Instow: The Beach for Dog Lovers…

Posted by anneethompson

We came for a mini break to Instow, near Bideford in Devon. It is, by far, the most dog friendly place I have ever visited. In fact, if you don’t like dogs, you will find this a difficult village to visit. We loved it.

We hired a cottage (through English Country Cottages) right next to the beach. We looked out, across the estuary, watching as the tide filled the bay and floated the boats, then went out again, leaving them stranded. When the tide was out, the expanse of hard sand was immense. Every dog owner in the world seemed to arrive – I never saw less than 20 dogs on the beach at any time. There were the early morning walkers (who tended to have annoying yappy little dogs) and the midday walkers with children. There were even ‘after dark’ walkers (they tended to have the big dogs).

Husband had brought his gym kit and persuaded me to bring mine. So we could go for runs along the beach. He has recently watched ‘Chariots of Fire’. I fear his image of young men training for the Olympics by running through sea spray was not going to match the reality of a couple over 50 staggering along, trying to avoid tripping on the dog lead. We never went.

Across the bay was Appledore, a pretty Devon village with cottages scattered up a hill. It looked like Toytown from our cottage. Bizarrely, although we could walk to fairly near it when the tide was out, the river was always too big to cross, so without a boat it was unreachable (unless you drove for miles to a bridge, I suppose).

Even the pubs and restaurants were dog-friendly. They also all displayed 5* hygiene ratings (when you feed the public, you start to take note of these things and avoid places with a low star rating.) We ate in a variety of pubs, all within Instow, all very friendly and with excellent menus. If you go in the summer, you probably need to book. We could even take the dog into the cafe on the front, as long as she sat quietly under the table.

Instow has quite a big military presence (as I discovered, if you read yesterday’s blog!) This is due to the US and British military using the Devon coastline to practice for the D-Day landings.

A Walk on the Wild Side…

Posted by anneethompson

So, Husband announces he wants to walk ‘somewhere prettier’. We’re on a mini-break in Devon, staying in a cottage practically on the beach, but we haven’t actually seen much of the ‘typical’ North Devon scenery. You know, the rolling hills with tiny fields and lots of green.

I thought our village was pretty perfect, but I try to be accommodating, so I said he could choose. This was a mistake.

Firstly, he scurries off with the map and plans a walk which, for some unknown reason, needs to be a secret. I am to have no input at all as to where we go. At this stage, I thought this was fine, a nice surprise, no danger involved or anything like that.

Then we pack the dog and boots into the car, and off we go, heading towards Barnstaple. After a while, we left the main roads and drove along ever narrowing lanes. When the satnav stopped naming them, and then stopped showing them at all (so it looked as if the car was heading through space) I should have been warned. But I wasn’t (I am very easy-going, cheerfully gullible, things like that.)

We arrived at a carpark. The bridleways beyond were fenced, with gates and styles for access. There were, I will admit, a couple of signs, warning the military used the area. But there were no “Keep Out” signs, no locks on the gates, no signs that said “Danger”. None that I saw anyway. So on we marched.

We quickly came to undulating sand dunes, grassy areas, and marshy ponds. It was rather lovely. We headed off, towards where we thought the coast was.

It was then that I spotted some runners, way off in the distance. They were all wearing white tee-shirts, and I thought perhaps these were the army training exercises. Nice place to run, next to the sea. As I watched them, I realised there was another group, slightly nearer to us, wearing camouflage gear. And firing guns. This felt less safe.

Husband assured me they were probably ‘outward-bound types’ or shooting blanks, and we were fine, we just needed to avoid walking in front of where they were aiming. I sort of believed him. After all, the military wouldn’t shoot in an area used by dog walkers, would they?

A little later, as we skirted the men firing guns, to climb other dunes in our quest to find the sea, we saw some military vehicles. They had their headlights on, and were coming towards us at speed. I wondered if we were going to be arrested. But they zoomed off in another direction before they reached us.

Then we heard machine guns firing. At this point, I got stroppy. I told Husband I was very unhappy and felt uncomfortable about being fired at, and I wanted to go back to the car. He agreed. Trouble was, we were lost.

