fishy express

The highlight of this week has been...hmm...getting a massive discount in the hairdressers by attempting to speak Nepali. The last time I had my highlights and hair cut, it cost me three thousand rupees, but I spoke not one word of Nepali throughout. This time, I breezed in, and asked the hairdresser how she was, in Nepali. I also said "I like blonde hair" in Nepali. She then made me say lots of complex things like, "yesterday it was hot in my bedroom because the generator doesn't work," which I can no longer remember, but I managed to say at the time. Anyway, when it came to paying, the bill was, miraculously, a mere two thousand rupees (about twenty quid, which isn't bad for a half-head of highlights, cut and blow dry - I'm sure you'll agree). I must try it everywhere - we need to find some way of recouping the absolute fortune we're spending on lessons at the moment. 

And speaking of spending a fortune - I am just about to book our family holiday in Thailand. We are having ten days on Phuket. It sounds idyllic, but as Hubby pointed out, there will be nobody to cook or wash up for me, as we'll be self-catering. I'm planning on taking paper plates and plastic knives and forks with me (no, I'm not joking - I'm not giving up the lifestyle to which I've become accustomed just because we're on holiday) and eating out as much as possible.

And speaking of eating out - we went to a new restaurant last night. Hubby has lots of colleagues out from the UK at the moment, so we had the obligatory meal out. Because of my vacant memsaheb-ish existence, I actually enjoy putting on a bit of red lippy and going out somewhere where the menu options are not determined by what I have left in the freezer because I haven't got round to going to the approved butcher's for at least a month (we're down to chicken livers and pork mince - any ideas anyone?) and furthermore, we're not interrupted halfway through the meal by Meena asking us what we want to eat tomorrow and why the children haven't eaten all their pork kebabs (I'm always far too polite to say that it's because they are dry, overcooked and tasteless, and merely say that the children have had lots of biscuits after school)? So anyway, at the restaurant they had various foodie magazines scattered on a side table, one of which was called "Fishy Express", which immediately begged to be read. The opening paragraph on the front page begins: "Chicken is the new mutton - one might say. However, if that were true, then would that make mutton the old chicken? Hmmm..."

How fab is that? I would truly love to write for this publication, not least because you could ramble about any old tripe (or even write a two-page feature on the merits of tripe) and get paid for it. Wouldn't it be great? 

I could write my new job under 'occupation' in my passport (a slot which is blank at the moment as I can't even bring myself to write 'housewife', given that I do no housework whatsoever). Occupation: 'tripe writer for fishy express'.

I should give their editor a call, don't you think?