Indeed it appears that formal (if you can call it that) education may well be on the cards for Egg and Dumps...for a mere £100/month each. Bargain. Dumpie started yesterday and Eggie starts tomorrow. From 8:45am each morning until 1pm and 3pm respectively, the husband and I shall be free to indulge our creative pursuits without fear of child negligence and the near-constant interruptions for crisps, a game of football, a toilet break, the smashing of a glass, the screams of a brother-on-brother wrestling match in full swing, the wail of an unfortunate child who has been facially assaulted by a sand-blasting Dumps...etc.
It will be bliss. Even better, we shall stop the niggling voices in our heads proclaiming that we're merely self-indulgent 'Yippees' for having uprooted our family of four from the comfortable enclave of SouthWest London, and into this deep, dark, exotic Indian subcontinent.
Saying that, yesterday we could have been down our local boozer (well, maybe not ours...) what with the raucous cavorting of a group of ladies well past their 'prime', (and none the wiser about it), noise polluting our favourite little restaurant on the beach. Wearing bikini's and filthy grins they proceeded to get blind stinking drunk on vodka and cokes, then spent the next few hours serenading those of us unfortunate enough to have chosen to eat our lunch there, with the most tone-deaf 'slur-singing' as I have yet had the misfortune to ever encounter.
I was embarrassed for them, for Britain as a nation, and several times audibly (so the husband says) vocalised my fervent wish that both they and us be put out of our misery by accidental drowning or some such other 'unfortunate occurance'.
No such luck. Two of them at one point did indeed lurch drunkenly across the burning sand (with nary a flinch) and stumbled about in the waves like gleeful sea lions for a time, but wouldn't you know, they made it back to the beach shack, still very much in one piece, and sufficiently refreshed and invigorated enough so as to launch into a second, even more piercing tirade.
Incredibly annoying package tourists aside, Dumpies first foray into education has proved incredibly successful. I no longer wish to end my life (painlessly and quickly of course) by the time midday rolls around. And Dumpie gets to sing silly German counting songs and do things like wee in the Kindergarten sandpit.
Egg feels a bit left out, so we went and checked out the local foreign primary school. Taught not by a young, guitar-strumming German, but rather a middle-aged no-nonsense Hungarian, he is to start tomorrow. I have no idea what he's going to learn as they apparently favour 'play-teaching', and just finished three weeks learning about house building, but whatever it is, it shall no doubt be superior to riding shotgun on Dada's Enfield and doing little errands like picking up Kingfisher beer from the nearest village.
The husband is still a wee bit grumpy - despite being in Paradise - but i'm putting it down to his not yet having acquired an Indian bicycle. Apparently the procurement of such shall turn him into a happy little camper and render him eligible for 'husband of the year'...i'll keep you posted. In fact tomorrow I reckon we'll take the hour long taxi to the nearest big city while the boys are in school, as we have some errands to run. That is where said bike shall no doubt be purchased, and then a two hour ride back in the sweltering sun for him shall follow, as I journey back solo in the back of a white people carrier with 'Bollywood' tunes a'blasting.
Having spent the morning scouring our new home and unpacking all of our stuff, I can say with no uncertainty whatsoever, that I have BROUGHT TOO MANY CLOTHES!!
I would happily trade a few of my prize All Saints t-shirts for some bloody tupperware (to keep the ants out) and a big jar of proper Peanut Butter...not to mention some plastic drinking cups and some decent biscuits.
Egg rather tragically takes after his father and finds it difficult to keep hold of his valuables. We've been here a week and already he's lost his best (and really only) sun hat, his prized flashlight, a wicked whistle/compass/thermometer gizmo, and yesterday at breakfast while he obliviously munched on lemon sugar pancakes, a beach dog chewed up his only pair of flip-flops (sigh).
At any rate, it's time to go and collect our laundry, for which we shall no doubt be charged a ridiculously exhorbant sum, and shall henceforth discover that all our clothes have bled into the same reddish-brown hue and furthermore have been shrunk to midget-size proportions.
Ah well...we're in bloody Paradise innit. What's a few hundred pounds of ruined designer clothing (which I might add, should NEVER have been brought here in the first place...what was I thinking??!!) next to the gorgeous Arabian Sea and a yummy ice-cream cone which awaits our little family forthwith.
Adios...and don't be too jealous...you should feel the monstrosity of a mattress we have to sleep on...it's about as thick as a piece of Rivita.