We had made so many detours, it was hard to remember even which direction we had come from. The area was huge, in different circumstances (ie, not being fired at) it would’ve been lovely. After wandering for a while, Husband looked at phone to see if it had a map. It did. It also showed our position, and where we had parked the car (clever phone).

We made it back to the car, neither shot nor arrested. We did see a few signs that we missed on the way in though….

xxxxxxx

Thank you for reading.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the rest of our holiday (nothing quite as exciting. Thankfully.)

xxxxx

anneethompson.com

Last Day in Delhi

Posted by anneethompson

We walked to India Gate. Lots of families and school children were sitting on the grass, and taking photos. Street sellers had stalls of food and drink. Some men sat next to stoves and kettles, selling cups of chai (tea). Women walked through the tourists selling bangles. They were almost aggressive – at one point I realised a bracelet had been clipped to my wrist as I walked and she was negotiating the price!

Walking is quite difficult for white tourists because the tuktuk drivers follow you, offering to take you. They don’t believe you want to walk. After a while, they drive to the end of the street, and offer again when you get there.

Near to the President’s Residence are roads of large bungalows. Each property had a guard on the gate and high walls topped with spikes – only the monkeys could climb over. The gardens were green – lawns and trees and shrubs (didn’t see any flowers.) It was lovely, but easy to be lonely if you lived there I expect, especially for the wives, it was very enclosed.

We saw more monkeys. There was a huge male sorting through the rubbish. We stopped to take his photo, but a man walking past told us we weren’t allowed to. Apparently we were in a military zone (though there were no signs up.) I like that in India, when we do things wrong, people tell us – they don’t shout or fine us, they just inform us we’ve done something wrong. (Shame though, it would’ve been a good photo.)

We went to Janpath Market. There were a mix of stalls in the street, and shop fronts with goods spilling into the road. At one point, everyone began to quickly collect together all their things and move them off the road. I thought perhaps a rainstorm was coming. They laughed, and told us that no, someone had spotted a policeman! Apparently, they are meant to keep all their items within the shop, they could be fined for displaying things on the street.

I wanted a photograph of a man frying potatoes, so asked his permission and offered him a few notes (bout 40p in value.) He laughed, and said no. When I walked away, a man rushed up, told me that the food man had changed his mind, then told the food man that he should accept. I have noticed things like this before in Delhi. There is a sort of ‘Mafia’ which runs everything. It isn’t necessarily sinister, but there is definitely an organisation that runs below the surface, mostly unnoticed by tourists. People who run the market, and will direct you towards certain stalls and find change if you have the wrong money. Or taxi drivers who only know the way to certain hotels. Or information offices, who tell you everything is shut except for certain places. It makes you feel slightly wary.

I like India. Delhi has been very different to what we experienced a few years ago in Mumbai – it is less intense, fewer random people on the street touched us, there were very few children begging, the traffic seemed less chaotic (it mostly stayed on the road.) But both cities were busy, full of colour and decoration, and the people were polite. You feel that people TRY in India, even in the slums, they weren’t sitting back, waiting for aid, they were actively trying to survive.

The only thing I found really difficult, to the point I don’t think I could live in India, was the pollution. There was a thick haze everyday, and I found walking fast uncomfortable. It actually hurt to draw breath. I’m not sure what India is doing to address this, nor what part Europe and America play in causing it. But something needs to change. On our last morning, there was the Delhi half marathon. I looked online for the route, but mainly saw posts from medics, warning people to be careful if they wanted to run, and advising people with asthma or heart problems, to stay at home. I hope the air pollution can be sorted. Before it’s too late.

The round parliament building.

These white cars were everywhere!

People enjoyed being on the grass, watching all the tourists.

Schoolgirls and street sellers

India Gate, inscribed with the names of martyrs.

xxxx

Thank you for reading.

