Satan claus,Sally Army and cough drops!

The festive season is now fast approaching and I have to admit it feels very strange. Without the usual mayhem that ensues at this time of year in 'Blighty' it just feels like any other week. When I say mayhem, what I actually mean is I haven't spent the last week panicking that I have not done any shopping and am not permanently hungover! With no work parties to attend and most friends out of town, the build up has been quite sedate and my liver is thanking me for it.

It is quite liberating not being bombarded with Xmas adverts on the television and radio.Shopping is a joy because there are not five hundred thousand blokes doing exactly what I usually do - hitting Prada and Gucci on Xmas eve in a panic - and the streets are not crowded with gangs of boozed up Santa's! I have finished all my shopping and feel very organised and in control, yet something just doesn't feel right.

It might be that I read yesterday that Blighty is experiencing a cold snap and temperatures will go as low as -6 degrees. It is still pretty warm here something we don't associate with Xmas and I am playing cricket on Saturday! The Delhites however, are at least trying to do their bit to help me find my festive cheer and take me closer to home. Most of them are wrapped up like a Himalayan mountain rescue team to try and combat the morning low of about 15degs!

It is the funniest thing when I go for milk in the morning in shorts and a tee and pass the security guards huddled around fires with hats, scarves and gloves, even the dogs are now wearing coats! I have no idea why, yesterday the temperature was 26 degs!

It is not just the lack of liver damage,cold and shopping that is missing though.Nor the fact we have a tree we have christened Kate (after miss Moss due to it looking slightly anorexic). This will be the first time that 'A' and I have spent Xmas away from our families. My "supermum" had her last chemo this week and has the energy of a teenager! She would be the first to admit that she can be a tad "humbug" about all things Xmas but this year she has had a road-to-Damascus-Scrooge-like-turnaround and is as excited as a dog in a butchers shop! Xmas will be a very special one this year in The Conde house and we will be drinking a huge toast to mum's continuing good health.

"A"'s family need no excuse to celebrate Xmas. when it comes to excitement and dedication to the cause, they can make The Griswald family look like Jehova's witnesses. It is not uncommon for Christmas dinner at their house to last 4 days. A family camped out at the table refusing to admit that the day is actually over! They have stocking presents; Santa presents;tree presents;table stocking presents and afternoon tree presents! No exaggeration! I have been with 'A' for 12 years and still have no idea how it all works!

It does though and Xmas with the Conde's and the Light's is a yearly highlight that will be sorely missed. We will though be doing our best to recreate some of the magic for our boy's and with the help of Bob Dylan's 'Christmas in the heart' CD on a permanent loop we are slowly but surely getting there. We even had the 'Sally bash' turn up last night to serenade us with carols. Armed with a lot of spirit, tambourines, a Bontempi keyboard and the scariest Santa I have ever seen, they sang a few fave's while Raffi cowered in the corner hiding his eyes from "Satan Claus"!

It was all very festive in an Indian kind of way. In an attempt to make up for scaring a 4 year old and a "thirtysomething" (I have been barred from stating my age in public as 'A' said that it would make it easier for people to guess her age and she is still not admitting to a day over 30) man to death, Satan Claus gave us a bag of sweets. All very nice and Rafa was just beginning to warm to him when we realised that they were in fact cough sweets!

As I said all very Indian, this is how I feel Xmas will be this year. A little slice of 'Blighty' with an Indian twist, our only problem now is finding sprouts, feel free to send out an emergency food parcel for us. I will gladly swap them for a kilo of Honitus honey and ginger cough drops!

In the mean time,Merry Xmas to all and thanks for reading, over 2000 hits now!! Mulled wine anyone?

Indian house husband: Broken hearts

Indian house husband: Broken heartshttp://www.marieclaire.co.uk/community/blog/433798/a-soul-mot-in-365-days.html

Broken hearts

I read Lucy Robinson's blog in Marie Claire yesterday and felt it needed to be read by as many people as possible because it is quite brilliant.Click on the link to view.

