So Where The Eff Is Don?

Kinda rainy...

Kinda rainy…

Having said that it’s all awesome and fab here in divine Langkawi, I might’ve failed to mention that it has been raining the whole freakin’ week. I’ve had a word with the hotel manager, but he said he can’t do anything about it. Come on, Four Seasons, what now, now?!!

It isn’t totes terriblé though, I suppose, because it’s probably best not to go back to England with a tan. People get so jealous about stuff like that. It’s as if unless you’re pasty, they don’t want to know you. Ridic. Well, properly pasty I soon will be.

My Kundalini activation is fading as quickly as my tan, probably because of the stormy weather, both inside and out. I’ve been thinking about Don, and how this is all going to work, what with the move back to London in ten days’ time. No live-in helper AND no husband?… What kind of hellish combination is that?! It’s a living nightmare, I tell you.

I was going to wait until next week to see if Clara knows where Don is (as she knows him so bloody well, though supposedly I don’t know that!), but it was playing on my mind rather badly yesterday, and I decided to Skype her ASAP, for the sake of my chi. I felt a tad hashtag awkz about the conversation because: A) I haven’t told her I know about her and Don’s hidden past that they’ve concealed from me for so many years, and frankly I’m more than a little miffed about the situation; and 2. she hasn’t mentioned that anything untoward has occurred at work, so I wasn’t sure what state I’d find her in. I didn’t want to have to listen to her drone on about her woes while trying to sort out my own, did I? Nope way, Josephine!

So I messaged young Chilly Mallone (ok, he’s not that young anymore) to find out whether Clara’s career was in tatters yet. I sent him the money weeks ago and thought I’d hear about it from Mummy the moment the poop hit Clara’s fan.

It turns out that the wayward delinquent Chilly once was, grew up into someone with morals, of all things! He texted me back saying he’d realised that he couldn’t go through with the allegations because Clara had “been there when no one else wuz”, and it was “wrong to mess with her”. Oh, brilliant!! Since when do these people have a conscience?!

I was quite annoyed by this revelation because so far none of my carefully crafted plans for rewengé have come to fruition (see Revenge Phase Two and Three if you haven’t been paying sufficient attention to my glamorous life). I had hoped that at least this one would.

To dig a little deeper, I phoned him. He said he was busy, but “I meant what I said in my text… And I’ll give you back the money, awright?”

“Yeah, whatevs, sweets”, I told him, “I’m in London in a couple weeks. Let’s hook up in my manor and you can give it back… If you haven’t spent it on crack by then!”

“Look lady”, came Chilly’s retort – oh so now he’s allowed to have tude?? – “You’re the one who’s on crack. Seriously. What are you smokin’? Trying to mess with your own cousin. That’s your family, man! Thas your blood! Thas” –

I couldn’t bear to listen anymore to this uppity nonsense, so I interrupted his flow.

“Ok, Chilly, ra ra ra and all a dat, but I’m outa here. Call ya when I’m back. Lay-tah”, I said with my finest Londin verbiage, and hung up.

Then I Skyped Clara. She was at work, but accepted the call because it was lunchtime, and also she wanted to tell me the “great news” she’d just heard. She has been promoted. Well, yay for her. (I really must get a job when I get back so that I can get promoted.) As we spoke, it was obvioso that she had no clue about Don’s disappearance because she was asking how the packing went and when we’re back, with irritatingly genuine care and excitement. She positively gushed at me.

“I’m so looking forward to seeing you all, Emma-Jane. The kids must have grown since I saw them last! It’ll be wonderful to be able to be in their lives… and yours too, of course. We must get together for a drink as soon as you’re back. Remember how we used to meet up in the City after work for a good old natter? That’ll be so lovely… And if there’s anything you need, anything I can do, just give me a shout, OK?”

“Yeah, Clara babes, it will be lovely”, I said, thinking there was really no point in continuing the convo, and making my exit thusly: “I’d better be off-ski now anyhoo. You know what Don’s like when he’s on his hols – requires constant attention, LOL! But soooo amazebobs to hear your news. I am mega happy for you. You rock!”