You can follow my blog at: anneethompson.com

xxxxx

Children’s Day in Delhi

Posted by anneethompson

Today was our first day looking at projects in the poorer areas of Delhi. I woke up nervous, which was annoying. Several toilet visits and lots of praying, and I had myself more or less under control.

First, we went to the charity field office. Various people did presentations, and we learned something about India. I learned about the Dalit people. In India, they have a caste system, which I vaguely knew about. Depending on your name, ancestors and family homeland, you slot into a class of society. The Dalit people are below even the lowest class.

I also learned about Debt Bondage. You are deemed to be responsible for paying the debts that are owed by your ancestors – for the things they might have done wrong ( so not material debts, sort of spiritual debts, owed to society.) These can never really ever be repaid, which in effect means that people are slaves. ( Not sure if I am explaining this correctly – anyone with more knowledge than me, please jump into the comments section below!)

Apparently, the good old British compounded the problem when they ruled here. The British introduced toilets. These toilets needed to be emptied. Only the Dalit people were considered low enough to carry poo, so they came from rural communities into the cities, where they were the poo carriers. The problem (for other people) arose because when they carried poo, they earned money. They then used this money to return to the rural community and buy land. This left no one carrying poo. So the British, in their wisdom, made a law that meant no Dalit people could own land. Hence leaving them available for poo carrying. Even today, Dalit people do 33% of the agricultural work, but only own 1% of the land.

Now, I don’t want to discuss the politics of this. I am fairly sure British Rule made some terrible decisions in its time. I am also suspicious that sometimes countries who have had generations of people since then, like to blame some of their current injustices on the British. However, today people are downtrodden and unfairly treated, and whatever the reasons, this is wrong. The law in India now allows Dalit people to own land. In practice, very few do.

I asked how people know which caste someone is in. I was told that a person’s last name, their family occupation and place their family originates from, all give clues. Plus it is apparently openly discussed. If someone says they don’t know which caste they belong to, they will be upper caste, because the lower castes can never forget the weight of oppression they feel. I thought that perhaps, instead of withdrawing currency, the government could withdraw family names and reissue everyone with a casteless one. But perhaps that kind of sweeping rule is why the British made some bad decisions in the past. Perhaps I should just keep quiet and listen for longer, so I can fully understand this culture.

We left the field office and drove to the community centre. This was a room. There were two very steep steps into it from the street. Inside, it was painted and had a few pictures and slogans stuck to the wall. We met the children. It was Children’s Day in India, when schools are usually closed and communities plan treats ( like picnics.) These children were from a poor community and they had planned a protest march. They lined up outside and held signs and banners they had made. Then they all marched through the streets, shouting slogans they had learned. ” We have a right to education.” ” We have a right to food.” ” We have a right to clean water.” “Girls have a right to life.” Makes you think, doesn’t it……

The girl’s right to life is a big one, and something the charity are working on. In India, parents often choose to terminate a pregnancy when they have the ultrasound scan and learn it’s a female. In some areas, very few girls are being born.

The march finished on an area of scrubland, where they held a rally. Some mothers sat and listened, and a few teenaged boys wandered over. They had hard faces but the same silly haircuts that lots of boys who I’ve taught have, so I felt quite comfortable. We sat on hard dusty seats in the hot sun, while stray dogs fought behind us and clouds of flies floated around. We were surrounded by houses – tall many storied buildings with balconies filled with washing drying and people leaning over to listen. It was very foreign.

The ‘rally’ consisted of a few more slogans chanted, then a brief talk in Hindi. There was then a film, telling the children they had the right to not be abused. Our translator said this was a big problem. Many women stayed in the home all day, they had very few rights. Children were frequently abused by family members. The film was a good one, surprisingly blatant for a children’s film, but very clear – child abuse is wrong and children should tell an adult and call Childline. They then taught the children the Childline number.

