On Non-Awesome Mothers (of the Repatriated Expat)

When I returned from my divine time in Disney, I had to drive straight to Mummy’s Holland Park abode to collect the irritants. From the way she had told me to hurry back to Angleterria, I was anticipating a scene of the utmostest calamity and devastation at her place, but none did I find. All cool: Max hiding in a wardrobe with his iPad so as to avoid his grandmother’s ban on Minecraft, and Milly, somewhat thinner than I remembered (but people always do seem thinner after a sojourn in the northern Americas, don’t they?), half-heartedly doing a jigsaw at the kitchen table, underneath which she held her phone, Whatsapping away with her little friends. They’re so cute at this age. It really is incrediblé how fast five year-olds can type. She has barely learnt to write, but wow can she Whatsapp! That’s my girl : )

Mummy was at the Aga, making juniper berry venison with Jerusalem artichokes and unfeasibly small onions (I do love her cooking! I wish we had more home cooking at my house hashtag sadface.)

She insisted on telling me absolutely everything that the children had done over Xmas and New Year’s – went to Auntie this, saw cousins thems. I wasn’t in the least bit interested, but her focused obliviousosity gave me the chance to message Phil, and to catch up on all the important Facebook news I’d missed during my journey back. I refuse to pay for wifi on planes. Upper Class tickets are expensive enough as it is! I’m not going to subsidise the poors in Economy a penny more than I absolutely have to.

The next thing I heard was Mummy saying, “blablabla-bla-bla-bloo, so you’d be wise to leave now, before the traffic gets bad”.

“Oh”, I replied, “I thought we ought to stay the night. I’m really rather jet lagged, and my chi is flip flopping all over the place, as you can imagine. And you’re doing my favourite sups: juniper berry venison… with Jerusalem artichokes… and unfeasibly small onions. So it would be nice for you if we stayed to keep you company…” –

“Emma-Jane, have you heard nothing I’ve been telling you? I have someone coming round later for dinner. Which is why you’d better get the children’s things together, and go home. You know what the traffic’s like. Or have you forgotten? Not quite the same as Singapore!”

[Ha, like I didn’t know that! I had just spent millennia getting through customs and driving from the airport in the pelting rain. Had it been Singapore, it would’ve taken me half an hour from the time the plane landed to be lying in my rooftop pool with a bottle of Veuve Click. Like I didn’t know!! How totes dare she?? Rub salt in the wound much, Mum-ski?! What a b***h.]

Not one to take things personally, nor blow matters beyond reasonable proportion, I said, “Fine!”, and stormed off to gather the irritants’ paraphernalia, apparently quadrupled in volume due to Xmas presents. They had quite enough stuff already, without people bloody giving them more! There’s nothing for it: we’ll just have to move to a bigger house. I’m sort of running low on money (dunno where that vast sum my father gave me went, though I should really know given that I did an online accountancy course when I sacked my accountant), but I could just get a job or something.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that it isn’t easy to fit three people and shedloads of luggage into a Maserati, but given that needs musted (Mummy was not d’accord with me leaving the gifts or even one of the children at hers), I had little choice, did I, dear readers? As we squeezed into the car, I informed her in a completely not passive-aggressive way that, by demanding our immediate departure, she was risking the lives of two of her precious grandchildren, and her only daughter (apart from the other one, my sister), whilst simultaneously depriving said daughter of much-loved juniper berry venison with Jerusalem artichokes and yes, unfeasibly small onions… Which basically fed into and compounded every other moment of deprivation, disappointment, and dreadfully dire mothering she had perpetrated against my person from conception onwards. As I made sure to let her know.

We said goodbye – well, she said goodbye to the kids – and I sped us home, at least enjoying the roar of the fine engine and the appreciative glances from gentleman drivers. The open road reminded me that I was free, and in spite of Max and Milly’s protestations, I put the top down. With the wind in my fiery locks and Beyoncé blasting loud, I felt myself to be on Orchard Road again (somewhat chillier, of course), recalling the days of cruising from one happy, warm place to another happy, warm place.

