Where were you in the eighties?) this week. The packers' assessment chap came round this morning and sucked his teeth and fussed about with a tape measure. I'm a little nervous about the packing, because he wouldn't be drawn on how much stuff we have, all he'd say, rather hesitantly, was that we'll have more than eleven cubic metres. I said, but how much more? (We're only entitled to 13 cubic metres, so I'd like to know if I have to make a last minute dash to the post office to post the extras). He wouldn't say. We agreed that he'd pack the horrible white plastic garden furniture last, and then if there isn't enough room we could just leave it behind.

I'm hoping we don't have too many medical dramas this week. Today Twin 1 managed to get her baby finger trapped in Son's bedroom door and has had her hand elevated in a sling to relieve the pressure all afternoon. I have never heard her scream quite so loud, for so long (except when she was a baby and I had to hide in the cellar to escape her wails), poor thing. Even a forbidden cola flavoured lollipop and a trip to the medical centre didn't cheer her up.

Right, running out of battery power and I'm off for a glass of port (there's no wine left, and I felt I couldn't really refuse tasty treats for the kids on the basis that I'm running down the stores, and then buy myself a nice bottle of sauvignon, seemed a bit hypocritical). If you don't hear from me for a while you can assume that it's because I'm either:
a) sobbing into a port-and-rescue-remedy cocktail, or
b) trying to post an entire set of garden furniture through the BFPO system, or
c) taking one of my kids to A&E with broken limb/appendicitis, or
d) all of the above.

Cheerio x

ps - just realised that living here is the longest I have lived anywhere in the past twenty-odd years (since I went to university, in fact). No wonder I'm getting so sad about leaving - bizarrely, Kathmandu is more home than anywhere.

week 4 - halfway there!

2011-07-29T18:23:00.000+05:30

Hello! What have you been up to? I'm sure your life has been more exciting than mine...it's the end of week four of the school holidays and the kids have finished their English workbooks and got their respective presents. As I write, Twin 2 is sitting in a wildly inappropriate bubblegum pink crinoline-style creation, which was less expensive than I expected, so she also has a kind-of large Polly Pocket thing with pink hair. Ah the rewards of hard work!
Talking of which...you know I revised my first chapter and re-submitted it to the peer review site. I confidently expected to get better reviews this time round, but they are worse! So much for taking on constructive criticism. Anyway, I'm sending the first three chapters off to an agent next week (Rebecca is coming round later, to help me write the synopsis), so fingers crossed.
Hubby is in Pokhara tonight, having his leaving do from the Pokhara office. He'll be there now, probably on his fourth whisky, waiting for the dahl baht to cook (do you think I'll get a present, even though I'm not there?). He nearly didn't make it, because the monsoon storms have been so severe that the airport was closed until lunchtime. He's booked to come back tomorrow, but who knows if he'll make it? People sometimes get stuck there for days, so I'm planning a weekend of single parenthood (brunch in the mess, DVD, then trip out to the ice cream parlour tomorrow; swimming lessons and roast dinner at the embassy on sunday, to be specific). Tomorrow I have to have the car cleaned, or Hubby's successor will have second thoughts about buying it, and we will never be able to afford my creative writing MA course (which clearly, by my current ratings, I really need to do, if I am ever to make it as a novelist). The only problem is that there are no car washes in Kathmandu. No, not one. Luckily someone has agreed to do it for me (I haven't told him that the last time I washed it was six months ago and that we did have a resident rat in the car for a while - wouldn't want to put him off), for which he shall be handsomely rewarded.
So, what's been the highlight of the week? Could it possibly be Twin 2 running across in front of the Headquarters building on the Gurkha Camp singing 'Like a Virgin' (the Moulin Rouge version) whilst her knickers slowly made their way towards her ankles? Yes, it could.
I secretly hope the Cheif of Staff happened to be looking out of his office window at the time and was appalled at the wanton behaviour of my six-year-old.
Right, better go and sort out sleepover room for kids, who have a friend staying tonight (they have already wowed me with a play about aliens, and I'm looking forward to more dramatic performances nice and early in the morning).
Take care x

bean counters

2011-07-25T21:12:00.000+05:30

It's just gone nine, and Hubby's asleep, of course. I'm doing a jolly good job of easing myself into Greenwich Mean Time (or is it British Summer Time), by waking up later and later, the closer we get to moving back to the UK. (Unfortunately Hubby doesn't have that option as he will be working right up until five o'clock in the afternoon on the day we leave - we fly at eight). This means that our house is effectively on different time zones at the moment. When I zipped chirpily in from gym and yoga this evening, he was already beyond monosyllabic and slunk up to bed with a frown on his working-man's brow.
Rebecca Bryan was going to make an appearance tonight, as she has vowed to edit the first three chapters and get them off to an agent before we move. However, I've noticed that it's already nine, and somewhere in the house, if I can find it, is a really good book I'm three-quarters of the way through, and, well, nine pm is a little late to begin one's working day, even if I am progressing towards a different time zone. I hope Rebecca isn't too unhappy with me for my lackadaisical attitude (I'd ask her, but she scares me a bit).
Today the bean counters came round. No, they weren't actual bean counters. But they were actual fork and sheet counters. They gave me a useful list of all the army stuff that we signed for when we moved in three years ago. I spent quite some time today counting cutlery and trying to locate missing electric heaters, etc. Which is partly why I want a bit of time to read my book tonight as I feel like I deserve it, after being very responsible for a couple of hours this afternoon.
What I've come to realise over the course of my time as an army wife, is that the moving doesn't bother me in the slightest. I love moving house and going somewhere new. What I don't love is all the scary bean counting that goes with it. You know, getting fined for not having a tidy garden, or whatever. I remember there being a charge for excessive dog hairs on the sofa when we left Northern Ireland, for example. I'm such a bad housewife (I'm the antithesis of a domestic goddess - domestic demon perhaps?) and have such lamentable attention to detail that remembering to do all the right things to hand over a married quarter is just a bit too scary. And it's not just getting it wrong, it's the embarrassment of admitting that I wasn't a good enough housewife to bother hoovering the dog hair out from in between the sofa cushions, or checking that there wasn't a half-eaten cake in the desk drawer.
So I think Rebecca can come over tomorrow and get stuck into chapters two and three.
Come to think of it, I should have invited her over this afternoon to deal with the bean counters, and maybe she could just take over the whole moving business?
I know she'd do a far better job than me.

Saturday hangover

2011-07-23T15:57:00.000+05:30

Went to Hubby's leaving do in the 'yard' (the patch of concrete in between the offices and the workshops at his work) last night. It was the usual sit-about-and-drink-for-three-hours-until-the-dahl-and-curry-is-cooked. They gave a speech for Hubby, but as it was in Nepali we had (almost) no idea what they were saying (I understood two words: 'water' and 'therefore' - good to know all that money we spent on Nepali lessons wasn't entirely wasted), so all that clapping could well have been a response to "What a huge relief this water treatment taskmaster is finally leaving us, and therefore lets hope that the next bloke is a bit more of a pushover" (cue earnest nodding and applause).
Anyway, the workforce are so happy that Hubby is finally leaving that they clubbed together to buy him a nice kukri (curved knife) and a lovely embroidered pashmina for me (one can never have too many pashminas, you know) as leaving gifts. Normally the choice of drink at these functions is: whisky or coke or whisky-and-coke. However this time they really pushed the boat out and there was wine. So I drank far too much wine and Hubby drank far too much whisky and all we have managed to do today is take the kids out to KFC for lunch. Right now everyone is watching Indiana Jones, which is an almost perfect choice for a Saturday hangover.
The reality that we are actually moving is taking hold. I checked out the thirty-day weather forecast for Devon yesterday, and quickly went on to Amazon to buy wellies and get them sent to my parents house. I think I might have to pack the odd pashmina or two as well, as it doesn't look like summer in the UK is set to get terribly summery...
Ooh, keep getting distracted by Indie (it's the bit where they are in Nepal, escaping from the Nazis, just before they get to Egypt), so I'd better go and give it my full attention.
Have a great weekend x

Rescue Remedy

2011-07-20T21:02:00.000+05:30

It's raining, raining and raining a bit more here at the moment. Good practice for the UK, I suppose. All the kids have been having bad dreams recently, so I've been dosing them up with that well-known nightmare cure: Bach's Rescue Remedy. Seems to work - might have to give it a go on Hubby, who never seems to sleep beyond about 4.30 am these days.
Apart from bad dreams, kids continue to have a jolly nice summer hols. Remarkably, they are still doing their holiday workbooks, but I think this might only be because I reminded them that there will be a present for every book finished. Son wants a photographic book about Nepal, to remember out time here. Twin 1 wants a pair of slippers because hers are broken. Twin 2 wants two princess dresses. You don't have to be much of a psychologist to figure out their personalities from this: Son is thoughtful; Twin 1 is practical; Twin 2 lives in a fantasy world of her own making and is prone to extravagance and diva-like demands.
Today, we did workbooks, swimming and I escaped for a couple of hours this afternoon whilst they watched a DVD. What I should have done is used the time to go to the gym. What I actually did was to go for reflexology and a bar of chocolate. But when I came back I played hide-and-seek and hunt-the-Barbie for an hour and a half, and that must have burnt up some calories, surely?
Right, nearly bed time. Tomorrow I think I'll do something wildly exciting with the kids, like, erm, workbooks, swimming and a DVD...There's only about seven weeks until they go back to school...
Right, I'm off for some Rescue Remedy.
Goodnight x