Then we were asked if we would speak. There were about 100 children, plus maybe 50 adults, not very different to a school assembly or church service, so I was happy to give a short speech. ( I talked about how special my children were, at every age, and how no one was allowed to hurt them or make them do things they didn’t want to. And these people were special too, whatever their age, they had the same rights.) It was hard to remember to pause, so it could be translated into Hindi. It was also, actually, very hard to not mention God. For me, God is the reason they are special, they are God’s created people and he loves them. But I wasn’t sure what the people I was speaking to believed, didn’t know if they would be angry or offended if I mentioned God. So I didn’t, I tried to tell them what I thought God would tell them, if he was there.

Afterwards, lots of people wanted to touch us and take selfies or say hello. It was strange, we were treated almost like celebrities, even though actually they had given to us, by inviting us to share their day. I got stroked a lot. There are now a lot of terrible photos of me in India, as I was wearing very strange ‘walking through poo’ heavy boots and a mix of Indian tunic with light trousers and a headscarf. And glasses – which make me look like an ageing aunty!

Then we went to a house and met a group of women. Very strong women. I will write about it tomorrow.

Thank you for reading.

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anneethompson.com

The community centre.

Marching through the streets – while cars and lorries passed us and motorbikes squeezed through. A teacher’s nightmare!

The place where they held their ‘rally’.

xxxx

Second Day in Delhi

Posted by anneethompson

Slept well. Breakfast in hotel. I’m trying to only eat hot cooked food and no meat (because I’m told, Indians eat very little meat, so the whole process from animal to table is likely to be less ‘safe’ than in England.) It was hard to resist bacon and a wonderful array of pastries. I did have some milk in my coffee, but didn’t eat the butter, which although was pasteurised had been left on warm table, not in chilled cabinet. Am possibly being too fussy. D ate everything.

We walked around the old part of Delhi. A few years ago, in Mumbai, I bought an Indian tunic and trousers ( the trousers – baggy at top and tight at ankle are called ‘salwar’. The tunic is called ‘kameez’ and the veil/scarf is called ‘dupatta’.) I felt bit of a wombat in the hotel, which is full of Westerners, but on the street it felt much more comfortable to be dressed the same as everyone else. The clothes are also very comfortable, as the fabric is light and the veil can be used as a sunshade over your head. It also covered my bag rather neatly – being aware of pick pockets is part of being in India.

We saw the Red Fort, a big mosque and a market. Best was the market, teeming with people, noisy with traffic and shouts and loud speakers from Hindu temples. There was a constant smell – spices and diesel fumes and sweet food and urine and incense, all in a tangle. The traffic was mostly on the road, but motorbikes and tuktuks sometimes avoided lights by driving along paths, so you had to be alert. It was wonderful and foreign and intense.

Huymayun’s Tomb was built before the Taj Mahal ( which we also plan to visit.) It was lovely. There was a beautiful domed building, which the Persians had taught them how to build. ( Apparently, to build a huge dome, you need a smaller one inside so it doesn’t collapse. Persians were rather good at building them.) The gardens are an integral part of the monument. They reflect ‘paradise’ and have water and trees and birds. Peaceful. There were lots of stars, which some tourists thought were the Star of David. Our guide told us that as the Persians were Muslim, they wouldn’t allow any depiction of living things, so the Indians used geometric patterns, which included the stars. They have no link to the Jewish star ( just as the many swastikas have no link to the Nazi symbol.)

We drove back via India Gate, which is inscribed with the names of Indian martyrs. Opposite, at the end of a long wide road, is the president’s residence, Vijay Chowk. It would be magnificent to look from one to the other, but there was too much pollution haze, so was all rather difficult to see. The round parliament building is also there.

Thank you for reading.

Why not sign up to follow my blog? Then you won’t miss hearing about the other parts of Delhi, the resettlement areas and slums, where few tourists visit…

anneethompson.com

xxxx

If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary.
I have always written a diary on holiday, so last Christmas, I decided to find all my old diaries and blogs, and make a book for my children. However, several other people also asked for a copy, so I have written a public version – it’s available on Amazon and has been described as “The Durrells meet Bill Bryson”!