Then the car in front came to a halt, as had every car beyond for as far as my azure almond eyes could see. It was really cold. I turned the music down, and flicked the switch to raise the hood. It took almost as long to cross London as it had to cross the Atlantic. I say “almost”, only because I am not prone to exaggeration.


 

Thanks to Mummy’s salt rubbing, I am now missing Singas more than ever.

Leafy Orchard Road

Lovely leafy Orchard Road

 

Bankers on Roof Terraces

Bankers on roof terraces

 

Botanic Gardens

Sunny days at the Botanic Gardens – Hampstead Heath is so much chillier

 

Nikoi

Paradisical retreat weekends on the island of Nikoi, after a long five days of gloriously exhausting social mayhem

 

Fun times

Fun times wid my girlies

 

Laundry

& laundry hanging out of HDB windows in 100% humidity

 

So this was me after last night’s gig in Soho. I’m doing my happy face like a true pro, but inside my extremely awesome biker jacket, my heart was sobbing, “Take me back to Singapore!”

Potential repatriates take note. It’s not great.

 

Blue Post

 

 

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20 Thingses I’ll Miss About Awesome Singapore

coke can

I took a long trip up and down Orchard Road today because cousin Clara the psychologist told me last night that I should. She told me to go alone, given that the Froofster distracts me with inspiration for rap lyrics. The irritants were on playdates and Don’s away, so alone wasn’t beyond the realm of contemplation.

Initially Clara’s words were to, “find a place in nature to just be, and to consider the notion of change from the perspective of plants and wildlife… the natural tendency towards growth and transition as time moves on, whether we choose to embrace the changes or not”.

I explained to Clara that places in nature such as the Botanical Gardens, as lovely as they are, ain’t no Hampstead Heath. Too hot by the time I get up and out, babeses. Macritchie also awesome, but also waaaayyy too hot, and it would take me at least 20 minutes to get there, which surpasses my usual 12 minute travel limit. Plus, as I told her, if we’re talking natural habitat, that’s Orchard Road for me. I know every nook and cranny – every side street, every shop, every bar, every restaurant, probably everybody, and every floor of every mall from Plaza Sing to the Palais Renaissance.

So she said, “Ok, Emma-Jane, take a walk down Orchard, if that’s your natural habitat. If you are leaving, it’s important that you begin to process the losses, whatever those might be. A good starting point is to reflect on what you are going to miss.”

Alora, this morning I started my day by reflectiating on what I might miss, and I made a mental list as I rollerbladed the length of Orchard Road – the sun streaming through my raspberry locks.

Here are the 20 things that I know already I will miss about Singapore:

1. Waking up in the morning to see an army of helpers cleaning the cars parked beneath my window. Such a reassuring sight.

2. Being asked if I have a passion card (worst chat-up line everrrrr – still don’t get it).

3. Amusingly and so coolly peppering my speech with lahs, cans and cannots. It’s so great being able to fit in with a little bit of lingo, and it’s v important to learn the local language as an expat.

4. Walking around looking awesomely hot at any hour of the day or night, and not being in fear of my life. I can walk from the bay to home at 3 AM dressed however I chose without the possibility of later being told by a cross-examining barrister that I was Asking For It.

5. My soft-top Maserati. It’s just not on to flaunt one’s wealth quite so openly in the UK unless one is a foreigner. A bit like that quaint tall poppy thing in Australia.

6. The help. I suppose we’ll have to get a couple of au pairs (but they refuse to wash cars, so we might need to get a driver too), or bite the bullet and shell out £80k per annum for the equivalent wrap-around assistance to which we are accustomed here.

