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?

bandas and boreholes

Not to be outdone by the Newars, the Maoists are having their own 'bandha' tomorrow. However, I have heard that they will be protesting up the road, near the shrine to Ganesh (remover of obstacles), so I figure that we can still get the kids to school, if we drive the other way to the main road. At least, that is the plan, as I'm not massively keen on another day catching worms and playing fire gods. I really want to get some more writing done. I've been thwarted a bit this week by having the kids at home yesterday, and needing some emergency reflexology to prevent my descent into a hormonal monster this morning. I was hoping to get a little bit done this evening, but Hubby hogged the computer all night. He seemed on the verge of euphoria after having discovered a type of pump that is perfect for his borehole. At least, that's what he said - perhaps so I don't get suspicious when I discover that our internet history is littered with searches for 'pump', 'hole' and 'deep penetration'. Armed with his revelationary details about aforementioned pumps, holes and deep penetration, eyes flushed with excitement, he passed me the laptop and said he was going upstairs for an early night...do you think I should be suspicious?

Bandha

Kids are off school today as there is a big 'bhanda' (strike) on. For a nice change it's not the maoists causing wanton havoc around the city, it's the Newars. I think the Newars were the original inhabitants of Kathmandu. Anyway, they are demanding their own autonomous region. I can quite understand any group thinking they can do a better job of governing themselves than the present Nepali parliament; however, fat chance of them getting their own way. Still, kids spend a happy morning collecting worms, making pink and purple hand prints on the driveway, pretending to be 'jungle boys' and, later on, 'fire gods' (this was very popular as it involved dropping lots of scarves off the balcony). As my cheeriness and patience had pretty much ebbed away by eleven I suggested we go to camp for lunch. We had a very very early lunch in the mess, but still managed to coincide with an important colonel, who would probably rather not have had to share dining space with the chip-munching jackals. I suggested a Star Wars DVD when we got home because they tend to last a very long time...which is why I have had the time to have a cat-nap, a tasty peanut butter sandwich, and write this.

Think I now have the energy to be cheery and patient for another hour or so. I might even suggest some painting and sticking later - only if I have a strong cup of coffee first, though.

Anyway, should really go and check up on Yoda, Princess Lea and Darth Moll. Tootle pip!

gruel

Kids are very happy as they have friends with equally vivid imaginations round for sleepover. I'm sure they are all dreaming of magic aliens and invisible elephants. And so long as they don't decide to come and tell me about it at five in the morning, I'm happy too. Hubby, however, isn't happy. He is sad. If he were a type of food it would be gruel (by the way, does anyone actually know what gruel is?). Because of the whole leech-adventure thing, it's been a very short week, and he's tried to squish too much in. So we thought we'd just watch a DVD tonight. The only DVD in the pile that we hadn't watched yet was one called 'Edmund', which was very interesting, involving murder, sodomy, racism etc., all very cleverly put together but hardly something to lighten the mood.

Managed deftly to avoid being on the new partner's club committee this week by saying "erm, I just don't want to do it" to the lovely Chair. God knows I will never be either a diplomat or a saleswoman. I am just so pants at wriggling out of things (or wriggling into them, either). I feel simultaneously guilty and relieved. I wonder whether a bloke would struggle with something like this. I don't think Hubby would. If he were in my shoes, a trailing spouse, and was asked to be on a committee like this, he wouldn't bother with the niceties, and would just say 'not while there's breath in my body' or something equally clear, whereas I just fudge the issue with lots of apologetic hand-wringing because I don't want to upset anyone.

Anyway, it's done, so no coffee-and-bingo mornings for me (I want to say 'hurrah' but I'll have to say it in a very quiet and meek voice, so as not to upset anyone).

Anyway, should really go - 10pm is lights out time...

leeches

Went to the British Gurkhas welfare bungalow on the Kathmandu valley rim at Kakani overnight last night with a couple of other families. We had a barbeque and the ten kiddies had plenty of rollicking fun. You see, when you say it like that, it all sounds perfectly idyllic. The reality was that there were sixteen of us in a bungalow intended for six, at most. Ten kids. Yes ten. And many, many leeches. And it rained. Oh, and the kids all woke up at quarter to five this morning. And it rained and rained so we could barely make it out of the house, and when we did, everyone trailed leeches back into the house on their shoes, so there were leeches in and out. At five o'clock this morning Hubby made me promise never ever to make him go through this again. And I promised quite cheerfully. 

Anyway, half term is over now and the kids are back at school tomorrow and Hubby is off to Pokhara, and all the leeches in Kakani will be hungry.

Also, I'm not vomiting any more (apart from at the sight of a leech fresh from the sucking fields of some four-year-olds foot), which is good.

I am freaking out a little at the realisation that we are halfway through the school term, and my goal of finishing typing up the first draft of the novel by the end of term seems almost unattainable. Still, if I manage to avoid leeches and bacterial infections for the next few weeks I might be in with a chance...

ps - two of the fish have already died. Reminds me a bit of the poor ill-fated gerbils we used to have when I was little. They never seemed to last much more than a week, either. I wonder if i could tempt Son with something a little more hardy for him to nurture, like a cactus. Although come to think of it, I managed to kill a cactus once, by over-watering it (I was nine). I thought that as the poor thing didn't get much water in the desert, I'd make up for it and give it lots. One day it popped.

More vomit

Ill again - haven't even been remotely tempted to open birthday chocolates, which bodes very well for fitting into bikini for pool party on Friday. There's a silver lining to every cloud, as I told myself as I was chundering in the changing area of the pool this afternoon. It is good to hang onto positive thoughts at times like these, I find. Son was pestering me for another chocolate biscuit, Twin 1 was crying because her skirt had got wet, and Twin one was having a hissy fit because I'd told her it was time to go. And I couldn't tell any of them to give it a rest because of the vomit up my nose. Is that too much detail? Probably.

I got asked to be on the Partners' Club committee today. I said I would think about it. I thought about it, and my thoughts went something like this: no, no, no, please no. However, the woman who is the new chair is extremely lovely, so I'll have to find a nicer way of saying it.

Anyway, I'm off for an evening snack of paracetamol and immodium now. Mmmm, yummy!