Bawhana 'Scissorhands' Rana

2011-07-18T13:12:00.000+05:30

This morning we've had haircuts and doughnuts. Does life get any better? Actually, only the kids had haircuts - I wisely opted to get mine done the other week in Dubai, to escape the whirling blades of Bawhana 'Scissorhands' Rana. Still, she did a good job on the kids - fast, too - and it's not just hair cutting, it's cost-cutting as well, because after she's been at their mops, they won't have to have another haircut for at least six months, hurrah.
We went to Cafe Hessed for doughnuts afterwards. I told the lovely Korean owner that she makes the best doughnuts in Kathmandu. It's true (but I also think they might be the only doughnuts in Kathmandu, as I haven't seen them anywhere else in the past two years).
After that we went to get more welfare discs (more of the thrilling Ken and Dierdre at the pottery class storyline in Coronation Street - can't wait) and for a play in the play park.
Tomorrow we've got a leaving thing in the afternoon, so the kids have been practising their speeches. Twins are going to say how much they have enjoyed the swimming pool, and Son plans to say something about how nice and flat the roofs are in Nepal. Whatever they say will be a lot more interesting than anything I could muster up, so I'm going for the supportive wife and mother role (you know, lipstick and a dress and a quiet smile - should work a treat as long as I don't have too many Pimm's and let slip what I really think about BGN...)
Right then, better go and start on the change-of-address letters.
Take care x

jockey-tastic

2011-07-16T17:02:00.000+05:30

Hi, Twin 2 is up with Ganga the physio and the others are watching Star Trek with Hubby, and I'm fairly amazed at my lack of hangover. Last night we went to a cocktail party/games night in the mess. It is a bit bizarre to get all glammed up, only to play oversized board games and screech along to Singstar on Wii, but army life is nothing if not surreal. The oversized board game was in fact a horse race, based on the Grand National (the leading horse's syndicate had to down a glass of red wine when the horse made it over Beecher's Brook). I was in three different races, or maybe four (my memory is a bit hazy) and our team won two of them. In the final, Hubby and I entered a 'horse' called Gary Baharda Rai, in honour of our lovely mastiff dog, and we romped home and won ourselves eight thousand rupees (about £70). Not bad, eh? Even with the amount of Mojitos I consumed over the course of the night, we more than broke even. And, even better, I haven't had a real hangover today - I was up by eight cooking french toast for the kids (okay, I had to have a little power nap this afternoon, but then, I usually do on a weekend).
Luckily the do was held at night, as the dim lighting helped disguise the big rash of acne/eczema that has appeared on my chin. I'm beginning to think that I really ought to have splashed out on burka in Dubai, as it would help prevent the looks of revulsion I've been subjected to over the last few days. Even the doctor seemed horrified at the sight of the monstrous carbuncles in my peri-oral area and immediately prescribed antibiotics and steroids - do hope they work, as I don't have the option of growing a beard.
Rebecca Bryan is away right now (and don't tell her about the mojitos or the horse race as she would only disapprove), but before she left she uploaded a revised chapter 1 onto the peer review site. She now just has to review lots of other people's first chapters in order to get some good reviews for hers over the next two weeks - it's a bit of a numbers game. I think she'll have to come back tonight, or possibly tomorrow...
Anyway, have a good weekend xxx

Rebecca

2011-07-13T20:57:00.000+05:30

Rebecca Bryan hasn't gone down too well with Hubby. She is too work focussed and a little bit grumpy. Tonight for example, Hubby suggested an episode of Corrie and Rebecca said in her best authoress voice "I have to work". She did not say, "Ooh, yes, and let's eat lots of chocolate whilst we're watching" because that's not what she's like. She is focussed and professional. Later, Hubby came up to where Rebecca was working - at that point she was just saving a document and morphing back into me. He said: "Well, I don't know what you've been working on..."
Rebecca was not very happy that Hubby couldn't know that she has spent the last three years writing, and has just completed a manuscript, especially as she told him she was revising chapter one this week, in order to get it peer-reviewed before entering it into a competition. He appeared to know nothing about this. Rebecca, on the other hand, knew all about super-chlorination and the difference between chloroforms and coliforms, and other water-treatment related work issues.
Rebecca feels that Hubby has scant interest in her writing beyond a potential means to retire early and buy a yacht.
I'm not Rebecca, though, so I'm prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. This time...

Tonight, Mathew, I'm going to be Rebecca Bryan...

2011-07-12T19:19:00.001+05:30

Twins have gone for a sleepover with their friend, and Son is an only child for the night. This afternoon I played chess (beat him, too - didn't mean to be quite so evil, and hadn't realised that I had him in check mate), tigers & goats and then did some cooking. He made some lush lemon squares, which will foil my attempts to lose a few pounds before we get back to the UK (the ingredients consisted mainly of sugar and butter, with a teensy bit of lemon juice and flour thrown in - don't know why I go to the effort of eating the darn things; I may as well just stick them directly onto my thighs).
Then I left him (not alone, Meena and Mani were scuttling about the place) whilst I went to the gym. I think I managed to work off the equivalent of half a mouthful of lemon square on the rowing machine (still too dizzy to go running, even though the nice doctor has given me some much more effective medication). After the gym I went to Hubby's office to walk home with him. As it was a quiet day, I only had to wait half an hour whilst he had conversations about super-chlorination and tried to shut down his very old computer. I began to wish I had brought 'A prayer for Owen Meany' with me - I could have got through a not inconsiderable chunk of it whilst waiting for the office tedium to end. Still, I filled the time trying to think of a suitable pseudonym. Did you know that Beyonce always thinks of herself as 'Sasha Fierce' before going onstage. A very nice friend of mine suggested that I do the same, and give myself a writer's name, in order to become more focussed on being a writer. So far, I've settled on Rebecca Bryan, which isn't terribly exciting, I know, but then neither is Mark Twain, or George Eliot or George Orwell or even Caroline Harvey (Joanna Trollope used to write as Caroline Harvey). Well, let me know if you can think of anything better than Rebecca Bryan...
So tonight, Mathew (ah, Stars in their eyes, remember that? does it still exist?), I'm going to be Rebecca Bryan, and I'm going to revise and edit chapter one.
Ta ra!

Nanny McWee

2011-07-11T16:05:00.000+05:30

Good old Nanny McPhee. Or Nanny McWee as I like to call her. The kids tell me to stop being rude, but I can't help it, anything that ends in a double 'e' ought to be replaced with wee; it should be the LAW (perhaps this is why I never did anything with my Law degree?).
All of them are now watching Nanny McWee, which has given me time to sort out exhorbitant (no idea why the spell check says that's wrong...exorbitant? hmmm?) car insurance (more than the price of the car) and attempt to sort out road tax. I couldn't do the road tax thing because apparently the car, which I'm buying from my mum, doesn't exist. Do you think my mum has fleeced me, the old scoundrel, and made me cough up for a fenced motor? Perhaps she's going all criminal in her dotage? Or maybe I'm doing something wrong because I can't actually focus on the screen properly?
So, today hasn't been totally unproductive. I have also done the scary meat shop, and the flour-and-cheese shop (but not the trout-and-strawberry-and-stationary shop - no need for fish or biros today, thanks) and got myself a new forces railcard, and pretended to be a teacher whilst the kids did their holiday workbooks (I know, it's a bit tiger mum, but they will be off school for two months and if I'm not careful they will forget everything, the bunch of goldfish-brains), took them to a bookshop/cafe for lunch with their friend (in order to buy reading books for hols - I know, I am turning tiger mum; I'll be enrolling them all in violin lessons next...). Now they are all watching a DVD (hah! not so much tiger mum now!), and I'm wishing the blooming room would stop swaying. Every time I go on a plane nowadays I suffer days of 'vertigo' (I don't mean that I get scared of heights, just that every time I move everything goes all swimmy) afterwards. It's like being drunk, but without the good bits.
Right, I'm off for a lie down now whilst Nanny McWee is still doing her stuff, and hopefully everything will stop moving. I'm going to attempt to read some more of 'A Prayer for Owen Meany', which has taken me two years to begin, and at the rate I'm reading, may well take a further two years to finish (the writing is teeny-tiny and the book is very thick). It's good though.
Take care xx

burkini

2011-07-09T22:02:00.000+05:30

Hello, I'm back. And, yikes, we've got less than a month left here. I've got the suitcases out at the top of the stairs for a little ad hoc packing over the next few weeks. How do you pack for a month of homelessness in a UK summer? No, I don't know either. I did buy myself a pair of spangly fit-flops in duty free, because I thought they'd be nice and sensible for camping (and the sales lady said they matched my handbag). I managed to resist the urge to buy myself a burkini whilst I was there, although with the shocking amount of flab on my thighs these days, some might say I should have given in to temptation. I did see quite a lot of young women with burkinis at the water park, and the fact that they were completely covered in black lycra didn't seem to stop them having fun. There were also, however, quite a few properly burka'd-up women (who had no doubt still had to pay the extortionate entrance fees, even though their only amusement was sweating it out in the forty degree heat whilst their fat male offspring frolicked, loudly), and I realised that I have no real comprehension of, well, anything. It just seems to me that the rules of female dress in that part of the world are made entirely for the benefit of the men. Maybe I'm missing something. I did read somewhere that for some women its liberating to be completely covered because you don't then get ogled at (or as you get older, miss getting ogled at, I guess). But I still think, that if those burka'd women at the water park had the choice, they'd be in a swimming costume and screaming their way down the water slides with the rest of us.
We had two days at the water park and two days in the mall, and on the last night we had supper in front of the dancing fountains and watched nighttime Dubai in all its blinging glory. It's such a surreal place, and the total antithesis of Kathmandu. Not sure how long I could survive living there though - it's like the essence of consumerism: people go shopping to buy things to go shopping in - and I'm not sure what else they do. Hubby went for a run and nearly died of heat exhaustion, so I doubt there's much sport going on.
Hubby is sad to be back in Nepal. He misses the gleaming efficiency of Dubai. In fact we all began to miss the first world from the moment we got on the flight back home (mainly because most of the other passengers had yet to master the concept of sitting on a toilet seat - the air hostesses kept having to close the toilets and give them a thorough hose down and disinfectant; still, at least there was no urine running down the aisles this time). However, I'm sad to be back because now we're going through the whole 'last of' experiences. Soon we'll have our last trip to the Sterling Club and our last lunch at Cafe U etc. etc. (won't miss my last near-death experience crossing the main road, though).
Kids seem cheerily unaffected by it all. I think I will be the only person sobbing my way to the airport when we finally head off.
Anyway, must go and take cinnamon rolls out of the oven.