7. Putting tons of clothes on to go inside rather than to go outside.

8. Constantly meeting bundles of like-minded Expaterati types – even if they ditch you when they know you’re off-ski. We’ll stay in touch though, right babeses?! Ya, see you in Bangkok, sweets, or London, or San Fran. Totes!! There’s no bye in goodbye anymore – it’s all just GOOD.

9. Being able to take selfies without feeling #awkz. Euro peeps just don’t get how awesome selfies are.

10. Cheap taxis with such friendly uncles.

11. Sweet Singaporeans who’ll apologise to you if you accidentally crash into them while crossing the road and simultaneously Whatsapping… as opposed to stabbing you, like they do in London.

12. Whatsapping whilst crossing roads (due to afore-mentioned risk of stabbage).

13. Languid evenings of cocktails and Veuve Click on roof terraces all year round.

14. Glamorous holidays sans long flights and jetlag with the irritants. Ok so Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Vietnam, and the Philippines are all a bit of a blur to me now, but at least I can still name the countries and largely distinguish one hotel kids club from another. (There might’ve been another county, I forget.)

15. The tropical bird sounds at dawn and dusk. Think it’s just magpies in London now, with the occasional flock of parakeets south of the river, should one foolishly choose to venture in that direction. Not my scene, no matter how much I might miss Singaporean birdsong.

16. Geckos. Froo Froo will miss those more than I will, but I greatly prefer a gecko to its British counterpart, the slug.

17. The proximity and fabulous ease of Changi Airport. No further explanation required. Changi just rocks. We all know that.

18. Having a tan. All. The. Time. Hashtag sadface : (!!!!!

19. Countless amazebobs bars and restaurants within 10-20 minutes of anywhere on the island. In London it’s always, “See you in an hour…”

20. The expat wives’ social media groups. I’m probably going to have to start watching more TV again, or Dios help me, even get involved with the dramas of our extended families. Ugh. Just ugh. Kill me now.


So those are the 20 things I’ve come up with thus far thereinly. My fear is that there may be many more to compound my woes, should the nightmare of repatriation actually occur. I can only cling for now onto Voltaire’s conclusion that all is for the best in the best possible of worlds. I’m totes about that. Hashtag yeah baby. Everything will be alright.

On Not Being Able to Shop

I’ve been a little bored today (I know!! Shock, horror, right?!) because everyone I know was at the Diane Von Furstenberg talk for Singapore Fashion Week, and I couldn’t go because I had to take Milly for an urgent dental appointment. Kids! The bane of my existence.

The appointment lasted just long enough to miss half of the DVF, but not long enough to take up the rest of my morning. There weren’t even any Mega Threads on Facebook : (. As I was at a loose end, I took myself off down Orchard Road, and was hit by a dreadful new insight (I wish I wasn’t so keenly self-aware; it truly is a curse, not a blessing). I wandered through the shops from Orchard Central to the Paragon to Taka, then on to the Ion and Tang’s and Wheelock and the Forum and the Palais Renaissance, and it was just as I was getting my third coffee of the morning at Tanglin Mall that I realised that there was absolutely nothing I needed to buy. Not even vaguely needed, and I am running out of places to put things at home. The helper has, for some reason known only to herself, stopped tidying away my stuff in the bedroom and in my dressing room. Instead she just leaves things pretty much where I’ve dumped them, and puts them into piles that get higher and higher. One of the piles fell over yesterday and Froo Froo got taken out by a Tampax box and a v heavy pair of socks. She nearly lost an eye! I need to have strong words with the help about this hazardous issue. Maybe I’ll send her a text later.

So it felt really depressing that there’s a ton of nice stuff out there to buy, and I couldn’t buy any of it!! I don’t think this has ever happened to me before, and it was quite upsetting. While I was waiting in the coffee queue at Brunetti’s, guess who appeared, to brighten my day (noooooot!!)… Mrs Doom and Gloom Expat Wifey. Ugh. I didn’t want to risk getting into conversation about the last time we met (when I happened to mention that her hus engages in intimate relations with his male PA), and she gave no indication of recalling it, so I asked her if she was going to any of the Fashion Week events. I told her I’m going to an awesome party this Friday night at H & M, and I’m struggling to get an invite to Victoria Beckham’s thingie on the last day. Annoying!