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

The US link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015525&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The India link is here:

https://www.amazon.in/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015429&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The UK link is here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1549014970&sr=8-2&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

Arriving in New Delhi

Posted by anneethompson

Arrived in Delhi. Had booked hotel car from airport, which was good, as taking a taxi would’ve taken hours. The government has withdrawn all 500 and 1,000 rupee notes, so paying for fare would have been difficult. The money exchange places at the airport had huge queues, they circled the baggage hall, round and round, full of tired people needing money.

I used the washroom at the airport. A young woman came into the cubicle with me, wiped the seat, then waited outside to turn on the tap and pass me a towel. I had no money to give her, none at all. Felt bad. I thanked her, but that won’t feed her family. Not sure how she will cope for the next few days, as even 100 rupee notes are now rare, she isn’t going to be collecting any tips for a while.

As we left carpark, I noticed a sign saying, ” No Sitting. No spitting. No cooking.” A group of men sat below it.

Delhi is noisy. All the tuktuks are green and yellow ( unlike Sri Lanka, where they were multicoloured.) Everyone honks whenever they overtake, which is often. Traffic is chaotic. We saw men in scrumpled shirts, scrubland with tents where people were living, cyclists pulling loaded carts, signs written in both Hindi and English. Street sellers walked between the cars whenever we stopped. There were old scooters with dented number plates, gated communities, and dusty trees in flower. The pollution here is severe, several people wore masks and there was a thick haze. You felt it at the back of your throat.

Arrived at hotel. The car was stopped at the entrance, and the boot and bonnet opened by guards. Then we drove up the driveway to the guards at the door. Our bags went through x-ray machines and we had to walk through metal detectors.

We checked in, and discussed the cash problem with the man at the desk. We had no small currency for tips (no one has.) He was very positive about the situation. He told us that everything in the hotel, including food and cars, could be paid for with credit cards, so it was no problem. He said everything would be sorted out in a few days, so it was no problem. He agreed that it meant no one could really shop in smaller shops, as even if we used high value notes to pay, they couldn’t give us any change, and there was now a shortage of the legal 100 rupee notes ( equivalent to £1.20 in UK money.) However, he said, it was nice for people to take a break from shopping for a few days, so really, it was good, not a problem at all. I began to feel like I was in The Exotic Marigold Hotel. Perhaps the culture here is like in Zambia, when they will always try to tell you what you want to hear ( so if you ask how far away somewhere is, you will be told ” not far”, even if it’s miles away.)

After a quick shower, we went for a walk, to try and change our worthless currency for new notes. The streets were busy, but not as chaotic as in Mumbai. We didn’t see any children beggars, and people didn’t touch us. Though they did stare. I got used to this in China, it’s not rude, it’s simply a different culture. There were lots of men hanging around. I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around on my own (I would be tempted to wear a burka, like I did in Dubai, just to hide from their watching.) We were approached many times by people offering to help us. Where did we want to go? Did we want a tuktuk or a taxi? Could they help us find our way? It was hard to make them leave us alone. I think not many foreigners walk around – but we had been on a plane for hours and wanted to walk.

The path went through a covered walkway, which we walked through. As we left it, we realised it was the edge of a mosque. A man approached and told us we should have removed our shoes. Apologised, and explained we hadn’t realised what it was. He said if we didn’t know, that was fine, people would understand, but we should be more careful in future.

Found bank. Every bank we passed on the way had huge queues outside. We went to the Delhi branch of our own bank. We told the guards that it was our bank, and were shown to a different entrance. They needed to see passports – I didn’t have mine. They took copies of our visa and passport, and said they could exchange up to 4,000 rupees per person (£40). I waited while D changed his money – he was taken to near the front of the queue. Which was nice for us, but not really fair for the people who had waited in line for many hours. We can only exchange money once a fortnight. So we can return tomorrow and I can change some money, then we will have to wait until we’re back in UK. Hope they will exchange the old notes, have a feeling it might be difficult.

I am also concerned about what the lack of spending money means for the poor people here. At the moment, all the bank queues are peaceful. Can that continue when people run out of food?

Back to hotel (managed to avoid walking through any mosques). Dinner (spicy) and sleep.