I clicked end call and felt miserable. Chilly let me down, Clara made me feel all guilty by being so effing nice, and I was still none the wiser about Don, or about my stupid step-sister Angel. What I’ll have to do next, which I’m hoping to avoid, is call her equally stupid mother in Australia, Chantelle. Ugh. Please Lordy, don’t make me have to do that. I don’t want to talk to her period, but I especially don’t want to tell her that her teenage daughter (who was sort of my responsibility, I guess, was she?) has done a runner with my husband. It’s not my fault, is it, dear readers?? I didn’t see it coming. Did you?!

To make myself feel better, I resorted to the two things that always work: I ordered some Veuve Click, and had a bikini photo shoot. Weather be damned! I thought Max could take the pics, but he proved to be utterly useless, so I sent him back to the kids’ club. Instead I got this sweet chap from a resort down the road to help me out. He’s a pool boy who I met at Langkawi’s famed jungle waterfall on Wednesday. I did tell you about him, I think. Or did I? Golly perhaps I failed to mention that too!

As you can see, I needed a brolly to protect the hairdo, and I’ve just had a profound reflection in my beautiful complex brain: that you, dear readers, are the brolly for my psyche. I heart you.

Rainy Langkawi 2 edit

Oh yeah Langkawi trio

Am triple-horrified by this weather business…

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Expat Agony Part Two of Two

I still have a couple more woes to share before you are up to speed with my glamorous life, but you’ll be happy to know that I am at least feeling a whole heck of a lot better. Having spent a lot of time at the amazebobs hotel spa, I am now both grounded and uplifted, and I look fabulous from the tip of my toes to the top of my flaming locks. I have been: scrubbed, stroked, kneaded, nurtured, massaged, manicured, pedicured, pampered, emphatically lymphatically drained, and my Kundalini has been repeatedly activated. All rather marvellous, so I am today sufficiently restored to continue with my tale.

After the leaving do, saying goodbye to my Maserati, and then the terrible tragedy, the packing process began. Because of our enormous collection of furniture and art, and my equally vast wardrobal contents, it took five days to complete the move, with a total of 572 boxes. Argh! It was like slowly tearing off a plaster from an open wound. I’ve said it before, but I’ll reiterate: how much pain can one person endure?! Endure it, I did though. What choice did I have, given that Don prioritised his career and his own wishes over me? Zero, babeses, zero nada niente 没有.

What was good though is that we had less stuff than was estimated for the shipment, so I popped out during the week to buy more. I got a few bits of furniture from Timothy Doulton (love that shop!!) at Dempsey, and some odds and ends from Crate and Barrel. It all just went into boxes straight away, so was quite easy.

Of course, everything was done for us by the twelve strong chappies from the moving company, but that doesn’t mean that it was stress-free for me. Quite the contrary. Watching my life being dismantled bit-by-bit was shear hell. Until they did the roof terrace, I could at least take myself up there for a Veuve Click and a lounge. I was in fact engaging in that very pursuit when the time came for the packers to dismember the area. I heard clinking and realised that, for some unknown reason, there were at least twenty Veuve empties concealed behind the ornamental pool towel cupboard. Extraordinary. I do recall putting one or two back there when I forgot to take them down for the recycling, but that many?! Must not have been me. No doubt the help has been drinking my fizz all these years without me noticing. That woman! Can’t wait to see the back of her. (Though what to do with the irritants until I have a nanny in London?… Am somewhat worried about that, as 16-hour a day staff may be too pricey to justify. So unfair that there isn’t cheap help in London.)

Anyway, the next thing I knew, all of the empties were being carefully wrapped and put into a box. Ooopsy! They’re just so wild and impetuous, these moving guys. If it’s not nailed down, they pack it.

On the fifth day it was finally over, and although I felt exhausted and devastated, it was a relief to see all of the boxes gone and to close the door on my beautiful Emerald Hill Road home; and on the past. Well, I say “close the door”, but I personally wasn’t there for the final goodbye because I had a late lunch with my girlies. The children weren’t there either (they were at Camp Asia), but it doesn’t matter, I’m sure. Kids are so resilient, particularly expat kids. It was only their home. It’s not like they won’t have another one.

