It's raining again

It's raining and I've got a jumper on! Yes, I know, madness! Feeling very English today, sending the kids off to school in raincoats and wellies. After they left, I went back to bed for a bit. Feel a bit jaded today. No excuse, I know, except that I went out five nights in a row (well four and a bit, actually) and I'm not used to it. We had a birthday party on Thursday, a pub quiz night on Friday (my team won - no thanks to my input apart from recognising Bob Ainsworth in the picture round, which I was very proud of, oh , yes and I remembered that Bill Clinton has just visited North Korea, too, so i was responsible for two of our 87 points!), then there was Teej on Saturday and a poetry reading last night. Did I tell you about Teej last year? It's a bit surreal, really. The Gurkha wives put on a do for us Brit wives. We all have to wear red - most people wear red and gold saris but I decided to be a bit of a rebel and wore a red and silver kurta instead. Sadly I think my choice meant I missed out on the 'best dressed lady' prize - that and the fact that I got ready in about ten minutes, whilst all the Gurkha ladies had obviously taken about ten hours, fake hair pieces, nail art and all. So we all had some nice dahl and rice and a very big raffle. I was hoping to win back the bottle of wine I donated as a prize as I'll be needing it this week, but instead I ended up with a miniscule jewellery box. I have to admit to being slightly disappointed - you can't drink a jewellery box whilst watching Coronation Street.

On Sunday morning I did another scary 6.30 am run, which exhausted me for the rest of the day. Then in the evening I had promised my Nepali teacher that I would go to his poetry reading at the local bookshop and he in turn had promised to read some of the poems in English. I kept my side of the deal, but he reneged on his. I was a couple of minutes late and ended up sitting right at the front of a room full of Nepali literature students. I couldn't understand a blooming word. I did listen and had the occasional brief flash of understanding. One poem was about his mother and one definitely had the past perfect in it - or was it the present continuous? - my utter imbecility was a trifle embarrassing, to say the least. Still, they were handing out free gin and mango juice, so it wasn't a totally wasted trip. I shall have to ask Manjul to write a poem about being in a taxi, including the words: meter okay, turn left here, please stop, and then I might be in with a fighting chance of understanding it.

I have just spent most of the morning writing about my heroine's greif at the death of her brother (okay, I spent a few minutes looking at shoes on Amazon as well), so I feel quite wrung out now, and ready for a nice big plate of lasagne to cheer me up. Of course what would really cheer me up is some new shoes, but I am on a shoe ban until next month now. We are on cost-saving measures so we can afford our Thailand beach holiday at xmas. In terms of cost saving I am tempted to sack the Nepali teacher, who is lovely, but costs us a fortune, and, I realise since last night's poetry debacle, has taught me almost nothing (although this may also be my fault for not practising at all). Hubby thinks we should also consolidate our staff, so it looks like the new driver might get asked to do some gardening and the gardener might be sacked. But I'm going to leave Hubby to sort this one out. It's a bit tricky because the gardener is our housekeeper's adopted son - he is nineteen and actually lives in the compound as well. Hubby thinks its high time he moved out, stopped sponging and got a proper job. He can be quite scary when he is being rational and business-minded. Bharat had better manage to get in the Ghurkas this time (recruitment starts next month). Maybe I should suggest he starts coming for runs on a Sunday morning?

Anyway, should stop blathering and go, I suppose.

Cheerio x