The hindu goddess of wealth gave me a wax today. Well she was called Lakshmi. But she should have been called Vishnu after the God of destruction.  When I was lying there on the flowery tablecloth, the line  Samuel L. says in Jackie Brown (?) sprang to mind – ‘I’m going to get medieval on your arse’. I was thinking Lakshmi could use that as the tag line on her leaflets. Cos that’s what she did.

I’ve had another thought.  I’m going to rename this blog ‘around the world in 80 waxes’. If we are to choose a location to live based on the waxing /beauty facilities available then India is last on the scoreboard.  See my earlier posts about pedicures and waxes if you’re looking for confirmation.

Anyway after that, I hobbled out of the dilapidated hut behind the restaurant, past all the nepali waiters kicking dogs, smoking beedies and heckling me, back to the beach (why’d I go to such salubrious places you ask? That was the posh beauty shack. You should have seen the others).  And at the beach I had a big fight with a giant wave.

It was the sunglasses. Or the child. I lost my grip on both. We all ended up somersaulting underneath the sea and for a split second I was like ‘my glasses!’ Then ‘My child!’

I let the ocean take the glasses, a sacrifice worth paying. They were only £12 from boots. Maybe if they’d been Chloe or Versace I would have sacrificed the child. But I didn’t, I hauled Alula screaming out of the waves. She now refuses to go near the sea with me. Only with daddy. Whilst wearing her life jacket. Fair dos.

After that I went back to the room feeling like the day wasn’t going too well. Which is when the cockroach appeared. Inside John’s t-shirt. He reacted calmly. If it had been me. If it had been my t-shirt, I would have run screaming off the balcony. He just turned to me and said ‘What was that?’

It scuttled like an alien over his back and down his leg. I screamed and pushed John towards the door, towards the balcony. John had more sense. ‘Can you get it off me?’

Oh yes, hadn’t thought of that. I grabbed a pair of lula’s drying shorts and swotted it until it flew to the floor backpedalling it’s gazillion legs whilst trying to flip over onto its front. Hah Cockroach, you might be able to survive a nuclear apocalypse but you can’t roll over. I imagine a billion cockroaches lying on their backs kicking their legs in the air over a landscape of grey, burnt nothingness. Just Vigo Mortensen pushing a shopping trolley over it talking about the fire inside. Evolution has its flaws.

Then finally, we went to a Hindu Festival. There were seventeen elephants. Alula now wants to convert to Hinduism. Actually there wouldn’t need to be a conversion because she’s nothing now except maybe a hedonistic worshiper of the goddess Barbie, but you know what I mean. Anyway, it was so hot that the sweat was pouring in rivers from places I didn’t know sweat could pour from. You could have panned for salt off my body by the end of the night and put Malden out of business.

Then the elephant looked at me resentfully, unfurled its tree trunk of a willy and peed all over the road – about fifty gallons of wee that cascaded towards us in torrents.

So I’m thinking that the gods and the animals and the whole of the earth has it in for me today.

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