The weather is always great on a Monday. Because the pool is closed for cleaning. I guarantee it will piddle it down tomorrow when the pool is open again. Still, we managed to fill the day with a very exciting trip to the British Embassy in the morning (they have a climbing frame and swings, woo hoo!) and the girls managed to prevent monsoon lassitude from settling in by both getting runny tummies (I can't spell diohrea) this afternoon. Also escaped for a shopping trip this afternoon, sans kids, to a big department store on the other side of town called Babatinis. It's chock-full of all the things that we were told you couldn't get in Nepal. Like shoes in my size or Strepsils or, well, pretty much anything really. I was under the impression that we'd be roughing it out here, but I think whoever advised us clearly hadn't made it across town to Babatinis. 

The only thing I can't seem to find is swim nappies. Which I think I might need with some urgency, or the pool will have to be closed for cleaning on an even more regular basis!

Couldn't pass up the chance for a bit of pampering last Thursday, when I was invited to go to the Summit Hotel with a couple of other wives for some beauty treatments. Hurrah, I thought, as I parked the kids in front of Lady and the Tramp with our lovely and long-suffering housekeeper/childminder (they call them 'diddy' out here, which sort of means aunty, although I have to say that Sanu is a darn sight more helpful and patient than any aunty I know of) and zoomed - well, chugged at least - off in the Landrover. 

In just a few short (and bumpy) minutes we were at the hotel - white, tree-fringed and pretty sumptuous looking. I waved a cheery goodbye to our driver, Dinesh, telling him not to come back for two hours (two whole child-free hours of delicious pampering; the anticipation was scrumptious...).

So, to say the whole thing was anticlimatic is somewhat of an understatement.

We arrived at the 'salon', a small cave-like room squished into the back of the hotel like an afterthought, to be greeted (and I use this term loosely) by a toad of a woman, who looked simultaneously bored and impatient with us. I later realised that these were her only two expressions, so by using them both on us upon our arrival, she was actually putting a bit of effort in. Her scared-looking minions cowered in the murky interior. 

I had booked in for an Indian head massage, manicure and blow dry. The other two wives had manicures, pedicures and facials booked. Toad woman dispatched her staff and they scuttled around doing beauty treatments in the fasted, least relaxed way I have ever experienced. The expression on Toad woman's face almost made you want to apologise for taking up so much of her valuable amphibian time. Time that presumably she thought would be better spent squatting under a nice muddy rock or something. Anyway, the head massage itself was ok, and the manicure passable, but the blow dry is quite possibly the worst I have ever had. A blind six-year old could do a better job. I was told afterwards that this was because I had the misfortune of having Toady herself do the blow dry, rather than one of her underlings, and she is notoriously rubbish (despite owning the place) at all things beauty or hair related. Half way though the blow dry she took a phone call and left someone else holding the dryer over one patch of hair for about ten minutes or so. It got so hot that I was worried I would spontaneously combust. Finally she got off the phone and in a hurried and disinterested way, finished off. 

Do you remember that cartoon from the 1970s called 'the hair bear bunch'? Well, that's what I looked like. Either that or the progeny of medusa and captain caveman.

I said, no, this is too frizzy, it won't do.

She half-heartedly slapped a bit of serum on and brushed it through.

No, said, it's all frizzy, look.

So she shoved a load of curlers in and lumped me in the corner under the dryer for half an hour.

Not once was offered a drink, a magazine - or even a smile.

Ooh, said the other wives as we left, all that for less than a tenner, it's definitely worth coming back, and tipped Toady handsomely (she'll be dining well on flies for the next few weeks with the amount they slipped into her slimy palms).

No, no, I thought, being bored, uncomfortable and made to feel utterly unwelcome is so not worth a tenner, and certainly not worth two hours of my life.

Wish I had stayed in and watched a DVD with the kids instead.

