chocolate oranges

Well, that's two of the chocolate oranges done. Only one to go! My excuse is that I've got a cold. You know what they say, 'starve a fever, feed a cold'. I'm not sure who says that actually. Probably the same person who says 'brussel sprouts make your hair curl'. Do you think there is some mad old woman out there somewhere, whispering unsolicited and medically incorrect advice into our subconsciousness? Does she sneak into our rooms when we're asleep, or pop up from behind the sofa when we are being forced to watch Chitty Chitty Bang Bang again (is she in league with the child catcher?)?

I think I should make up a few myself and add them to the mix: 'eat chocolate oranges, become irresistably attractive to younger men' perhaps; or 'a chocolate orange segment a day stops the Hubby from stray (ing)'; or even 'chocolate oranges make your boobs grow and banish wrinkles'.

The problem is, once the last chocolate orange has gone, where do I move on to? Will the advent calendars be safe for another two weeks, or will the children have to make do with opening the flap to an empty plastic space every day until xmas?

Its gone ten, so I have to go to bed now (it's the law). Goodnight x

Sunday,

I am feeling well young (not will young, he was the one who won x-factor about eight years ago, surprisingly pipping Gareth Gates at the post) because I'm writing my blog and Hubby is getting a facebook account. I know, how modern are we? I might get really excited and start tweeting soon.

Or maybe not.

Facebook is possibly the worst thing for Hubby to have, as it's utterly alien to his sociopathic nature. I think I'm his only 'friend' so far, so I might have to irritate him by 'poking', sending invitations to play online black jack and all those other utterly pointless things you can do when you're facebooking (is it a verb yet? probably).

Today was remembrance sunday at the British Embassy. We decided to be nice parents and let our children play on the playground and eat sweets rather than making them sit through the service (not as negligent as it sounds as the playground was right next door to the car park where the service was held). We sat at the back and told them only to come and get us in an emergency. About half way through the service it dawned on me that Twin 2's concept of an emergency differed slightly from ours. First her ponytail band fell out (call the police!), then she finished eating her Smarties and didn't know where to put the empty tube (call an ambulance!), and then she hurt her foot a bit at the bottom of the slide (phone the Queen!). Hubby was not impressed. He was, in fact, the very worst thing a parent can ever be... he was disappointed. He was so disappointed that Twin 2 was not allowed any Sprite at lunchtime, yes, that's how heinous the crime was judged to be. Her little mouth wobbled like a miserable trout in a chilly stream.

Bearded cousin and Girlfriend arrived today. They brought a whole bag full of xmas goodies, woo hoo! I have decided that children definitely won't like dark chocolate oranges, so I shall be forced to eat all three of those myself. I have to go and put away all the lovely chocolate stuff now, and it will be really, really hard not to eat anything. Maybe it would be okay to eat just one small segment of chocolate orange tonight?

Hurrah!

Don't forget to buy the Sunday Times this weekend because an extremely close friend of mine has written a profile of a Living Goddess for the 'Life in the day' section on the back page of the magazine...

it was a tuesday...

It's eight thirty on a Tuesday evening, and I'm lying on top of the bed in furry slipper-boot things and trying not to slurp my camomile tea too loudly as Hubby is concentrating on his book. I know I turned forty this year but I thought my slide into old age would be slightly more gradual than this. It's only a matter of time before I start eating Battenburg cake and smelling like damp cushions (luckily you can't buy Battenburg out here, or French Fancies, so the total descent into old lady-ness may take a bit longer).

Today I spent quite a long time watching pictures of things blowing up in Afghanistan on Youtube. Why? Because I'm trying to re-write my first chapter and it's from the point of view of someone in Afghanistan. This morning I learnt that there is a huge amount of Youtube footage from Afghanistan, but most of it is unhelpful for my purposes. Unless I change my book to include US Marines shouting 'Holy Shit!' a lot, that is.

After my morning of war footage, I went out to lunch with the chief-of-staff and deputy-chief-of-staff's wives to sort out planning the kids' xmas party. The elephant is ill, so we have nothing for Santa to arrive on, and, worse, there's a rumour that the Santa costume is broken. Furthermore, our potential Santa has defected and will be working the British Embassy that day. Oh no! I'm thinking we might go for a Mrs Santa this year, or is that a bit too 'modern' for the British Army, d'you think?

Twin 2 is looking Christmassy already, as I decided to be a good middle-class mum and do some crafts with the kids yesterday (they were off school for Tihar). I thought we could make Christmas wrapping paper, as you can't buy it out here. We had twelve metres of brown paper, which I thought we could stamp with holly leaves, snowy footprints, etc. There is no such thing as washable paint here, so I had to make do with acrylic...which was where the trouble began. Luckily I had the foresight to make the whole thing happen outside, and make everyone wear very old clothes. However, I hadn't considered their enthusiasm for the task. They really threw themselves into it. No, really, they threw themselves into it. As a result, Twin 2 now has acrylic red and green splodges all over her blonde hair. I guess it will grow out eventually, unlike the green handprints down the side of our white-painted house. I think I shall stick to being a bad and chavvy mother in future and leave creative crafts to the teachers. What's wrong with having an extra Disney DVD on a bank holiday, and keeping walls, hair, clothes and sanity intact?