Boxes

My lovely life in 572 boxes…

We moved to a serviced apartment on Orchard Road as we weren’t due to leave for Langkawi until the next day. That night we all went to Andre’s for dinner to celebrate Angel’s seventeenth birthday and mark the end of the move, but it wasn’t the most fun evening everrrr despite the venue. Don seemed like he was on a different planet – very strange and distracted. The irritants were chaotic and even more irritating than usual. Even Angel was off-key and not her normal “I’m so hashtag young and hot and cool like Cara Delevingne” self. It was dull enough that afterwards I took myself off to meet Flo for a few beverages as a consolation.

The next morning, I was a bit tired and didn’t wake up until after 10 o’clock. Milly took it upon herself to pull me from my dreams, dashing into the bedroom and saying, “Mummy, where’s Daddy? Cannot find him, lah. And where’s Angel? Wasn’t she coming to the airport too? She’s going back to ‘Stralia and we’re going to Langkawi, but she was coming to the airport with us. Is she gone already?”

I got up and went to ask the helper where Don was, but she hadn’t seen him since the previous night. Not very helpful, helper. I phoned him, only to find that his phone was switched off. So, I decided to just go about my day and get ready for the holiday. I had a shower and was brushing my teeth when I noticed that Don’s wash bag wasn’t there. Nor was his toothbrush or anything else belonging to him. Then I looked in the wardrobe on his side of the bed, and it was empty. Starting to feel alarmed, I ran arms flailing to the desk. Laptop not there. Nothing of Don’s anywhere. In a horrible flash of realisation, I dashed into Angel’s room. Also empty. WTF??? I didn’t know what to do or think, dear readers. What could I do? I completed the preparations for the holiday, told the children that Don and Angel weren’t coming with us, and off we went to Changi.

So here I am a few days later – bruised and confused, but unbroken. I have heard nothing from Don, and his Singapore phone has now been disconnected. Next week when we’re briefly back in Sing (before heading to Phuket for an awesome party), I think I’ll contact Clara to see if she knows what’s going on. In the meantime, I will just focus on Me Time, and keep getting my spa on.

Awesome Fun-ness

I can’t write as much as I want to today because I am virtually on my knees from the mad social whirl of it all. This is such a busy time of year for the expaterati. It’s this period between Autumn (that’s Fall, Americans) break and Christmas when people aren’t travelling, and the “Social” section of my iCal is just bursting at the seams.

Hence my exhaustion and hurry! I went to an amazO brunch yesterday which lasted for 13 hours!! So I’m rather the worse for wear now, and have to dash off shortly to a pool party with Max and Milly. (OMG I haven’t told you that I resolved my stressful pool towel issue!! I ordered some from Orla Kiely in the UK. Awesomeness! More original and quirky than Lacoste, but still identifiable as premium designer goods by those in the know.)

Well, I say people aren’t travelling, but Don is, of course. Cape Town. So he missed my fabulous Halloween party. Which I KNOW you’re dying to hear about!! And I’m dying to tell you! But I’ve totes got to run, so I’ll give more deets mañana. Just a quickie highlights summary now.

So: I can quite comfortably say that the party was a ma-husive, unmitigated, rip-roaring success. Everyone said I did an amazing job. I got a ton of glowing feedback, and every time someone told me I was great, I did my really pretty Kate Middleton smile for them, and said that it was all down to my team. Bullshit of course. Those post-menopausal do-gooding hags were utterly f’ing useless. Especially Michelle.

The money we raised with the raffle surpassed my wildest fantasies. We had some lovely prizes which my team had extorted from their husbands. Canadian Cathy got us two nights in one of the Four Seasons at the Maldives worth $25,000 (flights and breakfast not included); American Amy donated a whole street of properties in Detroit, Michigan; and half-Lebanese Lana wangled first class flights with Emirates to Abu Dhabi. The ones with the onboard child-care! Whoop-whoop : )

After the raffle, we had this super interesting live interview with a guy in Sierra Leone who runs an Ebola call centre. I was able to tell him how much money we raised, and to reassure him that a vaccine is well on its way, thanks to me.

The best part of the night though was spending time with Will. More on that later, chaps!!