Went to the 'Garden of Dreams' this morning, which nearly turned into the 'Garden of nightmares' as it began to pee it down as soon as we arrived. Luckily sensible Mummy had packed sensible kagouls into overflowing handbag, so we explored the exotic oasis in the centre of town in a downpour. Thankfully there was also a cafe which sold (overpriced, but tasty) chocolate cake as well, so we all returned home wet but having had an adventure, most of all Twin 1, whose dress got so sodden that it fell down, exposing her Dora the Explorer pants to the whole of central Kathmandu.

Kids all fell asleep on the way home, leaving me to gaze in blissful silence out of the window at the enormous jumble sale of cows, bikes, cars, people, hoardings, stalls and puddles - even the occasional monkey - that is the journey from the middle of town to our suburb. Still fascinates me. I love the signs too. There's a fast food shop that advertises 'oscillating chicken' whatever that is, and plenty of billboards  - featuring gorgeous young things gazing lustily into each other's eyes - for an alcopop called 'Passion Cooler'. (Hmmm, wonder if the brand managers will take this to it's logical limit and I'll start seeing ads for 'Brewer's Droop'?). Am desperate to have enough child-free time to go out on foot and explore a bit on my own, or even with Hubby, if he ever gets round to taking time off work...

Hubby finally made it back from the dancing dwarfs, but not in time to come with us to watch rugs being made. Happily these were not made by enslaved children in an attic somewhere, but by very smiley old Tibetan women, who became even more smiley (but not more Tibetan) when I showed up with three blonde kids. I was prepared to feel a little uncomfortable, staring at people working as if they were zoo animals, but in fact it was the reverse - think we were the attraction of the day. Twin 1 became quite overcome when we went into the spinning room (a room full of tiny, smiley Tibetan women spinning). I was wondering why she kept trying to climb up my legs and cower underneath my skirt, when i remembered that one of her favourite bedtime stories at the moment is Sleeping Beauty, so of course a room full of old hags (albeit smiley ones) brandishing spindles was a bit too much to bear. In fact, if you did the maths - which she didn't - she could cheerfully have been put to sleep for a couple of thousand years, not just a piddling one hundred (Medised extreme?). Anyway, I reassured her, but she didn't seem wholly convinced so we left. After all that, I felt obliged to buy a rug. Saw a really nice big one, but was told it cost eight hundred dollars (yikes!) so asked to be directed to where the small cheap ones were, much to the disappointment of the dozen or so sales assistants who were following us round. We were the only ones in the rug shop, so they were keen as mustard to close a deal, although did look a bit dis-chuffed when I finally chose one that was around forty quid. Ah well, I'm sure we'll add a bit more to the Nepalese economy over the next couple of years - if only in dog food for big Gary.

Glad I managed to get the gin. Got a bit shouty by the end of today. 

Hubby away (this was supposed to be a static post - he neglected to mention that half his job is over the other side of nepal and necessitates overnights. He's gone with his predecessor as they are still doing the handover. Predecessor has promised to take him to see dancing dwarfs or a strip club or something. Maybe both? Perhaps at this moment he is being delighted and entranced by lap dancing dwarfs. Although I'm not quite sure how dwarfs would manage to lap dance - would be more of an ankle dance, surely?) so am alone with gin and really irritating internet connection. I have just spent the entire evening trying to order swim pants - yes, have given up on potty training already - and germolene from Boots.com. Thought it would be the work of a moment and I could spend the rest of the evening happily with a face pack and a book. But no. Have finally after two and a half hours of intense frustration given up. Sod Boots and their poxy two-for-one offers, I'm going native. Twin 2 can poo in the pool (she's already had a go) and any cuts can just be left to turn gangrenous.

However, good day as Son has managed to get plenty of worms to fill his worm world thing - with the help of the driver and the security guard (not sure that catching worms in the rain is part of their job description). Hope they do better than the ants we caught for ant world the other day, who have now all died a (painful and lingering, no doubt) death. Think we caught ants of different species so they may have all slaughtered each other in ant genocide (antocide?If there were baby ants in there would that be infantantocide?). 