The pain just drips off the page and as I was reading it I was almost in shock, as I realised that a heart could be broken so badly. After taking a while to digest it and reading it again a few times, my focus turned from pity for Lucy to intrigue at why break ups seem to hurt women so much more than men.

It was at this point that I stopped and thought whooooooo there! This is a nest of vipers you really don't want to disturb, be sensible, leave it there and walk away.Unfortunately the stubborn part of me kept wandering back for another dig around and I started to go back through the hazy mists of time to my own relationship break ups and those of my friends, to see if I could recall anyone hurting that badly.

Now I have had more than my fair share of break ups over the years, but I don't ever remember spending week after week crying and contemplating suicide. More to the point, I never heard of an ex of mine being in a bad way either. Is it just me, am I completely shallow? Was I actually such a crap boyfriend that nobody ever felt bothered enough to be upset by me finishing things?

One of my relationship's ended with me being beat up with a saucepan! After I had dropped the bomb shell that I wanted to end it, she stormed off to the kitchen to get a pan to scoop up my gold-fish because "I am taking my f****** gold-fish with me because it is my f****** gold-fish and not your f****** gold-fish, I f****** bought it for you and I f****** hate you and hope you die" at which point I started laughing. Big mistake. She proceeded to pound me with it before going outside and "keying" my car. I still have a phobia for all things Prestige to this day.Not long after she was in the tabloids linked to a member of the royal family so she clearly didn't have too many problems getting over me.

I remember one particular break up that I was slightly cut up about and I my well have spent a week moping in my bedroom, listening to Leonard Cohen. Other than that though I am at a loss to remember any lasting upset. There was always something else to do like playing football, drinking with mates, playing football and drinking with mates, playing football and ...... hang on, was it really that simple? Is that all it took to get over a break up?

While women spend weeks puzzling where it went wrong and what they could have done different, do men really just play or watch football and drink with their mates.Is that our only defence mechanism? Millions of years of evolution and the best we can come up with is football and beer.

Are we really that basic and shallow? Are we all the same? Do any men go in to a year long slump? Not that I recall. I remember Marc breaking up with Barbara when we were 15 and taking to his bed for a week because "We had a pregnancy scare and I really thought it had bought us together as a couple, but when she found out the test was negative she dumped me". He actually missed a Friday night disco at North Park over that, the pain was so acute. He eventually got up because "I could smell bacon and it was Villa Man U. on the telly"

I had another mate Dave who split up with Tor after seven years together at the age of 23. She was younger and "felt she was too young to be settled down" and as I recall, it hit Dave pretty hard. He spent about a month listening to tape recordings of Northants Fm's Sunday night Cuddle-on-the-couch-show and played crap for our football team at the time, but before you knew it was back drinking snake-bite and black propping up the bar at Rockefeller's looking for a new girl!

At the same time, I knew some girl's who were completely devastated and "would never be the same again" and "will never be able to love again" because of break ups. One girl I knew actually attempted an overdose while another eventually got married but still always kept a picture of my mate (who dumped her) in her purse and apparently does to this day!

Why do women seem to suffer so badly with break ups? One female friend theorises that men always "hold a bit back while women put their everything in to relationships" thus leaving themselves more vulnerable when things go wrong.I don't believe this for a minute. I think I have always given my all to relationships but sometimes they just don't work out. When that time comes you have to make a practical decision about what you are going to do. Maybe that is it, maybe men can compartmentalise things practically while women do it emotionally.

I don't know all the answers but I am so glad I have never spent a year feeling like Lucy - and quite a few of her readers who have tagged on comments. I really hope as well that I have never made anyone feel that way but if I have I am really sorry. Nobody should ever have to suffer the sort of pain Lucy describes but that, and her on-going search for a decent bloke through Internet dating make for fantastic reading.

