Hellloooooooooooooooooo? (I feel like
Adele. Or Lionel. Or someone who has been the WORST blogger EVER.) Happy 2016! In fact, while I think of it, belated Happy
Christmas! Oh my. That was
a long time ago, no? So I came back
(begrudgingly) from Ireland, laiden down with crisps and chocolate and cack for
the children, and no one was remotely interested in my return except for one of
the cats (who, it turns out, was just hungry), so next time I’m heading off
alone FOR A MONTH.
I’m trying to think
if there was anything remarkable about the lead up to Christmas and... Nope, there really wasn’t. We spent Christmas day by the beach and got home late and bedraggled, and at about
10pm I remembered that not only were we going away the next day for a week, but
we had friends coming to house-sit / holiday in Singapore, and the place was a
post-Christmas tip, mainly because we are slobs and our children are room-upsetting
locusts and the apartment is essentially an animal shelter, but also because
our maid had deigned to take a well-earned holiday (how dare she). So that was fun. (Although perhaps not as much fun as FINALLY
getting into bed on Christmas eve at about 2am and remembering, just as I was
falling asleep, that I hadn’t done the Elf’s final goodbye, or – much worse an
oversight this – wrapped (or even bought) Santa gifts for all the various
animals we foolishly possess. [They got raisins (hamster) and a tin of sardines
(the cats) in case you’re wondering.
Wrapped up in toilet paper. You should
have heard their little squeals of animal joy.]) There followed a comedy cleaning and packing
session the next morning, and then – phew – we were off, to Thailand for a
week.
Thailand has changed since I was
last there. In fact I spent quite a bit
of time there in my not-misguided-enough youth, and frankly, it’s really a bit
horribly touristy now. (Says the most horrible tourist of all.) However.
I discovered the secret to having a good family holiday: bring another family with you. Preferably one with the same number of
children as yours, of similar ages, and, if you can swing it, a boy a couple of
years older than your boy. (Liking the
parents is good too, but not a deal-breaker.) Despite the kleptomaniac monkeys
and the building-rubble and the limb-impaling wires hidden in the sand and the
hundreds of thousands of other tourists visiting the same islands as you and
the disgusting breakfast buffets and OH GOD GIVE ME PATIENCE the total
inability of anyone to do anything faster than very very slowly... despite all
this we had a fabulous time. See? Other children. (Also beer.
And sunsets. And dear
friends. Actually, maybe liking the parents
is a deal breaker after all.)
I also read the most fabulous book I
have ever read, ever. A Little Life, by Hanya Yanagihara. (Don't be put off by the blah-sounding summary on Amazon. it doesn't even touch how wonderful the book is.) I read about it in the FT a while back – it won
some big award in the US (and is shortlisted for the Man Booker, I’ve just
found out), and despite never having heard of the writer, and having no clue
what the book was about, I downloaded it. So I have no idea how long it is, but I suspect it’s fairly immense - I
read it for at least 3 hours – often more – every day for a week, and only
managed to finish it on my last night by staying awake until several hours past
everone’s bedtime (mine included). It is
incredible – the plot, the writing, the descriptions, the writing, the imagery,
the writing. Actually, it was quite harrowing in some places (one of the
characters has been obscenely abused as a child) and totally heart-breaking
throughout, but I am still thinking about it nonstop and CANNOT WAIT to discuss
it with someone, so get off your arses and read it, then call me.
So now we are home, and the house is
once more a tip, and the cats are still bonkers, and the children have the next
week of school, and the Man is away for a fortnight. But
at least the maid is back. Phew. Priorities, people.
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