Finally made it to the butcher and baker, too, with five little bored children in tow. Have probably been ripped off but at least our stupidly enormous chest freezer is no longer empty and Meena the cook has stopped rolling her eyes at the lack of ingredients in the house. After trailing sweaty kids around shopping all morning we (me and handover mum) decided to take them out for lunch. Bad idea: chips, banana pancakes and tantrums everywhere. Resorted to two DVDs this afternoon and a trip to the pool, and the day ended happily with a game of football with the housekeeper and her family and Gary the dog. Well, happily for Gary at least, who stole the football and ate it.

The good news is that I have already ordered a new handmade handbag (in green, natch); the bad news is that I have run out of Pimms and lemonade and am yet to get hold of gin. However, this should change tomorrow as myself and another couple of mums have decided to take the children out to lunch - at the cafe next to the duty-free shop. Hurrah. Only hope that twin 2 doesn't repeat her trick from when we went out to lunch yesterday, when she tried to eat a glass, and ended up with a mouthful of shards, cut tongue and blood everywhere. Luckily she is used to saying 'aah' from teeth cleaning and I managed to extract everything before she swallowed it, the numpty. Not sure how I managed to remain calm - actually don't think I did, but still, she survived to eat chips and drink chocolate milkshake and seems her usual squeaky self today.

Today was Hubby's first day at work so I was alone with the kids. I say alone, but I actually mean, me, the staff, their children and assorted handymen who kept turning up to do random jobs that I didn't know needed doing. Things seem to happen a bit by magic here. Someone turned up the other day to hang our pictures for us, for example. Wish I could magic someone up to potty train Twin 2 as well. I say 'potty train', but this is of course a euphemism for weeing everywhere except the potty. Anyway, I have only brought two months supply of nappies out with us, so we have no choice but to get on with it, even though I'm already, after only twelve short hours, fed up with saying, 'Can you please try to do it on the potty next time?' and 'Remember sweetie, lollipops for everyone if you do a wee on the potty!'. Don't think she gives a stuff as she and her sister are already half-feral, were running around in only their pants this afternoon, covered in grit and mango juice and demanding biscuits with menaces.

Must go now to de-fuzz and wash off streaky fake tan (don't believe those moisturisers that promise a hint of natural colour, they lie! my calves look like orange zebra, and with the background of my blue varicose veins, it's all a bit psychodelic, but not in a good way) so can take kids to pool tomorrow. All three of them. All non-swimmers. On my own. Just to make the lifeguard earn his salary for a change...

A dog called Gary

One of the best things about finally having made it to Nepal is that we have a dog again. He is called Gary. His full name is Gary Bahada Rai. His head looks like a grey bear, but he has a ridiclulous curly tail and poncy behind. Apparently he is a Tibetan mastiff. He arrived at the house of the previous owner as payment for a gambling debt from one drunken night in the hills. Hubby has just pointed out that he would look very good on our bed, but I think if we allowed that to happen it would not be long before we were sleeping in the kennel and he was telling Meena what to cook for supper every evening. I'm sure he is our other dog's evil Nepali twin. Hubby is trying vainly to train him, but I think the only commands he will ever understand or obey are 'Gary please snatch a biscuit out of a small child's hand' or possibly 'Gary please woof loudly at nothing in particular'. I think I may also train him to do some other complex commands such as 'Gary please lie somewhere inconvenient and ignore anyone who tries to get you to move' or even 'Gary please stare menacingly at Twin 2 until she cries' - all of which will be more successful than your more conventional commands like 'sit' or 'stay'.

As well as Gary, who is supposed to be our guard dog, we also have five lovely staff: a security guard, driver, gardener, housekeeper and cook. And as luck would have it they all like playing with children. Happy Days. The house is even more gorgeous than we imagined, and although it's monsoon season, it's not impossibly hot. Haven't been out of the house much yet, except for food shopping, but we are hoping to explore a bit over the weekend - if Gary will let us.