back to the first world

2011-07-04T22:19:00.000+05:30

Spent the day in Dubai Mall, which might sound tedious, but compared to Kathmandu, was utter heaven. Where were the potholes, leaking sewerage pipes, unlicensed adolescents on scary motorbikes, gormless shop assistants and general air of lethargy? Nowhere! Because we're back in the first world (although we can only afford to be here for five days, before the money runs out...), and for now it is a jolly nice place to be.
We went to the aquarium; Hubby went to Gap and now looks like a Gap model, and not like a tramp; we went to the rainforest cafe for lunch; Hubby and Son went up Burj Kalifa; Twins went on a train ride round the mall; I went to the Body Shop. The credit card has had more use today than it has had in the past year, but we're all happy, and what's more, Hubby hasn't mentioned work for a whole twenty-four hours.
I've just popped out to get a haircut: magic - the hairdresser knew how to cut hair and there was electricity for the blow dry and magazines to read that weren't circa 2007.
And now I'm off to have a bar of real chocolate and flick my coiffed locks at my Gap model husband.
Ta ra! x

handsome tramp

2011-07-03T21:41:00.000+05:30

Here we are in Dubai, hurrah! Hubby is not grumpy, hurrah (mainly because we had a Burger King for supper)! Nobody was sick on the plane, hurrah! The plane was an hour ahead of schedule, hurrah!
We are all very happy to be here and be away from the stress (in Hubby's case) and raw emotion of the end-of-term-saying-goodbye-to-everyone (in my case). Spent a not inconsiderable time last week saying goodbye to people over lunch/supper. I think I ate at home maybe once last week. Well, it's all over now, the weepy old end of year has come and gone and everyone has hot-footed it back to the UK/US to visit parents and in-laws. However, we have another month to go.
Hubby has just said that I ought to mention the scare with the cashpoint - I think he's still hoping I won't revert to the Sophie/Jocasta topic.
There was a bit of a nail-biting moment at Kathmandu airport, when the FlyDubai check-in staff asked to see the card I paid for the tickets with. I didn't have it because I accidentally cut it up last week (I thought it had expired, but it hadn't - doh!). Thought for a second that they wouldn't let us on the plane, but the nice check-in clerk obviously decided that on the fraudulent/idiotic scale, I obviously tipped the balance towards the idiotic end. She smiled patronisingly at me, as one would at an utter moron with the common sense of a gnat, and waved us all through. Then when we got to Dubai airport neither mine nor Hubby's cards would work in the cashpoint - yikes. Anyway, it's all okay now (hurrah).
Right, I'm off to do a little search to try to find a Gap store in Dubai so Hubby doesn't have to look like a (handsome) tramp this hols xxx

finished the book!

2011-06-29T11:05:00.000+05:30

Ooh, feeling ever so slightly sandy-eyed and grumpy today. Leaving-do socialising is taking its toll. I didn't think I drank that much last night, and I was in bed by eleven, but when Twin 2 came into my side of the bed at five-to-six this morning, I did tell her quite clearly that I wouldn't be able to have a chat with her until at least six thirty - these early morning starts ought to be such a sweet chance for quality bonding time, but I just end up bitterly resenting my nice dreams being interrupted half and hour earlier than necessary.
And this morning I didn't have the opportunity to sweat off my grumpiness in the gym as I was attending a poolside first aid course. I now know how to resucitate (oops, but not how to spell it) adults, children and babies. Hope I never have to though. Apparently if someone has water in their lungs then your first breath into them will dislodge the water and they will vomit it all back up (into your face if you are the first aider). Nice.
Anyway, the good news is that I have finished the book. Oh yes. I mean, of course I now need to go back through it all and revise, edit, etc, but at least I have hit my deadline. I rewarded myself with a nice new eyeliner from Amazon (woo-hoo, living the dream). Hubby very kindly said he felt like buying me a present for hitting my deadline, but I said I think the presents should wait until I get my first advance - might be waiting a while, then...
Hubby thinks that my advance will buy him a nice mid-life-crisis two seater sports car of some sort. Whereas, I think, if I ever sell this book, the advance is more likely to cover a week's supermarket shopping.
Hmmm, think I need to get myself a brufen and rinse the bleach off my teeth before I head out for salad and iced tea.
Take care x

Little R

2011-06-25T19:47:00.000+05:30

It's been a rainy old day in Kathmandu, which is a good thing because it meant we didn't have to suffer the Saturday morning scrum at the swimming pool and that I could have a little 'power nap' whilst kids were watching Ice Age 3 (the power nap had absolutely nothing to do with the amount of white wine quaffed at Dwarika's last night, honest).
We made it out through a break in the clouds to a nearby cafe for lunch, but the short walk there was so exhausting (humidity, pot holes, puddles, almost no pavements, roads being dug up, nice stench of sewerage, someone arc welding on the only bit of pavement there was, etc.) that it was a relief to get home again. Ventured out a bit later on to do shopping and pick up pizza and Twins' little friend R who is here for a sleepover tonight, but then almost couldn't get shopping/pizza/kids back home again as there was an impromptu protest on the main road, and military police bunging in road blocks all over the place. I love it here, but living in the UK is a darn sight easier.
Little R lost her tooth whilst brushing her teeth just now. I said in my best Mary Poppins voice 'Ooh, how exciting, the Tooth Fairy will come!', whereupon Little R told the Twins that the Tooth Fairy is really your mum. No, no no, I wanted to shout, because even Son (who is now nine) still believes in the TF, and the Twins believe in everything. Good job Little R won't be around at Christmas time, as that would be the whole Santa Claus thing debunked once and for all.
Someone has kindly lent me Dexter season 5, so I'm looking forward to a few grisly murders in a bit.
Right, better go and be strict with sleepover kids...
Night then x

dragon's legs

2011-06-22T21:48:00.000+05:30

Hello, sorry it's been a while. I have been writing the book, honest (although I have also spent a little time on Facebook). It's all coming together now - of the six things my heroine has to sort out, she's really only got one left to tackle (well, perhaps two).
I couldn't write much this afternoon as I had to take Twin 1 to her private tennis lesson, whilst Twin 2 had a manicure and pedicure at the beauty salon next door to the tennis court (yes, really). I have made it quite clear to the pair of them that our lives will change radically when we get back to the UK and there'll be no more private tennis lessons or pedicures for anyone. We'll all just have to be grateful for a once-a-week splurge on a take away whilst watching celebrity-singing-on-ice-in-the-jungle (or perhaps even that classic bit of reality TV from a few years ago, "Help, my dog is as fat as me!" - really hope that programme is repeated).
Did I mention that we've got a house? Hurrah, we have a house, and we'll only be homeless for five weeks until we can actually move into it. Have just bought a massive family tent on Amazon and got it shipped to my parents, so at least we'll have somewhere to sleep (good job too, as family members are getting ever more reluctant to open their doors to us).
Tomorrow evening is the school's carnival, and the culmination of creative arts week. So we have to go out to a cafe/art space and participate. The twins have the important job of being dragon's legs (?), so must be supportive, I guess (oh, that's actually a pun - not a very good one though, so I probably shouldn't have mentioned it). As part of creative arts week, the music teacher has produced a CD of the kids singing. The proceeds from the CD go to charity, so you can't exactly refuse to buy a copy, especially when (in my case) you have three kids nagging you to fork out. So we are now proud owners of "I've got a song to sing" by the kids of the British School. And how lovely it is to hear the nursery class's rendition of 'The wheels on the bus' at full volume. Or year 4's version of 'Give me one moment in time' (while I'm racing with destiny - but pitched a bit too high so nobody can quite reach the notes in 'destiny'). I can't even bring myself to post a copy to the UK to inflict on the grandparents. It would just be cruel. Thanks for that, Miss H.
Talking of dragon's legs. I wore shorts to the gym this morning. Yes, you can hear gasps of people claiming how culturally inappropriate it is to show your legs in Nepal. But I've seen Nepali women wearing shorts down our way (mind you, they might be women of ill-repute), so it can't be that culturally inappropriate. I think maybe the gasps of horror are less to do with the cultural aspect and more to do with exposing the good people of Patan to a double-whammy of varicose veins and cellulite. But I can't bring myself to care. I may have dragon's legs these days, but it's too blooming hot to be all coy in leggings.
Right, well then, it's gone ten (obviously Hubby has already been asleep about an hour) and I'm about to run out of charge so nightie night xx

thou shalt not diss thyne wife

2011-06-19T16:17:00.000+05:30

Had a nice mini break at Gokarna Forest resort this weekend. At least it was nice until Hubby kindly remarked that my arse looked big in the skirt I was wearing and my hairstyle reminded him of his mother.
I had to remind him that when he's away in Afghanistan for six long months there may be other men who don't thing I have huge arse and a hairstyle like their mum's. Later on, we discovered that he had been leeched. I think it must be God's punishment on him for dissing his wife. Is that one of the ten commandments - thou shalt not diss thyne wife? No? Well it should be.

thirty two point four per cent

2011-06-16T11:48:00.001+05:30

Just finished chapter eleven (well, almost, still need to type up final scene). Woo-hoo, I am cooking on gas - not literally, that's Mani's job.

So now I can have lunch (oily fish or hummus with ryevita - still on anti-witch diet), have reflexology, pick up kids and not have a nagging feeling about not having written enough today. Hurrah.

I'm having to pick up kids today (I've been sending them on the school bus recently as it gives me extra time to write) because I need to take the Twins and their little friend to the Year 1 end-of-year party, where the fabulous class rep has arranged for them all to decorate cupcakes and have a lovely time. Son is in Year 4 and not invited. If only he had a Year 4 party to attend instead. Shouldn't the Year 4 rep have organised something, like a pool party or bowling? Who is the lazy old Year 4 class rep anyway? ...oh, that's right, it's me. Apologies to any Year 4 parents reading this, but I am too busy being a wannabe author to do a party right now. Soz.