“Oh hell no”, she said, “I’m not going to any of that nonsense! A celebration of vanity!! An Emperor’s New Clothes charade of telling fools they need more stuff, stuff that’ll end up in landfill! Better to send money to Nepal than spend it on lining corporate pockets! What a complete waste of human endeavour. It disgusts me how much these brands are making. The margins are obscene! And I don’t know if this is true, but I heard that the so-called high-end shops – god what a stupid term – don’t even pay rent here… Can you believe that?! Because their presence alone is so valuable to the big malls. Madness. I hope it’s not true.”

“Uh yeah, I heard that too, but it’s defo not truesome”, I said when I could get a word in, “Because someone in the um… high-end retailing business told me it’s not, and why would they lie?”

D & G stared at me, like she thought I was making a joke, and I decided to just keep on talking.

“And I don’t think it’s that fair to say that because something is expensive it’s a complete waste of human endeavication. Most of this stuff is amazebobs, and super well made and lovely, so designer items will be a credit to anyone’s wardrobe for years to come. Investment pieces, you know?”

“Ha, ‘investment pieces’! Lol!! You really buy that idea? That’s what they say when they’re trying to persuade people to part with ridiculously huge sums of money for things that no one actually needs! And you say ‘for years to come’, but this time next year, or even in a few months’ time, there’ll be another range of Chanel espadrilles that makes the last ones look dated.”

I noticed that I hadn’t inhaled or blinked for ages, such was my dismay at the anti-capitalist ranting to which I was bearing witness.

I grabbed my skinny decaf latte from the counter, and said, “Babes, I gotta run! Great, as always, chatting to you. You have such interesting thoughts. Ok byeeee!!”

I didn’t wait to hear her reply, and dashed downstairs to Cold Storage. At least I always need food! And it was lucky I did because they had a fab offer on for Marlborough Sauv Blanc (must tell thousands of expat wives about that via the FB groups… Wait, actually no must not because then they’ll sell out). After sorting out the delivery order for 60 bottles, I made my way back down Orchard, stopping at Chanel to get a new and improved pair of espadrilles. I realised I’d been salivating when D & G mentioned them, so it was indeedy fortuitous that she reminded me! The shoe cupboards, at least, have apparently remained within the helper’s self-assigned remit, and there is ample space for more footwear. Thank goodness for that!!

SO EXCITED ABOUT FASHION WEEK!!!! Can't wait to get some investment pieces (as soon as I've made some space in the wardrobe).

SO EXCITED ABOUT FASHION WEEK!!!! Can’t wait to get some investment pieces (as soon as I’ve made a bit of space in the wardrobe).

Blatantly Propositioned on Orchard Road

I’m still no clearer on the repat or not situation, I’m afraid, and although it has been getting me down immeasurably, I have nonetheless-so been able to have some serioso fun this week.

On Wednesday I went to the meet and greet with Charli XCX at TopShop. She was so sweet. Just a regular girl called Charlotte, from Cambridge (but that’s London Queen enough for me! That’s one of her songs, babeses). She told me she loved my sunglasses, and the radio chick who was hosting asked if my hair was natural. Charli was totes a pro, but it really highlighted for me how hard it is to be a celebrité. I face that kinda stuff myself, when lovelies ask for pix with me, and you know, sometimes it’s not that easy to be in receipt of all that adulation. I make it look easy, of course, but I’m so starting to realise that underneath every star there’s actually a real person, just trying to make their way in the world, being fabulous.