I will tell you tomorrow what I have learned about why the money has been withdrawn so abruptly.

Thank you for reading. Why not sign up to follow my blog? Then you won’t miss what happens next in New Delhi….

anneethompson.com

Preparing for New Delhi

Posted by anneethompson

Today is my last chance to get everything ready. Always stressful.

I need to empty the fridge and take all the food to Mum that will be ‘off’ when we get home. I will also deliver some books, in case anywhere needs restocking. Mum is by far my best salesperson, I feel she rather missed her vocation in life, she has no fear. Some of my author friends have asked to borrow her, so I am keeping her location a secret.

When we’re in Delhi, if it’s anything like Mumbai, we will have children approach us in the street, begging. I find this very difficult. To refuse/ignore an adult, feels uncaring, but to refuse a child just feels wrong. Very wrong. However, I know that usually, the children are not begging for themselves. They are often ‘organised’ by an adult, who then removes whatever they have received. Apparently, there is now a scam where they ask you to buy them a specific product – milk, or pens for school, or bread. They have a deal with the local shop owner, so when you have left, they return the goods to the shop and then give the returned money to the adult. So, it’s difficult. I’m not very good at ignoring them. I know it’s best for the children, if I give my money to an organisation – Tearfund or Actionaid – and let them help properly. But I still find the ignoring bit difficult. I thought I would buy some sweets, something small, that an adult would have no interest in. I can give those out. This might of course, result in me being swamped by hundreds more children. Which will please husband no end. But we shall see. I will let you know.

We’re flying overnight, so I will arrive exhausted and with a headache. Always difficult to know what to wear: cold drive to airport, chilly aeroplane air-conditioning, followed by sweaty heat when you arrive and sort taxis, drive to hotel. I tend to go for layers and scarves, which double as blankets on the flight and sun shades when we’re there. If I’m honest, it doesn’t work very well. The layers tend to ride up when I shuffle, so I have bulky lumps of clothing all flight, then when it’s hot, I have too many shed layers to carry.Everyone else seems to look immaculate in the arrivals hall – I am the sweaty woman with black rings where her eye make-up has smudged carrying a sack full of jumble. Lucky I’m not a celebrity.

We have just learned that the Indian government has today cancelled all notes equivalent in value to £5 and £10 (so the small £1 equivalent are fine). No warning given, they are now worthless. Of course, ALL our Indian money, bought in advance for our flight tomorrow is £5 and £10. Am thinking having zero cash could be a problem (not even thinking about how much money we have lost if there’s no way to be reimbursed.) Also slightly worried this might result in civil unrest. For us to lose the money is bad, for a street vendor in India it might be their life savings. Literally. Wiped out in a day, with no notice given. Not sure this is fair, nor likely to have a good result. Oh yes, and they have shut all the cashpoints for two days. Trip now taken on a rather unsafe feel…Do hope to be writing again in a couple of days.

Thank you for reading.

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Hospitals, packing and flight…

Posted by anneethompson

Have you ever met a squeamish nurse? I went for my MRI this week (an annual treat) and it was at a new centre – the NHS are obviously outsourcing some of their patients. Went to a very nice surgery in a posh part of London and filled out the usual “I don’t have any metal parts” questionnaire prior to the scan. Except of course, I do, as they rebuilt my skull with a metal plate. So I was explaining this to the nurse, saying that whatever it is that causes MRI machines to explode is not in my head, as I’ve had MRIs since surgery, etc. She was clearly worried about this (I’m wondering if she was new) and she wanted to know how big it was. Well, I have no idea. I was asleep at the time of rebuilding. I told her I didn’t know, but it didn’t feel very big. She then put out a hand, felt the lumps and bumps and dips in my head, shuddered, gave a squeal and moved away quickly. Unexpected.

I’m guessing she was a nurse, because she wore a short blue tunic, and up until this point had behaved like a nurse. Perhaps she wasn’t. Perhaps she was a student or a technician, or someone who had come to mend the photocopier and was filling in because they were short staffed. Whoever she was, I’m sure she’s not meant to react like that with patients. It was actually rather funny, so I giggled and told her she wasn’t meant to do that. Certainly was a change from the normal experience in hospitals.