Twins hair is looking very nice today, hardly a hint of green in it. I'm very pleased because I finally managed to get tomato sauce on their hair last night, by cunningly mixing it up with conditioner and calling it a 'hair masque'. I also had to promise them both a sweet if they kept the 'hair masque' on for twenty minutes. Voila, chlorine stains gone and nice soft hair to boot (slightly red scalps and lingering tomatoe-y aroma though, but lets not dwell on that).

I discovered yesterday that the science of marriage dictates that the most blissfully wedded couples are in a relationship where the man is five years older than his wife, and the woman is twenty seven percent more intelligent (in fact, my old English teacher wrote a poem on the subject: http://www.theweeklypoem.com). I've been thinking about this. Hubby and I have been (mostly) happily married for thirteen years. He is four years older than me. So, given that the age gap is one year less than the optimum, does that mean that the percentage intelligence must be even higher, to compensate? What I mean is that if he's only four years older than me, and we're still happy, surely this must mean that I am at least thirty three percent more intelligent than him. Oh, come on, it makes sense. You do the maths - oh, okay I will, just wait a second...one fifth of twenty seven is... 5.4, and 27+5.4= 32.4
Okay, so I must be 32.4% more intelligent, no? (although will our marriage still be happy after Hubby reads this? Might have to recalculate...)
Right, I'm off for yummy fish and ryevita now xxx

speedy fingers

2011-06-14T19:44:00.000+05:30

My fingers are red-raw from typing and my characters are speeding through their plotlines. Only two and a half chapters to go, and two and a half weeks left of the school term. The last chapter is a really short one (good job, as the last week of term is really only four days - the last day is just a morning, which consists of a very long, weepy assembly, when everyone sings emotional songs and bangs on about how great the school is...this year I shall be joining in with a big packet of tissues, and waterproof mascara), so I might just do it.
Apparently there are bandhs predicted for the next three days - Heaven knows what they are all protesting about this time. I just hope the school bus can get through, otherwise chapter eleven will stall, and my heroine will never get closure, bless her.
Have to go now and type up two thousand words before bedtime...

rat trap clap trap

2011-06-13T19:40:00.000+05:30

Hubby wants me to tell you about the rat in the car. I think he only wants me too so that I stop banging on about his seedy three-in-a-bed sessions with Sophie and Jocasta.
So...yesterday when I opened the car door to pop five kids in after our morning swim, a rat jumped out. I don't know who squeaked louder, me or the rat. Actually, I do know. It was me. And it was more of a scream than a squeak. And then I had to remind myself that when Hubby goes to Afghanistan I have promised to replace him with, not one, but three of the little furry vermin. So I had better get over myself.
Right, now I need to say goodnight to Son and type up two thousand words whilst Hubby watches final episode of the Wire.
Ta ra!

Transcendental, my arse

2011-06-11T22:30:00.000+05:30

Hubby is in bed with Jocasta and Sophie Ellis-Bextor (Troilism! At his age!...not sure if that's how you spell troilism? need to figure out how to get spoll chiker on this blig...)
Anyway, that his little menage a trois with the new gadget and the old pop star is a good thing, as it freed me up to type up the opening scenes to chapter eleven. I didn't quite finish it as I got side tracked into ordering colouring books for the kids on Amazon, but I was working on a Saturday night, which I don't think I've done for about fifteen years. And I do wonder why I'm doing this. I mean, how likely is it that this book will ever make it to publication? Realistically, not very. However, I guess the alternative is playing Farmville online and getting my nails done in the quiet hours before the kids finish school and Hubby gets home from work ...and that alone is enough to propel me to keep writing.
Apart from late-night typing session, today has been very quiet, mainly because I'm the only person naggy enough to make anything happen on weekends, and this morning I wasn't feeling very well (strange buzzy noises in ears and general lethargy - at least, I think that's the medical term for it). So the Twins did a bit of colouring and Son made a start on his space explorer book, and this afternoon we watched Dr Who and Total Wipeout Celebrity Special (which is kind of like a 21st Century version of It's a Knockout - just need an updated version of Jim'll fix it to make it feel as if my kids are reliving my own childhood. But who would the modern-day equivalent of Jimmy Saville be? Hmmm....Ant n' Dec'll fix it, perhaps?).
Tomorrow I'm taking Hubby to the House of Pain, as it's known, and I'm hoping that he'll leave Jocasta and Sophie at home. We're going to have a massage at the Japanese place, and a very nice friend has bravely offered to have our kids for a couple of hours. I'm hoping it will de-stress him, as he's been getting a little bit 'Mars Attacks' recently. I slipped the idea of transcendental meditation into the conversation today, hoping he might say "Ooh, that sounds like a jolly good idea!" but instead he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Transcendental, my arse." He has been regaining his rufty-tufty-ness since realising that he will soon be back in the 'real' army (as opposed to the distinctly surreal army that is BGN).
Well, anyway, now it's late and Jocasta and Sophie have both gone to sleep and so shall I x

fingers on fire

2011-06-09T18:47:00.000+05:30

I can write three chapters in three weeks, can't I? I mean, it's only about thirty thousand words, right? The only problem is that the other chapters have averaged a month each so far. Hmm, I suppose so long as nobody gets ill, I don't have a social life, and I don't watch any telly at all, I might be able to do it. I feel like I really ought to put my heroine out of her misery and give her her life back before the summer hols, just worried that I might get a bit stressy in the process.
At the moment, we are due to leave Nepal in about seven weeks. School here finishes in three. Back in Blighty, still no news on house or school places. At least we have found a home for Meena and Mani and Gary and the Landrover.
But I'm not worried. No I'm not, I'm calm and serene and philosophical and taking every day as it comes and really absolutely sure that everything is going to be just fine (when, oh when is the Bach Rescue Remedy going to arrive?)
The only good thing thing is that Hubby won't be bothered at all if I spend all my evenings for the next few weeks hunched over the laptop with my fingertips on fire, because he'll be busy with his new mistress, Jocasta. Jocasta is slim, sleek and a mine of useful information. Oh alright then, she's an HTC tablet (yes, I made up the name, because she may as well be a mistress - between Jocasta and the box set of the Wire, I doubt Hubby even knows I still live here).
Right, well, I guess I should stop banging on to you, get the children to bed, and get on with chapter eleven...

partied out

2011-06-08T21:42:00.000+05:30

Oh no, nearly bed time and I'm very tired (not sure why, as I managed a power nap after lunch - maybe I'm just a wuss), but I do have time to tell you about fabulous Twins' sports day (still hoarse from having to shout not just for my two but also for several other girls whose parents couldn't make it to school), and even more fabulous Kushagra's sixth birthday party. I think Kushagra's dad - I've never met him - is responsible for quite a large portion of Nepal's GDP. He imports steel and whisky (knowing how they knock it back here, I bet he makes more money from the whisky), and lives in a nice part of town where all the embassies are. This is the third year I've been to Kushagra's party, and it's just as good as the other years. This year the party theme was VW Beetle cars (maybe the dad has car showrooms too?). In addition to the bouncy castle, face painter and magic show, there was a brand new Beetle (no plates, so clearly straight from the showroom) for the children to sit on and have their photos taken by the official photographer. Wonder what they'll do next year? Fly the kids in by helicopter, perhaps? Sadly we'll miss it, as we'll be back to being plebs in the UK. Shame.
Kids came home full of jelly and chocolate and slightly manic, and so did I.
It's no good, it's nearly ten o'clock and I really have to lie down. Oh, you know a sports day and the kid's party event of the year, all in one day - it's just a bit much!
Night x

Soz

2011-06-07T21:25:00.000+05:30

I just wrote a nice long post, and the site lost it. Bummer! Honestly, it was longer than I've written in ages, but now its gone, lost to the ether, and I'm really too tired to try to remember it and write it all again. Soz x

I think I may have made a date with a parking attendant.

2011-06-05T20:46:00.000+05:30

I think I may have made a date with a parking attendant. Or I may have agreed to buy his grandmother. I'm not sure. You see, yesterday I was in perky mood when I went to pick up our saturday night pizza. The little parking chap (seventeen, at most), smiled at me and I smiled back. I decided to give a bit of my lamentable Nepali a try and asked him 'how much?' in Nepali, and I even understood when he told me it was twenty rupees. Clearly enthused, he then asked if I spoke Nepali, to which I replied 'a little'. But you know, it really is a little. I managed to tell him my name, but then he burbled on a lot, and I nodded in a smiley way, understanding nothing. By the time I pulled away with my (by then almost cold) pizzas, I was under the distinct impression that I had agreed to come back for something...but what? Perhaps he is in league with the scary lychee men and I've agreed to buy twenty kilos of lychees, or arrange for his visa to the UK? I don't know.
Anyway, now I'm not thinking about it and trying to concentrate on the Wire, which Hubby loves, but keeps sending me to sleep. I feel like I ought to like it because it's gritty and complex etc. but the truth is I'm just not up to the intellectual challenge at this time in the evening.
Oh, good news, Twin 2 swam a width yesterday, hurrah!
And more good news, I have just booked our summer holiday in Dubai - hurrah again!
Right, ought to try to start concentrating on the Wire, I suppose.
Night, then. x

sad, mad and tedious to know

2011-06-01T07:08:00.000+05:30

Sorry, been a bit lax, mainly because I've been sad, mad and tedious to know over the long weekend. Luckily a bit saner and less leaky now. Damn those pesky hormones!
Went out for coffee with a lovely friend yesterday, who I hardly ever see because she's a teacher and not a mum (different world). Anyway, she says she swears by Bach rescue remedy for those sad, mad and tedious to know times. She did, however, admit that the touchy-feely-flower- mix is infused in brandy, so I suspect that that might be the real source of its calming properties - have visions of her in the staff room quaffing the stuff in gulpfuls straight from the bottle and telling everyone "It's medicinal". Think I might be tempted to do the same, first thing in the morning.
This morning, however, it's wierdly unstressful: all the kids were ready by seven o'clock - bags packed, sun tan lotion on, teeth brushed, the lot. And right now the Twins are doing some quiet colouring and Son is reading, and there's still ten minutes until we have to leave for the school bus.
I think I must have somehow slipped into a parallel universe....