Charli XCX saying she loved my sunglasses (she's the one in the orange top & I'm the one in the gold jumpsuit)

Charli XCX saying she loved my sunglasses (she’s the one in the orange top, Eva my new PT is in the middle  & I’m the one in the gold jumpsuit)

Me with the radio chick

Me with the radio chick

Then that night I went to the concert with my Expaterati girlies, including my new personal trainer/ body guard, Eva, and the fab hottie who won my contest to attend. She won because her answer to why it should be her was, “Because I think you’re awesome, babe!!!!”, so that was a non-brainer. We all had the best time eveerrrrr, and danced our behinds off, looking amazebobs. You could tell we made a mahusiv impression because we stood in the middle of the venue, and other people left a big space between us and them. I have to say, I totes heart the Coliseum at the Hard Rock Hotel. It’s intimate, it’s outdoors but under cover, the staff are fab, there’s lots of room to dance, and best of all, no lines at the bars!! Don’t tell anyone about it though because I feel like it’s sort of my venue, and I wouldn’t want it to get booked out next time I’m after tickets.

I also TOTES heart this app called Songkick, which syncs with your iTunes library and tells you when concerts are on. No, I’m not being paid by these people, dear readers. I’m just a really generous person who likes to share great stuff with loved ones. It’s ok, don’t thank me : )

And here are some awesome hot pics of me at the concert:

Hot me 1

Hot me 1

Hot me 2

Hot me 2

Hot me 3

Hot me 3

Hot me 4

Hot me 4

So it was a great night, and yesterday I did NOT feel like working out, when I awoke to find Eva standing at the foot of the bed, firing at my face with a water gun (the help let her in, argh!!). Damn, Eva’s good. I’m lucky to have found her. Unfortunately I have had to part company with the Hyatt gym. They just kept on giving me locker key number 69, and frankly it got too much. I can’t bear locker-based innuendo, you know?

Eva & me at the concert

Me & Eva at the concert

After a gruelling workout, a power brunch, and a long nap, I was glad that Eva had gunned me out of my slumber. I had such a glow about me later, as I sashayed along Orchard Road to do some shoppage. I took my lovely designer trolley with me because I wanted to go to Ambercrombie, so I needed to bring my heavy spelunking gear. Trolleys used to be mummsy, but if you still think that, where have you been?! You’re nobody in Singas if you don’t have a trolley.

Trolleys = hotness

Trolleys = hotness

As I passed the Paragon, a fine ang mo gentleman, who must’ve been at least 70 (but had a full head of sandy blonde hair, and was a dead ringer for Robert Redford), sidled up beside me and complimented me on my trolley. As I am always friendly to strangers, I indulged his apparent desire for a little small talk, entering into conversation. I just love older people. They’re so nice.

I asked him if he lived here, and upon confirmation, I questioned whether he had a trolley. He responded, “No, I have my backpack. And I have great muscles. Do you want to try me out?”

I was a tad taken aback, and for a moment I wondered if he was offering to carry me to Abercrombie. When he winked, it clicked that this was probably not what he was offering, so I said, “Oh old babe, that’s like totes lovely, but no thanks”, and then grabbed my phone, pretending it had rung.

“Sooooooo soz, nice old man who is so nice, but I’ve got to take this call. It’s the help”, I told him, and gave him the final honour of my beautiful Kate Middleton smile.

I get propositioned all the time, naturally, but this was the first occasion where the propositioner was of such an advanced age, and therefore so very wise. It just goes to show that a good workout will bring all the boys to the yard.


O

EM

GEE

I was just going to click publish on this post when one of my girlies sent me this link to a casting call Diva TV is doing for the show How Do I Look Asia. I’m impeccably dressed at all times already, but I’d love to do more telly. I should totes do that, am I right?? Anyone want to nominate me?

Rap Expat Stylee

So I was out today, like any normal day, doing my usual rounds of the malls on Orchard Road (gotta stay on top of new shopping amazenesses), and I saw an expat woman walking her dog. Not partic remarkablé, I hear you say, but what was in fact tremendously remarkablé was that this dog was wearing an utterly awesome dokini. Froo Froo already has a huge-acious collection of dokinis, but this one was nothing short of

DIVINE.