Gary has been a house dog most of the weekend because they let off bangers all night over Tihar (despite fireworks being illegal in Nepal - not sure where people get them from), and even though he is a wolf, he doesn't like sudden noises. He's been mostly hiding in the wardrobe. However, he's been booted out tonight because the bangers have stopped and Hubby doesn't want him getting any unnecessary ideas about his status. I can't blame him, because if we hadn't taken a stand then I'm sure Gary would be lying next to me right now reading 'Egonomics' and Hubby would be curled up in the wardrobe. Although, come to think of it, that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, as Gary is a) furrier, b)cuddlier and c)much less grumpy than Hubby. Perhaps I'll sneak down in a minute and secretly unlock the door, and see how the land lies in the morning...

Saturday night in Kathmandu

Mindful of the fact that we won't be here for ever, we spent a right old touristy day today and visited a big Buddhist stupa and the Garden of Dreams. Oh, and Kentucky Fried Chicken as well, but we'll gloss over that one (although my Twister and virgin mojito were very tasty, thanks).

Today was Cow Tihar, but I didn't see many happy cows today, just the usual skinny ones sifting through the roadside trash.

Hubby has just downloaded an application for his phone that not only shows a picture of an AK47, it also makes AK47 noises, too. Oooh. He has been having vague thoughts about leaving the army, but on the basis of this evidence, I think he'd be better off staying in, as he's clearly still obsessed with noisy killing machines. Oh, now he's aiming the phone and 'shooting' me as I write, how very amusing. Ha, ha it's out of rounds now, so I live to write another day...maybe not, he's just got me with the light saber... arghhh (sound of me dying dramatically like Darth Vader).

is it really wrong to steal chocolate?

Last night Son caught me mid-mouthful with a mini Mars Bar I had poached from Twins' Halloween stash.

Him (from upstairs, looking over the bannisters): what are you eating?

Me (muffled): Nothing.

Him (coming downstairs): You are eating something.

Me (stuffing the rest in and making a dash for the larder to put sweetie bag back in its place): Nothing!

Him (appearing at the larder door): I can see you chewing.

Me (embarrassed and ashamed, swallowing rapidly): Oh, all right then. I stole a mini Mars Bar from the girls' bag. But I tell you what, if I give you a mini Twix from their bag as well, will you promise not to tell them.

Him: Oh, okay then.

So, with that short exchange of words, I have now undone eight precious years of moral education. My eight year old has learnt both to lie and steal, and who has he learnt it from? Not some ne'er do well young scallywag at school, but from me, his own mother.

I hung my head in shame (and kept quiet about the Reese's peanut butter cups I nicked from his bag the night before).

Tomorrow is Dog Tihar. Meena and Sanu have the day off, but Meena told me she has instructed the gate guard to use some marigolds from the garden to make Gary a garland. I'm not sure he'll want to do that, so have found a couple of fake flower necklaces belonging to the Twins for him, and I'm thinking a piece of chicken liver pate on toast would probably be his preferred Tihar treat. Maybe we can use some red lipstick of mine to do a tikka for him. It was Crow Tihar today, although I didn't see many crows wearing garlands. I'm not entirely sure how one is supposed to celebrate with crows. There's possibly some Hindu crow etiquette that I'm unaware of. Saturday is Cow Tihar, and someone will no doubt turn up at our gate with a sacred bovine, expecting something, and taking us unawares whilst we're still in our Saturday morning pyjamas. Perhaps we should set aside some extra specially tasty blades of grass, who knows? Certainly not me. This is my third Tihar in Nepal, and you'd think I should have got a grip and discovered why we're blessing select animals and not others. I mean, if you're not a dog, a cow or a crow at the moment, you're going to feel pretty left out. There's probably a whole bunch of discontented cats in the neighbourhood, trying to make out they don't care about not having a holy blessing day (meow, who wants a flower garland anyway? Even if they offered me a tikka I wouldn't have one, etc.).

Sorry, I should go to bed now, as 6am will come as a hideous surprise if I don't.

Take care x

Christmas is coming

I have ordered kids' xmas presents already. At least I waited until Halloween was over until I did. As usual I'm ridiculously excited about it. I think Son still believes in Santa, but who knows for how much longer? He's eight, so I'm guessing this might be the last year (sob). I have also volunteered (been spammed by the other wives, actually) with organising the kids' xmas party on camp. The cheif of staff's wife has requested a meeting and I have emailed her my party plan. I have stunned myself with my organisational skills. I think it may be just that I'm procrastinating because I can't get back into writing the NGN at the moment, and organising parties is a good way of avoiding sorting out the dire mess that is chapter one. x