Dull McDull from Dullsville

2011-05-28T12:33:00.000+05:30

Someone has got it in for Hubby; there were iron filings in his brunch in the mess this morning. Twins hair is getting steadily greener, Son's cardboard alien city is taking shape, and my online shopping habit is getting out of control.
There's another bandh today, because its the anniversary of when the constitution should have been written (the government gave themselves one year's extension on the deadline, but it's still not done), so we're stuck between home and camp, and it's another weekend of brunches in the mess and swimming in the pool and Hubby getting gradually angrier with BGN stuff (and who can blame him, when the cookhouse staff are clearly trying to do him in?).
I stayed up too late last night watching Coronation Street, drinking wine and eating chocolate strawberries and pretzels (it's not the same without other people to shout at the telly with, though - I miss Corrie nights with the teachers). Then I had yet another mangled dream about an encroaching tsunami, the second time this week. My subconscious is obviously dreading something, but what? The weight gain associated with booze and chocolate? The brainpower loss associated with watching Coronation street on a regular basis? The partners' club leaving do, which is now just two short weeks away? Or possibly my husband going to Afghanistan for six months?
I could blather on indefinitely, but you would probably fall asleep reading this, as life here at the moment is Dull McDull from Dullsville.
In fact, I'm so bored, I think I'll go and tidy up the Twins' bedroom, just for something to blooming do.
Cheerio! x

half term hurrah

2011-05-27T17:54:00.000+05:30

It's Friday already, and I've barely started chapter ten. My protagonist is attending a colleague's funeral. She's not happy, poor love. Still, I've got a surprise for her when she gets home...unfortunately that won't be for a while, as - in real life - its now half term, so she can't expect to be reunited with ... (oh, I can't tell you, it will spoil the surprise) until, maybe Thursday, or even Friday next week.
In the meantime, I have swimming and sleepovers and Sunday lunch at the Sterling club and dental appointments and hair appointments etc. My life is far less interesting than hers (but a bit cheerier, it has to be said).
There was another bandh yesterday, and again today. I had to go into school on the bus with the kids this morning. As I was already kitted out for the gym, I had the really good idea of going in on the bus with them and then running home.
At least, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now I am really not as fit as I was when we were in the UK, and, even at eight thirty in the morning it was probably about thirty degrees outside. So even my little half-hour trot back to camp darn near killed me - no wonder lots of random Nepalis were staring at me as I staggered past (they were probably thinking, why doesn't someone take that lunatic gora to the hospital?).
Hubby has been off work today (I think it's a bank holiday in the UK?). So he has spent most of the day sleeping and reading Harry Potter, whilst I tried to recover from my early morning fitness ordeal, planned chapter ten, and tried to organise new employers for Meena and Mani. Then, after lunch we walked into school. Twin 2 got her housepoints rosette in assembly today. Could we have been more proud (or more scared of her toppling off the stage)?
And now it's half-term. Hurrah! xxx

scary monday

2011-05-23T17:17:00.000+05:30

The aggressive lychee men are back, waving their fruit with menaces in our faces and car windows. One got me as I was leaving school. I told myself that I was buying them for my little fruit bats - who do, it has to be said, have a bit of a lychee addiction - but the real reason was that I was slightly intimidated by the dark skinny man with the red-stained teeth shoving his wares at me. At least I managed to overcome my fear enough to knock him down by one hundred rupees.
And talking of scary, I just had a really scary book review. It was a 'free will' one on the youwriteon site. This means that my story hadn't been assigned to the person who reviewed it, they just decided to review it of their own free will. For a moment I felt good about this, until I saw who wrote the review...it was a chap whose book I had reviewed the previous evening. I had tried to do the feedback sandwich and everything, but I just found his style, well, challenging (and if you challenge a reader too much, they're not likely to read on), and I didn't give him many stars in the rating.
His review of my book was an endless rant about how I should use my own voice and admit that I'm writing the truth (I'm not - I have never been a bomb disposal officer, honest), and then he went on to say that the only reason he couldn't become an army officer was because he didn't have a mother like mine (I don't think he has ever met my mother - can only assume that he means my protagonist's mother, in the story, which is all made up). Quite frightening that someone had have such a tenuous grasp of the line between truth and fiction. Hope I never meet him (especially not on a dark night).
Have to go now, time for supper xxx

kalashnikov surprise for pudding

2011-05-22T21:25:00.000+05:30

I just couldn't do the whole mackerel and Ryevita thing this weekend. I mean, hey, it's the weekend, right? Last night, being Saturday night, I treated myself to two glasses of wine and a whole bag of chocolate coated strawberries, whilst watching Coronation Street (alone). I was only alone because Hubby was tired and decided to go to bed early, but it's a taste of things to come, I fear. There won't be any nights out in Dwarika's when we're all back in the UK and he's out in Afghanistan...
A friend came round with her kids today. We talked about Hubby's imminent tour of duty, and his previous tours. She was berating Hubby for not sampling the local cuisine when out in the middle east. She was appalled that our troops just eat British food, cooked by British cooks, and thinks all our boys should be out there tasting a bit of goat curry. We tried to point out that if you booked yourself into a local cafe for a meal in Helmand, you'd probably get the dessert du jour - kalashnikov surprise - but she wasn't convinced. Perhaps things are different if you work in aid or development, but I think if you're in army uniform in a foreign country, you're fairly likely to get shot at at some point, whether you've tipped the waiter or not.
It's been a quiet weekend; there was a bandh today, so we couldn't go anywhere except the swimming pool. There is another bandh tomorrow, but they are letting blue-plate vehicles through, which means the school bus will be running, hurrah, so I can get on with the book.
My protagonist is becoming a little too self-pitying (who can blame her after all the bad luck she's had?), so I need to rewrite a couple of scenes to turn her back into the feisty go-getter that she should be. I think I was in a rather black mood at the back end of last week, and poured all my misery out through her. Well, it's all going to change, now. She's going to get tough and competent and win through in the end, God bless her!
Right, I should go, or I will be in a spectacularly bad mood at six am tomorrow.
Night x

poo and publishing

2011-05-20T09:00:00.000+05:30

Poor old Twin 1 is off school again (second time this week) with a tummy bug. And it's the swimming gala today - although I think she might be secretly happy about missing the swimming gala, as she's one of those people who is so competitive that she almost goes into meltdown beforehand (Twin 2, however, just treats these kind of things as a good excuse to be in the limelight: win or lose, she'll get to wave and smile at the crowds, and that's all that really matters to her). It's a little disappointing for me because I was going to have a little shopping trip with a friend afterwards. However, being forced to sit at home in front of kids telly has given me the time to upload chapter one onto thenextbigauthor.com website - a two week peer review competition to find the 'next big author'. So who knows, as a result of Twin 1's bottom, I may end up with a publishing deal (oh, I know, probably not, but now I've got my weekend-at-a-literary-festival bag plus lots of nice silver and cashmere, I like to have secret daydreams about being a famous author. I'm also planning on a big leonine mane of hair, a la Jackie Collins, and some highly impractical stilettoes, too).
Right, I have to get Twin 1 back on the loo before we attempt a trip to the gala. Think I should take the portable potty too...

2011-05-19T11:38:00.001+05:30

Last night I told Twin 2 that it really was bedtime, to which she replied: "What? Is it one hundred o'clock already?"
I guess they haven't got round to tackling telling the time in year one yet!

another day

2011-05-17T18:03:00.000+05:30

Twins are eating dried seaweed in front of a DVD. I know it's wierd, but they like it. Hubby is in Pokhara, so we had the dinner we really wanted (sausage and chips for the kids, sushi for me). I expect he's having a dahl bhat and whisky - don't know why I think so, I'm just a bit psychic when it comes to Hubby and Pokhara. My supernatural powers also tell me that he will have one too many whiskys and come back grumpy tomorrow...
My job tonight is to edit camcorder footage, a whole year of it. Not sure it's possible, but I can't deprive us of a record of their childhoods, can I? Or maybe I could. Maybe I could just tell them that all they did for the first eighteen years of their lives was eat dried seaweed in front of the telly (it wouldn't be too far from the truth).
Wild excitement this week is the key stage 1 swimming gala on Friday. Must remember to take a flask, a selection of snacks, and possibly a neck pillow in case I nod off (well, you know what it's like, you sit there all morning, ready to do the whole proud parent thing, and then your child is on the final race, just when you'd given up and gone to get a coffee).
Gary is whining outside the door, but I'm not budging. He can't nag me into letting him in, no matter how pitiful he sounds, the lazy lupine grape-eater.
Hmm, fancy a bit more sushi now. Just about enough time before bedtime.
x

mackerel breath

2011-05-16T11:59:00.000+05:30

Hi, ought to be writing book, but can't seem to settle. oh, I've done a bit, you know - but I have also sorted out old clothes and toys for the orphanage and reviewed someone else's book online (scarily good, actually, I think she might beat me to finding a publisher), and had an early lunch of mackerel and Ryevita (yes, I'm trying a hormone balancing diet to try to combat spots and madness - if eating mackerel gets rid of my general aura of witchiness at the moment, then mackerel it is. I'm also supposed to be switching to flaxseed oil and various expensive complementary medicines with names that sound like Harry Potter characters: Don Quai and Agnus Castus, anyone? But you can't get them out here, so the full-on healthfood binge will have to wait until we're less than three thousand miles from a Holland & Barret shop).
Had a great weekend at Dwarika's. I had infiltrated Hubby's email account and mailed them in his name to ask whether they could do 'something special' for his wife on her birthday. Worked a treat! There was a super-lush chocolate birthday cake waiting in our room, and I got a free glass of plum wine at the Japanese restaurant. Even better, all the staff kept wishing me Happy Birthday. It was fab. I shall have to do it again next year, when perhaps Captain Hubby can take me to Ragdale Hall? (yes, I'm hoping he'll read this and get the hint).
Have to zip off to the dentist in a bit to get an abrasion thingy filled. It's not fair, when you're a kid everyone tells you to brush your teeth properly, but nobody mentioned that you end up having to have fillings from brushing too much. Which reminds me - ought to brush my teeth before I go or the dentist will get the full effects of my mackerel breath.
Tomorrow I will finish chapter nine. I really will. I would have finished it today, but it's hard to write about someone strung-out with grief, when you're feeling pretty perky and a tad manic...
TTFN x

Pre-monsoon, my bottom

2011-05-12T12:23:00.000+05:30

Hubby isn't home yet and my stomach is making earthquake noises. So hungry! Will he ever come home (and why am I so hungry? I had a cheese and ham sandwich at ten - could it be worms?)?