I smiled my lovely Kate Middleton smile at the woman (I was wearing a Diane vom Furstenbobby dress so I was basically a teleported version of Kate herself, unpregnant), and as da beat over-took my earthly presence, I asked her a nice enough question…

I could’ve kept going, but I stopped at that point because, not only did the woman not let me take a picture of her dog to put on my blog, and not tell me where she got the dokini, but she just stared at me, all weird and horrificated. Like there’s something wrong with a stranger doing a bit of free-stylin’ about your dog at the junction of Scott’s and Orchard. And then she walked off! I thought I heard her say “head case” as she went, but I’m not sure. Rudeness much!! Some people just don’t know how to behave in public places.

IMG_4525

Hold up

P.S. It’s actually not a normal day today. It’s actually my birthday. 39, ARGH!! Thank goodness I’m looking so hot, or 39-ness plus this morning’s rudeness could have pushed me over the edge of reasonality, into an abyss that even Kanye in a white Rolls-Royce Phantom couldn’t rescue me from. Totes <3 Kanye. Who doesn’t, right??? That Kimmy is one lucky ladeee.

Sneaky Snogging on Airplane?!

Holiday snaps of Vagi Wraps

Holiday snaps of Vagi Wraps

Well, babeses, I’m writing to you from the airport because, although I was having the best holiday everrrrrr, like I always do, it was also pretty crap. The encounter I had on the first day with my least favourite member of the Singapore Expaterati got me off to a bad start, and then the children were driving me over the edge, without our helper with us. Furthermore, spending so much time with the little irritants was in direct contravention of Item Six of my New Year’s resolutions.

Then yesterday Don said something about having lots of work to catch up with, so I thought, right! You get back to work, and I’ll get back to my proper holiday. Yayay!! Can’t wait to be home, rollerblading down Orchard Road, after a few glasses of Veuve Click, with the wind cascading through my fabulous flaming locks! Singas, look out! Momma’s comin’ home : )!!! До Свидания, Boragrad!


It’s a bit later and we’re on the plane back. I love using the internet on flights, just because I can. Plus, I wanted to let you know ASAP about the shocking revelation that has just revealed itself to mine eyes. You’re not going to believe this, but I SWEARS it’s truesome.

So. Doom and Gloom Expat Wifey’s husband, Fred, and his (male!!) PA are on our flight, but they haven’t spotted me as I’m quite inconspicuous when I want to be, and we’re sitting a few rows behind them (no, not in Economy!). Right after take off, they ordered champagne, clinked glasses, had a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching (haha!!), and then… They snogged! OMG!! As if swinging among the Expaterati wasn’t shocking enough! Now we have this married expat chap having a flingthing with his blokie assistant!! What else is going on in our very midst? I dread to think, dear readers, I really do.

It’s no wonder though because that wife of his is a mega-drag and if I was a gay guy, Mr PA would well be on my wuddya?-hells-to-the-ya list!!

I’d better go because it’s only a short flight and I need to watch at least one film, as well as find something from the inflight shopping mag to buy that I don’t already have. Tricky!

Ooooh, tuna wasabi yum yum!

Ooooh, tuna wasabi yum yum!

Young Women = Annoying

Sometimes I look at young people, well just the women, and I think, “UGH. You’re just so YOUNG and so PERFECT, aren’t you??! Well, UGH to you!!”