It has been a busy week because we’re going to India for a few days. Husband is involved with a charity which does lots of work there, so we are going to New Delhi to look at their work in the slums. Probably you are not meant to call them ‘the slums’ – certainly in Brazil we were told to call them some other name which I now forget. Not sure of the Indian equivalent, but I’ll let you know. It will be interesting to see how the organisation works. I know they do lots of work encouraging people to claim their rights (their rights being things like not being abused, and having clean water to drink.)

First on the list was to put ‘outside cat’ who has been recovering from cut foot, back outside. I anticipated problems. She has loved being inside, sleeping with the dog, purring round our feet in the kitchen, scratching up the carpet…So, I unblocked the cat-flap and put her in the garden, and waited for her to bounce back inside. Nope. Not even a visit. She ran straight back to her family in the workshop, and has ignored me ever since. I rather miss her.

Next I visited the health food shop. I read online that if you take probiotics prior to travel, it helps to build up all the good bacteria in your gut, which improves resistance when the bad ones invade. Not sure if that’s bunk, but figured it was worth a try. I also bought charcoal tablets because also read that IF bad bacteria invade (and India is kinda known for bad bellies) then charcoal caries it out of your system. Again, might be myth, but am hoping I won’t need to test the theory.

It has been rather lovely to dig out my summer clothes again. Weather here has passed the ‘bright pretty autumn’ stage and is mainly cold and wet. Ahhh, for a little sunshine again. Quite hard to know what to take though (packing is never easy.) I need clothes for the slums – so shit proof (sorry mother, but I can’t think of a better word.) I also need smart clothes for the hotel. Plus, when walking around, I need to cover legs and shoulders if I’m not going to attract attention. I do actually have some trousers and a tunic that I bought when in Mumbai, so I’ll take those. And silk scarves rather than sun-hats. Am thinking suitcase is too small…

I will write some extra posts while I’m away, so you can read about what we see. (If they stop suddenly, we might have been kidnapped, so please send help. Or perhaps will be not managing to leave washroom, so perhaps sending more charcoal would be best…)

Take care,
Anne x

Thank you for reading.

Why not sign up to follow my blog so you don’t miss my posts about New Delhi?

anneethompson.com

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

The US link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015525&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The India link is here:

https://www.amazon.in/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015429&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The UK link is here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1549014970&sr=8-2&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

Postcards from the boys…

Posted by anneethompson

My boys arrived home from their tour of Europe. I cannot begin to tell you how pleased I was to see them! They had written me postcards while away – they didn’t actually get round to posting them, but they were fun to read when they emerged from the bottom of the dirty washing bag… I thought I would share them with you. Here they are, as written:

Family!
Greetings from Warsaw.
We are still alive.
Have eaten mostly Mcdonalds
and an indian bloke
keeps stealing our water.
Love
Sons
x

Family!
Greetings from Krakow,
We are still alive!
Have eaten only £2 pasta
from a dodgy shop.
The entrance to our hostel
looks like a torture chamber
Love Sons! x

Hi Family,
Greetings from Budapest
We are still alive!
Have eaten only 55p pizza
– James keeps complaining.
We went to the ‘hot springs’
that turned out to be a wave pool
(we went to the wrong place)
Love Sons

Family,
We are in Bratislava
We are still alive!
We ate traditional Slovak food that
turned out to be sheep’s cheese porridge.
James has a small cold and is
claiming to be too ill to do
anything – wimp.
Love
Son & ill son
x

Family,
Greetings from Prague!
We are still alive!
Did not get postcard from Austria
because James was (pretending to be) ill
and it would have cost £10.
We ate nothing but breadrolls
in Salzburg.
James has mostly stopped moaning.
See you soon
Love Sons x

xxxxxxx

Hope you enjoyed them as much as I did!