Gary is inside the living room, hiding from the thunder, which everyone is still insisting is not the monsoon, but is the pre-monsoon rains. Pre-monsoon, my bottom, is what I thought yesterday when I got caught in them on the way back from the cafe, but hey.

I was very excited because a new cafe has opened outside the Gurkha camp. It looks very nice and clean and posh, but its a bit of a disappointment. I had visions of going there to write every day, a la JK Rowling, but I think I'd rather be at home where there is water in the taps, so I can actually wash my hands when I go to the loo, and where my coffee-sipping experience isn't marred by the sound of building work and the aroma of raw sewerage...there are some things about Kathmandu I won't miss.

I also got excited about finding air dried strawberries in the shop opposite school (it's the strawberry and trout shop - for all your trout and strawberry requirements). I have noticed that the trout and strawberry shop has begun to diversify. It's now a shop for all your trout and strawberry needs, and also some of your stationery needs too.
Hmm, I think we'll have trout and strawberries for supper. Oh, and maybe I'll buy a notebook as well....

My on-off trip to Dwarika's hotel for my birthday is off again now. There is another bandh, and first we were told that diplomatic plates wouldn't be let though by the protesters, then we told they would, now, having changed our hotel reservation twice, it looks like I'll have to change it again. Bummer.
Another thing I won't miss about Kathmandu: the whole world coming to a standstill because of a bandh.

It's raining again. Pre-monsoon, my bottom!
Bye x

tuesday on the sofa

2011-05-10T16:20:00.000+05:30

Hubby is muttering about being 'manipulated' into more guilt-jewellery. It wasn't manipulation, I just asked. And he said yes. Moreover, having just had lunch with my would-have-been trek-mates and seen their photos, I think it's justified, really.

I know my cashmere and silver days are numbered. In three months time we will be back in Blighty, with or without a quarter and a school place for the kids. I'm almost looking forward to going back to shopping at Lidl, actually (wonder if they still do mini onions pickled in balsamic vinegar - yum). Not looking forward to the weather quite so much...but at least I have a nice stock of cashmere to keep me warm (not to mention a nice stock of silver, to keep me sparkly).

Typed up a few scenes today. Poor old heroine's life is really getting pants. Why has everyone lied to her? Why is everything going wrong in her life? She's about to hit rock bottom (I'll be starting those scenes in the morning, and I have to admit I'm looking forward to it a bit - but only because I know it will all eventually work out, and within the next three chapters, too).

Kids are all sitting on the sofa watching Tangled (again). And talking of hair issues, the Twins' hair has started to get that nice budgie green tint to it (or is it canary? can't remember - parakeet, probably) from all the chlorine. They are swimming every day at school. I have threatened them with a tomato sauce hair masque to sort it out, but they don't seem keen. I can't possibly let them go back to the UK with hair like this though as nice H, my hairdresser friend, will probably stab me for crimes to follicles.

Right, need to go and review someone else's book for the youwriteon.com website now (and in return someone will review mine, which is jolly nice).

Take care xxx

ps. another bandh threatened for friday - think the kids will be off school for my birthday (in which case I shall set them to work making a nice big chocolate birthday cake with plenty of fake smarties on top).

weekend

2011-05-08T21:20:00.000+05:30

Isn't it nice sometimes to have a weekend where you do nothing?
This weekend I have taken the kids swimming and been into town to order a nice leather weekend bag* for my birthday and have our family Sunday lunch at KFC (more of a treat than it sounds - KFC is the only fast food outlet in Nepal). Oh, and I went to the book launch thing this afternoon (I got two signed copies of the book. I know the author because he was in our creative writing group and I even critiqued one of the stories in the anthology - exciting feeling so close to fame!). But that's it. And it was really quite nice to do almost nothing.
I have promised myself I will do lots and lots of writing this week. However, I have also promised myself Friday off, as it's my birthday. I know that in order to be a better writer I should really spend every spare second writing. But I also quite fancy a full body massage, and I really need a pedicure. What to do? In these situations a Christian would probably solve the dilemma by thinking 'What would Jesus do?'. As an aspiring writer of women's fiction, I like to think 'What would Joanna Trollope do?'
Joanna Trollope would surely opt for the birthday spa treatment, no?

* in anticipation of when my book gets published and I have to do overnighters at literary festivals and the like (I can dream, can't I?).

friday, friday

2011-05-06T16:54:00.000+05:30

I went to a clothes swap thing at lunchtime today. Everyone brought along clothes they didn't wear, and swapped them, for a nominal price (three hundred rupess, about £2.70) for other clothes, with the profits going to a local charity. I ended up with a jumper with a rabbit-fur panel on the front. I can't decide if it's a bit too Cruella de Vil. But I secretly like it, and the fact that it's very non-PC. In England I shall have to wear it to a McDonald's drive thru, in a very old petrol-engine car with a big zoomy exhaust, and possibly have matching crocodile skin shoes and handbag on too. Or something. A woman at the lunch-thing said I should be careful that outraged people didn't throw paint at me in the furry top. I said I didn't mix in those kind of circles - don't think many army types would really give a stuff about a couple of dead rabbits, do you?
I say it was a lunch-thing, but actually it was more of a canape and cake thing, and although I ate about twenty mini pesto omelette thingys, I'm blooming starving now.
The hostess was a very elegant, calm and thoughtful french woman. She's a writer too, except that she writes deep and thoughtful prose, and I write pot-boilers. Afterwards we had a little chat about writing. I think my book is to hers, what a mini mars bar is to supper at a Michelin-starred restaurant. Hey ho, people will always secretly crave mini mars bars though, I guess...Anyway, I'm a little bit in awe of her.
Nothing planned for the weekend, except an invitation to a book launch on Sunday. Bizarre that out here I'm a member of the literati. Back in the UK the closest I'll get to being invited to a book promotion will be knocking into the two-for-one book basket with my trolley in Tescos.
Right, supper time, at long blooming last!

desperate coronation street

2011-05-05T21:42:00.000+05:30

Coronation Street has morphed into Desperate Housewives, which means that the Coronation Street episodes on the welfare discs are unwatched. Or at least they were. Last week I caught Hubby secretly watching the Street. He 'fessed up to it, so now we have Coronation Street night at home. It's actually quite nice to watch Corrie with someone who also likes to make horse noises when Gail comes on screen, or make comments about Dev's hair, or Dierdre's wattle - or try to predict the plot. I think soaps are made for shouting at, don't you? The only problem with doing Corrie with Hubby is that he doesn't like drinking at home, so rather than a nice chilled sauvignon, I'm quaffing diet ginger beer, but hey ho.

I'm almost over the whole not-trekking thing now. At least being here forced me to finish chapter eight, and start chapter nine, which has got to be a good thing as I have less than two months to write five chapters (can I do it? Only if I give up Coronation Street and Desperate Housewives and work in the evenings...hmmm...).

Went to Son's termly topic talk this week (missed the Twins' though, as it was on Monday and I was still sobbing into my pillow at that point). I'm always flabbergasted by the things they learn in primary these days. I remember doing mostly neat handwriting and things with papier mache at that age, whereas Son will be learning about how to create an electric circuit, how force is measured in Newtons, and having a debate between explorers and native peoples about the pros and cons of colonisation. Whatever happened to colouring in and times tables, eh?

Twin 2 has learnt to swim! Sudeep the swimming teacher has worked his magic on her. I'm not sure what stroke she does: style-wise, she looks a bit like a spider trying to escape the plughole; however she's stopped sinking, and remembers to breathe out underwater, and in when she pops up for air (well, sometimes she gets it the other way round, but luckily there is Sudeep, and the lifeguard on hand - and the pool is less than twenty metres from the med centre). I'm not sure how unusual it is for a child with physical disabilities like hers to learn to swim, but I'm pretty blooming proud of her, and I think Sudeep is too (she has also worked her magic on him, and he goes a bit misty eyed around her - I even caught him giving her a sneaky peck on the cheek when she nearly managed a width today).

And tomorrow is Friday - where has the week gone? I must write faster, or the summer hols will be here before I know it and my poor heroine will still not have had closure on her multiple issues...at least she's found out about her boyfriend and her father and is back in the UK and now only has to resolve things with her grandmother, her ex, her father - oh and there's the whole Afghan thing, too - can she possibly sort all that lot out in forty thousand words or less?