It’s not that I’m jealous. Jealousy is not a Thing for me at all. It’s more that until recently, I too was v young, and these girls just don’t care. Yes, kiddo on the street in your tiny shorts, I too had perfect long limbs. They’re actually still rather great, and attract lots of male attention (unwanted, I hasten to add). But what I’m trying to say is that I, too, was just like you girlies. It’s only all of sudden lately, so so suddenly… that I am apparently not : (

Being the tremendously positive and resilient person that I am though, I have developed a v clever way to turn that frown upside down. When I see one of these young fillies prancing along Orchard Road (no, sweetie, this isn’t bloody Fifth Avenue), I smile to myself, and think, “Ha, but you’re going to die too one day, you know! And it could be quite horrible!! In fact, you might not even make it to my age, let alone to your dotage. AND I bet that even if you do get to my age (only 38!), you won’t look half as good as moi.”

So that, dear reader(s), is how I do it. Try it some time, ladies!

I should think about becoming a life coach. I’d be awesomeness. I could trademark my unique approach, and call it something like EJ’s Transformative Total Resilience Technique TM. Likee.

A Tale of Two Husbands

Another stressful couple of days, dear reader(s).

One of the yoga places I go to that I really rate (and my rating should not be under-estimated in its value, given that I am an accomplished lifelong yogi, and can do the crow pose) is on Orchard, not far from my house. It’s one of those very earnest and spiritual, but warehousey-cool places (so cool they don’t provide any means of drying your hands after using the loo – I love that nonconformity!), where the atmosphere is befittingly sombre and dignified. I can’t stand it when people don’t take their practice seriously.

I really needed to go this evening because it has been a serio stresso couple of days. As it turned out though, even the yoga was mega-stresso! There was a girl there, late twenties/ early thirties, all skinny and dressed up in her Lulu Lemon, like she has even the faintest idea of what yoga is really about. It’s not about the clothes, honey!!

When we were doing the tree pose she kept peering at me, like, can you hold this as long as I can? I held it AND I closed my eyes, which is a very difficult thing to do, as any experienced yogi would know. I flickered them open occasionally to check out how she was doing. Haha, lo and behold she was trying to close her eyes too, but kept losing her balance. Oh you silly girl! It takes a lot of serenity, loving karma, and oneness with the universe to achieve the closed-eye tree pose, sweetheart. Stupid b****.

So anyway, yes, serio stressoso time right now.

Don got back yesterday. The children greeted him like he was some kind of hero, returning victorious from battle. Come on, I’m the one who has spent the last week in battle! With those little ingrates.

Froo Froo dog is, I suspect, developing dog borderline personality disorder. That’s the most difficult disorder to work with in humans, Clara says. So, in dogs, I dread to think what we are going to do. I would welcome any suggestions. (And, don’t forget, you can follow me on twitter @expatej)

After the children were in bed, Don passed out. Great, sweetie. So good to have you home.

Having run out of floss, I went into his washbag (Don is a passionate flosser) to find his. I found something else though…

Unknown

And it was half-empty!! What fresh hell is this???

I mailed Don immediately to address the situation. I’m not one to let these things fester. It’s not good for my chi.

He rang me to say that it has always in his washbag, and I must have forgotten we used to use it, it has been so long. Excuse me, what now, now??? OK, that does ring a bell when I think about it, but taking it on a work trip? Hmmmmmmm.

Then something quite shocking happened, dear reader:

IMG_0429

I didn’t respond, but I can imagine that Michelle – much as I adore her ridic-amundo – is a nightmare wife, so I do feel for Bill. He seems like a nice guy, despite everything. I used to think Michelle was just a really fun lady. Now I’m starting to wonder what it must be like to be live with her 24/7. Flo told me she starts drinking in the morning! Argh!! No wonder she needs so much botox.

Oh dear, what a messed up day. I’m so glad I have a massage booked first thing tomorrow. FYI, the massage is at the Hyatt, of which I am now an Official Member. Having so arduously struggled with deciding which club to join, I realised that I needed to prioritise Me in this difficult process of remaining sane under duress. So, I joined the Hyatt rather than bothering with all the other clubby nonsense. So far, so good. It could do with a refurb, but I’m not one to make a scene.