The only thing I have to complain about vis a vis Bali is the price of tampax. We’re talking $9US for a box of 8. That’s surely criminal. Some customs man is definitely getting rich off the pain of others. I wrote down tampax importing business on my list of ‘possible ways to find money …
‘It’s interesting reading about the election in the UK isn’t it?’ Richard says. ‘Er. No. Actually. It isn’t.’ When I think of the UK I just think grey. And Cameron. And having to do my own laundry. ‘So do you think you’ll go back?’ he asks ‘You know Rich,’ I say, ‘I just can’t see …
We went to the Bali Spirit Festival. There were no psychics or people communing with dead people just a lot of people communing with their inner spirit and doing yoga. Yeah Yeah, get over it, I wanted to yell. But they outnumbered me by about one thousand to one. They were everywhere, shaking, dancing, ashtangaring, …
The question ‘Can we live here?’ becomes rhetorical in Bali. Like it’s followed by a silent ‘Do bears shit in the woods?’ Can we live here? What do you reckon? The neighbours live in a 200 year old teak house. John looks at it. ‘I feel bad. It’s like they’re living in the potting shed.’ …
Aside from the fact we’ve just spent two months in India and aside from the fact I am already familiar with Neasden, John is insisting we visit Little India. Whilst we are in Singapore. I don’t want to visit Little India. I want to visit air-conditioning and malls and clean sparkling buildings. I want to …
Somewhere over the Bay of Bengal, whilst John and I were busy decanting our cabernet sauvignon into plastic glasses and grinning manically at each other (it was the first red wine we’d had in two months. The fact it was 10am seemed inconsequential – as I argued to John – somewhere else in the world …
Dharavi is the largest slum in Asia. It is 2sq kilometres and home to 1 million people. Yes you heard me, ONE million people. Not a one of them wearing converse, leggings and a dress from Gap. So my attempt to blend in is not working. People are staring at us like we’re another life …
‘I can’t go. I have NOTHING to wear,’ I wail to John whilst rooting through my rucksack like a squirrel after winter nuts. John can’t believe I’m worrying about fashion at a time like this. ‘I’m serious. I have NOTHING to wear. I can’t go.’ I repeat. It’s a calculated hysteria. I’m hoping this excuse …
They row canoes across the beach searching for tigers and fairies called Happy. They climb mountains and make princess castles in the sand. In the meantime we sit, drink vodka limcas and pay the nearest five year old five rupees to watch they don’t drown. Does that make us bad parents? I keep asking this …
‘You are not a frickin Hardy Boy John.’ He is pointing with his oar at a giant scrub-laden hill that he wants me to climb with him. Urghhhh, I groan letting the oar flop. ‘It will be an adventure.’ ‘I don’t want an adventure. I’m tired.’ ‘You’re so no fun.’ ‘You’re not in the famous …
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