Right, ten to ten - time for bed xxx

2011-05-03T21:25:00.000+05:30

I bet they are having lovely mountain views...oh, well, I decided to order a cheeky little lipstick on ebay to cheer myself up before starting the end of chapter eight. Just need to type it up - it's a bit steamy actually, which I'm a bit nervous about (not sure if I can pull off the whole sex scene thing - if you'll pardon the pun). Ah, Hubby has finally vacated the bathroom, so I'm off!
Night x

bummer

2011-05-02T21:26:00.001+05:30

Hello, out there. I'm still here. No, I'm not trekking in Langtang. And it's not because of the pesky 'pre-monsoon' rains, or the scary leeches, no. I had prepared for those: I had waterproof trousers, gaiters, waterproof coat, insect repellent with Deet in it, and an umbrella (to protect against the sleepy leeches that fall out of the trees in the jungly bits). I also had five bags of cranberry and chocolate trail mix (one for each day), and - optimistically, perhaps - some factor 50 sweatproof suntan lotion. Oh, yes, and I had increased my insurance cover to cover me for trekking over four thousand metres (which I hadn't done for the last trek - good job I didn't have an accident on the way up to Annapurna Base Camp...).
What happened was that Twin 2 was up all last night with fever and a cough and Hubby had diarrhoea (I think I may finally have learnt to spell this - has only taken three years in Nepal to crack it) and we had a very long conversation at five thirty this morning about the pros and cons of me leaving him with a sick child, a slightly dodgy bottom and being staff duty officer for BGN this week. So in the end I didn't go on the transport at six.
I cried, Twin 2 and Hubby got rapidly better, and Hubby bought me some nice jewellery (can never work out how to spell this one though) this afternoon to try to cheer me up.
Boo (I don't mean boo about the nice pendant, I mean hurrah - but boo about missing a week with my trek-sisters).
No escape from finishing chapter eight now, I suppose.
Oh, well, maybe not right now...I'm off to bed to read Cloud Atlas.
Goodnight x

leech socks

2011-04-27T16:31:00.000+05:30

I'm a bit concerned about the whole leech thing. I know I'm obsessed, but yeuch, ergh etc. can't really bear the thought of them. Spent some time googling leech repellent whilst the kids had a DVD. The only effective thing is to purchase some leech socks (not socks for leeches, which would be very small and slimy, but socks to stop leeches getting their evil little fangs into your lower limbs), apparently, so I might have to take a trip to Thamel this weekend...

topless feminists?

2011-04-27T10:34:00.000+05:30

We've got a bandh (national strike) today so the kids are off school, which leaves my heroine still not having found out the truth about her new boyfriend (I didn't write much yesterday because I was in a bad mood, and also had to do a meat shop - boo). Maybe I could write something tonight, instead of reading Cloud Atlas until way past my bed time? Desperate to get chapter eight written before I go off on my trek, on Monday (to Langtang - no I don't know anything about Langtang, either, but I will do within two weeks!).
Nobody seems sure what today's bandh is about, which seems to defeat the object, really. I always thought the point of a protest was to highlight your cause. If I find out, I'll tell you. I'm sure it won't be anything nearly as exciting as topless Ukrainian femininists, though (did you see that article in the Guardian this week? Good for them, although I can't help feeling that a topless protest might be a bit parky in the Ukraine - maybe it's a bit warmer this time of year? I'm guessing they probably don't do the topless bit in the midst of the Ukrainian winter - do you think they just put on those 'rude' aprons, like other people's dads used to do at family barbequeues in the 1970s? Now that would be a warmer option, and also bring a nice ironic-retro feel to the public displays of outrage, don't you think?)
Right, time to get Son off the play station and into the swimming pool.
Take care x

the mighty jungle

2011-04-25T16:20:00.000+05:30

Hello. It's been a while, but I have a valid excuse: we have been hunting tigers in the Terai (not shooting, you understand, just looking). We won an elephant safari in a raffle a couple of months ago. Pretty nifty prize, I thought - confidently expect to win nothing more exciting than an old box of sugared almonds in future.
Twins were distinctly underwhelmed by being out in the jungle on the back of an elephant, and spent most of the time asleep (but only after they had spent an hour or so complaining about being bored), although Twin 2 admitted that when the tiger roared it woke her up, momentarily. After the elephant safari I tried to read The Jungle Book to them (felt very chuffed and good-mother-ish that I had remembered to pack it), but they got bored and went back to some important colouring in instead. Good job we hadn't actually had to pay for them, otherwise I would have been shaking them and shouting, "This cost us a bloody fortune and YOU WILL ENJOY YOURSELVES!" (much as I remember my own parents doing when they took us to Egypt - pyramids: of passing interest; Cairo museum: about as interesting as cold pea soup).
I was thrilled to have spotted a tiger in the wild, and heard it roar, too. The only downside of the whole free elephant safari thing was the beds. They were shockingly hard, and I came back exhausted, even though all I'd done over the weekend was sit on elephants or in jeeps or in rafts and get waited on hand, foot and finger by the very helpful staff. Maybe they just made the beds hard on purpose, just to make the guests feel as if they are roughing it a bit in the jungle.
So now we're home, kids are back at school, Hubby is back to being Kathmandu Hubby (as opposed to holiday Hubby - there is a difference) and it's raining, which doesn't bode well for my trek to Langtang next week.... will just have to hope that you don't get leeches above two thousand metres...

Happy Birthday, girls...

2011-04-20T19:03:00.000+05:30

It's the Twins' birthday. They are six. Blimey, how did that happen?
At the moment they are sat on the sofa with two of their friends watching Tangled and eating fake Smarties (you can't get the real ones out here). Tonight will be a sleepover - good job they're watching Disney and not Dr Who (far less chance of nightmares).
As it's the hols, we're not doing a proper party until next week when the rest of their class will be back. And we didn't do a proper cake; instead we did birthday jellies, with fairies suspended in the jelly. The jelly was surrounded by marshmallows with candles stuck in them. Yes, it was my idea, and yes, I did think it sounded pretty cool, and no, it really wasn't. Little plastic figures suspended in glutinous red liquid - a bit macabre for a birthday supper. But the six-year-olds didn't seem too bothered, luckily.
Feeling very jealous of the Smarties (even though they're fake) and wish I'd bought myself a compensatory fake Bountie or something, but instead I'll have to make do with mangled bits of leftover birthday jelly....ooh, sorry, had to break off there for an exciting bit of the DVD. Oh, no, she thinks her hero is dead, and she's singing him a song. Oh, I'm sure it will all come good in a minute - Disney wouldn't leave us feeling sad, surely? Ah, now her tears have healed him, hurrah, and it's all going swirly and magical.
Sorry, must start to watch something other than Disney, or I will start to hope for swirly magical bits to happen in my life - if I was in a Disney film, could my tears magic up a Bountie bar, or possibly a nice slab of Green & Black's?
I wish...

unwelcome blood-letting and God

2011-04-17T21:58:00.000+05:30

Had a spot of unwelcome blood-letting this weekend.
We went up to the welfare bungalow in Kakani for the last time, to see the Himalayas and have a nice little country walk with the kids. Sounds nice, no? Yes, we thought so too. But fate is a cruel mistress, and she brought low cloud that destroyed our mountain view, and a guide who misinterpreted us saying, 'don't take us through the jungle because there's no view and the uneven ground is hard for our little disabled daughter' as 'take us through the precipitous and thorny jungle, we want to carry our disabled daughter through the scrub, and while you're at it, please get lost at least twice and make sure you stop for a long time somewhere damp so that the leeches have a chance to crawl up our trousers and have a lengthy feast.' - must be a language thing....
Hubby would have been hopping mad, had he had any energy left to hop after carrying his daughter on his shoulders through the jungle and losing a considerable amount of blood to the festering slimy creatures.
Eugh.
I can take spiders, and cockroaches, but leeches just churn my stomach. Two of them got me, the bloody horrors.
In the visitors' book at Kakani, there were lots of comments about how relaxing, scenic, etc. Kakani is. One woman, describing the mountains, had even been moved to write: 'Thank you God for your creation'. Now, I'm not a complete atheist...but I do find it a little hard to believe in a supernatural omnipotent being creating leeches. Surely, if you had all the power of the universe at your disposal, you could find something other than leeches to set your mind to on the seventh day, or whenever it was. Perhaps God was busy creating something more useful/beautiful than leeches, but had only just got started when His phone went, or He felt an urgent call of nature, or maybe it was just a job that He'd left until after lunch on a friday afternoon and He just didn't finish making them properly...I mean, He's only human isn't he? Oh, no, that's right, He's a supernatural omnipotent being so there is no excuse, no, none whatsoever for creating leeches.
I read Richard Dawkin's God Delusion a couple of years ago, and although it was powerfully argued by a man of fierce intellect, I wasn't one hundred per cent convinced. However, were he to have included a chapter on the existence of leeches as clear evidence of the non-existence of God, I think I would have been more readily persuaded.
Right, I'm off to sleep now, and I'm going to try not to dream of horrible slimy things crawling up my legs and sinking their little fangs into my flesh.
Nightie night xx

nepali new year

2011-04-14T19:34:00.000+05:30

It's Nepali New Year! Happy New Year. Nepali's have a different calendar, based on the birthdate of some Hindu saint. I think it's now 2068 here, which would make me feel very futuristic, but, sadly, the infrastructure is still about a thousand years behind.
We decided not to go to the New Year function on camp (well, to be honest, if you've had the whole whisky-and-dahl-baht-and-lip-synching-traditional-dancers thing once, then you don't really need to repeat the experience), plus none of us were feeling very well, having had our meningitis and typhoid boosters in the afternoon, so we were all in bed nice and early last night. This morning I said to Hubby, did the firecrackers and whooping wake you up last night? To which he replied, what time was that? (Der, did he think they'd re-sheduled New Year's to 2.31 am instead...)
Anyway, now I'm ill, which is a bit of a bummer, but a good excuse to go to bed and attempt not to buy things on ebay. I keep bunging in offers for things, and thinking that I'm bound to be outbid, but it's worth a punt - only to keep winning things, dagnabbit. Still, you can never have too much BNWT Boden, can you?
Oh, I was meant to do something wild and crazy to tell you about, wasn't I? Hmmm....nope, wildness and craziness eludes me. I feel about as wild and crazy as a packet of own brand Angel Delight.
Take care, and may all your wishes for 2068 come true! x