Fancy reading something different? Take a walk to the world that is just around the corner. Meet a family, who is just like your family, living in a familiar place with some huge changes. Prepared to be entertained, captivated and made to think, long after you have finished reading….
Counting Stars by Anne E Thompson, available from Amazon as a Kindle book.

Or, if you live in the US:

xxx

Letter to a Sister – children, arms and cakes….

Posted by anneethompson

Hi, how was your week? I could’ve done with you here this week, I needed a bit of reassurance that I will see my boys again. They have left to travel around Europe. No money, no plans, way too much confidence. They left at 4am to get a coach from Gatwick to Stansted (because it was cheap) to fly to a forest near Warsaw (because it was cheap) and planned to stay in an establishment called (apparently) The Okey Dokey (because – yep, you guessed it – only £15 per night for two people including breakfast.)

So, please tell me that in two weeks time I will see them, unharmed, back in the UK. I did ask them to send me some sort of message each day, just so I know they’re alive. Yesterday I received a Facebook message from a Polish man claiming to have kidnapped them and asking for ransom (I replied it was way too high.) Today I was told they’d moved to a new hotel – which sounded eerily like the one in the Hostel film (if you haven’t seen it, don’t. It is awful, I only saw it by mistake and I still cannot lose the horrible images.) I am assuming all this means they are safe and well. And I know they will look after each other and have an amazing time and create some wonderful memories. But I will be SO happy to see them when they get home!

Mum also left this week. She had booked a cottage in Norfolk and set off with a suitcase as light as she could make it (she even removed photographs she was taking from the envelopes to save weight.) I took her up to Liverpool Street Station and put her on the train. She had been worrying about this – had even practised the week before so she knew where to go, so it was nice to be able to take her. It sounds like she is having a great time, lots of family are there too and she has friends there (she has friends everywhere). Even the weather is being kind for her.

I however, am quite content to be at home. Especially as I have hurt my arm. Very annoying. I fell over ages ago (was overtired and tend to get a bit unsteady, tired brain and all that.) I thought I would have a huge bruise, but nothing came up, and my fingers seemed to work okay, so I figured nothing was broken and carried on, as you do. Then while we were in Cyprus, it started to hurt a bit, and has been getting gradually worse. I can hardly use it at all now, even unscrewing a jar is impossible.

So, I was trying to ice a cake (for Bill, who is 98) and I couldn’t roll out the fondant icing. I have never used that before, so I watched a youtube clip, and it looked really easy, thought I would give it a go. Anyway, all was fine until I came to the rolling out bit. I was nervous about making a large cake (it needed to be shared with 40 people), I knew it would end up like a brick with a dip, so I used some bread tins and made 6 smaller cakes, then sandwiched them together with butter icing. I put it in the fridge for half an hour, like the woman on youtube did (though her cake had less crumbs on the surface than mine. And was smoother) then tried to roll the fondant icing. Impossible with one arm. I couldn’t apply enough pressure. So I called Nargis, who was in the house. (We pretend she’s my cleaner, but actually she is one of my best friends and practically family.) She came to help, and asked why I hadn’t had the arm checked.

I explained that I have no time. She asked what I was doing this afternoon, and I told her I had a dentist appointment. She asked if I had a problem with my teeth. I said no, it was just a check up. She pointed out that I had time to check my teeth, which are fine, but not my arm, which might be broken. It was a good point. I went to the local hospital. They were very nice, and agreed with my diagnosis, that it’s probably not broken, just a strained tendon but is not healing because I keep using it. They suggested physio. Absolutely no time for that!

The thing is, I’m sure the doctor who saw me is our postman. It looked exactly like him, even spoke the same. I kept wondering how I could ask, “Are you our postman?” But there was never the right moment. Very strange.

Hope all is well with you. My journey into authorship continues – the books are selling really well and are gradually being accepted into more bookshops. I will give you a full update next week.

Take care,
Anne x

Thank you for reading.

anneethompson.com

My sister’s blog is: http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

xxxxxxx

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

The US link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015525&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The India link is here:

https://www.amazon.in/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015429&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The UK link is here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1549014970&sr=8-2&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

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