class

2011-04-12T14:40:00.001+05:30

Well, I've got eight kids on the sofa and Dr Who on the telly. Yes, it's the school hols. Other parents organise tennis camps and swimming lessons, but I do DVD afternoons. And I take no responsibility whatsoever for the six-year-olds having nightmares...
Son and Twin 2 are recovered today, which is jolly good. However, we still packed off Twin 1 to her tennis lesson this morning, so she could go and be sporty with her posh friends, whilst the rest of us had chocolate flapjacks by the side of the pool.
Twin 1 does seem to be distancing herself from the rest of us, since she has taken up tennis. She mixes in different circles now, and has even taken to breakfasting alone, all the better to break the bond with the chaviness of the rest of the family, I suspect. It's only a matter of time before she starts demanding kedjeree instead of choco pops.
I read a thingy on class in a sunday magazine this week (for some reason I ended up with the Sunday Times instead of the Guardian weekly this week - and I devoured the lot, instead of having to force myself to read it; it was like the difference between all-bran and frosties) which talked about how to tell what class of middle class you're in. Apparently we all think we're middle class, but the real distinction is whether you are upper middle, middle middle or lower middle. I think we're lower middle or possibly middle middle. Twin 1, on the other hand, is definitely upper middle. I mean, she's not even six and she's having private tennis lessons. When I was that age I counted myself lucky if I got kicked out of the house with my big sister and sent to play on the witch's hat at the local park (do you remember witch's hats? They banned them in the eighties because of the high fatality rate of kids using them, I think - but nobody gave a stuff about unsupervised kids using unsafe play equipment back in 1975...)
Oops, Doctor Who mutiny! The six year olds are revolting - they have formed a Tom & Jerry splinter group upstairs. And I will have to give up the laptop to it...
Bye! x

crazy cold custard

2011-04-11T13:23:00.000+05:30

Oh, hello. This time I have a better reason for not writing anything over the weekend. It's because I have been mostly medicating my children (well, two of them). Son has high fever, and lost the use of his legs this morning (they are working again now). Twin 2 has fever plus really hideous asthmatic cough thing. Twin 1, however, is as healthy as a big piece of healthy pie, and has been irritating all of us (well mostly me) by bouncing around and asking lots of questions of the 'but how long is a minute, Mummy?' variety. Luckily I managed to get her to tag along to a tennis workshop thing this morning, so we had one hour's respite from her peskiness. And now the telly is on. I know, but it is the afternoon. I'm going to start a new little rhyme thing to convince myself that this is perfectly acceptable childcare policy: "If it's past midday, DVDs are okay" or "If it's afternoon, TV is a boon" or even "If you've been up all night squirting ventolin into your coughing daughter then let them watch as much as they want to avoid strangling someone"
Right, then, so what's been happening, apart from germs and sleeplessness? Erm...oh, that's right, nothing at all.
Tell you what, I'll try to do something crazy and wild before I write again. Not sure what, though. The only activity on the horizon is tonight's yoga session, which will be about as wild and crazy as cold custard (but more painful and humiliating).
Ho hum, hope things are good with you xxx

a week of stuff and nonsense

2011-04-08T12:36:00.000+05:30

Really sorry I haven't been in touch all week.
I'd like to tell you that I've been really, really busy - but I really, really haven't.
What have I done with all the seconds, minutes and hours that have passed, hmm?
Okay, I've cobbled together a tudor costume, I've been to the gym (twice) and been swimming (twice), been to yoga (with scary smiling sadist teacher), interviewed an artist for the local paper, taken kids swimming, been to a leaving party, applied for a quarter in the UK, got worried about applying for a school in the UK (still haven't actually done it), had lots of email traffic about getting Twin 2 a statement of special needs in the UK (but not actually got anywhere), worried about our posting (will we get a house? will we get school places for all the kids? will Twin 2 get proper support in school? etc.), won three Boden items on ebay (oops, didn't think I'd win all three and have now spent three times more than I meant to - don't tell Hubby), have given some random job advice to Hubby and Friend O, despite really not having a clue about careers, never having had even a sniff of one myself, got a bit sad about the fact that Hubby isn't eligible for voluntary redundancy (boo - much as I lurv being an army wife, I wouldn't mind being 'normal' again at some point), started a diet, given up a diet, decided that there is nothing wrong with the size of my bottom and I shall continue to eat chocolate, written up interview with artist, cleaned the car (last time I did it was January - minging doesn't even begin to describe it)...oh, and I also fitted in a cheeky little reflexology session at the spa yesterday.
The one thing I haven't done is, of course, the one thing I promised myself I would do before the start of the school hols (which begin in approximately ninety minutes), finish writing chapter blooming eight. My poor heroine, she's just discovered the awful truth about her father, but I've left her just about to discover the awful truth about her new boyfriend too. She will have to wait at least three weeks to find out, because after the school hols I'm planning on doing another trek (have one last chance to get one in before we leave).
The good news is that it's Son's exciting Dr Who pizza plus sleepover party tonight (and I'm only missing out on the launch of an art exhibition, a cocktail party cum dress exchange and a grown up birthday bash in order to be a part of it). Just about to put Dr Who (David Tennant plus Donna and a dalek) topping on cake and drop off at the pizza place - does life get any better ?
Take care x

saturday night

2011-04-02T18:38:00.000+05:30

Gary is slumped by the sofa, feeling depressed because there are no random grapes to chow.
Hubby is trying to appear engrossed in some Disney Pixar thing so he doesn't have to engage with the children. And I'm hiding out behind the laptop.
Kids are on their second DVD of the day. I know, I'm a bad parent, etc. But, really, after three hours of birthday party today (Twins) and getting up at 5.30 am for the birthday Everest flight (Son), none of them are really capable of anything involving either hand-eye coordination or speech now. Just hanging on in for the last twenty minutes until bedtime.
But that's what DVDs are for, isn't it? For when everyone is tired/sad/ill/stressed?
A friend of mine had her youngest child off school yesterday with a fever. That is exactly the scenario where I'd put Charlie and the Chocolate factory on (or possibly Happy Feet, which is also really long and tedious enough to send ill children off to sleep), and get on with some admin. My friend, who is a Good Mother, said that when, oh, let's call her little Q - when little Q woke up with a fever and she decided not to send her to school, she and little Q had a teddy bears' picnic in bed, played cards, did some colouring, a couple of puzzles and then by lunchtime little Q was saying she felt a lot better and wanted to go back to school. Well, I'm not surprised, I bet all that activity wore her out, she probably couldn't wait to get back into the classroom for a bit of a rest!
Ooh, and now it's only five minutes until bedtime...

birthdays, vomit and heart failure

2011-03-31T15:50:00.000+05:30

I'm very sad that my poor boy is feeling too ill to have his birthday cake, and he's got to go back to school in a bit to be a toga-clad narrator in the school play. I do hope he doesn't vomit on stage - it would trump Twin 2 doing a wee on stage last year, though.
I'm very happy that Hubby appears to have got through the financial year-end without having a heart attack, although the day's not over (it's still only about 10am in the UK), so there's still time for a bit of a cardiac catastrophe (perhaps it would also happen whilst we're watching the school play, which would even trump Son's vomit). This time last year he was having palpitations in Disneyland Hong Kong, as I recall...
Anyway, better get a move on or Aesop's Fables will be without their star performer.
Cheerio
ps - Gary keeps skulking around and stealing grapes out of the fruit bowl. Him and his evil lupine ways - no fruit is safe from his salivating jaws. Right, better go x

a weekend of single parenthood

2011-03-27T20:33:00.000+05:30

I have been mostly a single parent this weekend. On Saturday a very important minister of some description (nobody seems to remember the details, or even his name - and he didn't seem to be quite sure what he was doing here either, but suits were worn and lunches were had, so I guess it was an effective use of taxpayers money to send him to Nepal?) arrived in BGN, so Hubby had to get all suited up and go to work for the morning.
Luckily it was the super dooper spring fair at school, so I had something else to do with the rest of the family. The kids had overpriced candyfloss and samosas, and I got to sit on the PTA stall and sell old books. By the time I got to the book stall, however, only the literary dregs were left, so I had to resort to the hard selling tactics (reducing everything to ten rupees - about nine pence). I'll give you a couple of examples:
How to pass your civil service exams; The benefits of urine therapy (this means drinking your own wee, by the way); Finding God in unexpected places (where? behind the sofa with the broken remote? And also, as someone pointed out, if God is supposed to be everywhere, surely nowhere should be unexpected?) and many, many more of a similar quality. At the end of the fair the unsold books were boxed up and taken back inside. I think they may get rolled out again in the summer fair - in which case I might have to buy up a few titles to spice up my bookshelves and make random visitors think I'm more interesting than I actually am.

Picture this, if you will:

Guest arrives and I scurry into the kitchen to put the kettle on. In the meantime, Guest checks out my newly souped-up bookshelves and thinks: this is the first time I've been to this house, let's have a neb and see what she's really like...oh my! She is an evangelical wee drinker with aspirations to become a civil servant. I never knew - what a dark horse indeed!
I turn up with a cup of tea and Guest looks at me in an entirely new light, as a hostess with hidden depths and interesting hobbies and a life outside of just being a cashmere-addicted army wife.

Hmmm...although this would only work were we actually to have guests over, which, let's be honest, is an extreme rarity. One couple did attempt it this weekend, but had to contend with Gary stalking the chocolate chip cookies and Twin 2 showing her pants, and having to shout over the sound of the generator, so not sure whether they will ever come back...

On Saturday night I stayed in, just in case anyone else in the family succumbed to the scary green D&V lurgy, and Hubby went out to Thamel for a goodbye get-together for a friend. None of the kids were ill and I finished off the Bombay Saphire, hurrah. Hubby then returned and hurled his guts up all night. He swears it was the mushroom carbonara, and nothing to do with the quantity of whisky imbibed.

So today he was ill in bed, and I was a single parent again, curses!

So that was my weekend - how about yours? x