SO thanks Lucy, not only for providing thought provoking and genuinely touching blogging but for also reminding me how lucky I am to have found 'A'. If she was to ever get fed up of my general idiocy and call it a day I may well be feeling your pain!

http://www.marieclaire.co.uk/community/blog/433798/a-soul-mot-in-365-days.html

Missing decade

I have just been back to "Blighty" and had a huge trip down memory lane. The North End Lads (NEL) were reunited for the first time in too long and I got chance to spend some time with my fantastic mum and dad. They are doing well and my mum is putting up a Stirling fight against her cancer. Dad is right along side her and helping her every step of the way, when he is not tripping over dishwasher doors left open by me! Apart from that though, there seemed to be a general feeling of doom and gloom about the place.

I had forgoten how bleak the British autumn could be. It seemed to be raining from the time I landed to the time I left and good news was far from the front pages. I think it was my brief trip back to Clapham though that has brought on a strange longing for the "noughties". Not usually one for nostalgia - unlike 'A' who loves it but thinks it isn't what it used to be! - I have found myself drifting back misty eyed to happy times and wondering where it all went?

Has anyone seen the noughties? Has anyone else lost them? I have spent the morning looking for them but can't find them anywhere! We are just a few short weeks from a new decade and this one seems to have passed by while I was busy doing something else.

I know having thought about it at length this morning that I have crammed a lot in, but still refuse to believe it was actually 10 years long. In that time I got married;had two children;travelled 40000km around India;lived in a foreign country;lived in eight properties;had four jobs;visited 11 countries;had seven friends, two uncles and a grandma all die yet it seems to have gone in the blink of an eye! Nearly 15% of my three score and ten gone, consigned to history,the annals of time never to be returned.

Surely it can't be more than 3 years since we all sat around waiting for planes to drop out of the sky and computers' the world over to crash, causing catastrophe on a global scale? No more than 3 years since we were deciding whether to pay out huge sums for a ticket to a super-club, or "getting away from it all with a few friends to a cottage in Norfolk/Devon/Cornwall"(delete as applicable)? No more than 3 years since we really did "PARTY LIKE IT'S 1999"!? I won't accept it has gone, I feel cheated and want it back now. If anyone finds it please hand it in to the local police station.

The Noughties were always going to be fantastic. All us thirty-somethings now, who were late twenty's then and in our prime knew it was going to be a great time in our lives. Something special was in the air, our J.F.K.(Tony) was in power, Oasis were number one and everything seemed possible. Here on the cusp of the next decade that same air has rotted, our Nixon (Brown) is in power,Bob the builder is number one and that "anything is possible" feeling seems to have been replaced with dread!

I didn't feel any remorse - apart from missing family - on my departure back to Delhi. I really feel that this decade is going to be even better than the last despite the massive debt the Government has saddled us with and despite the fact there seems to be little optimism about.

It is so much healthier to look forward to the amazing times ahead than the amazing times behind. I don't know what the "teenies" will have in store for us but I know they will be great. While I am with 'A' and the boy's they always are, so if you do find the "noughties" down the back of the settee, or in the gap between the driving seat and the hand-brake in the car, just leave them there. I don't actually want them back, I am marching on to the best ten years of my life!

Perspective!

I had a question to answer while registering Silas last week at nursery that asked the occupation of the father. I paused for a second and felt ashamed for a brief moment that I could put nothing, I also thought about lying! What would Silas say if he could talk? What does Rafa say at school when people ask what his daddy does for a job? Why do I feel slightly ashamed that my answer had to be house husband? I thought I was over all this but still it rears its ugly head.

I would love to do this for the rest of my life and find the thought of going back to work really tough. I love this time with my children and wife so why do I feel so guilty about it all? Every male I know is so jealous of my situation and yet I feel I may be starting to take it for granted. It also caused me to take a bit of a dip for the first time,feel a bit sorry for myself and make me question if we are doing the right thing - for the first time - for me.

It has made me seriously question the little microcosm of expatsville life we live in - and my role in it - for the first time. The little things that up to now have not bothered me are suddenly starting to grind. Small things like traffic and other things you have no control over, like the fact that you have to get people out five or six times to do the same job they should have done right the first time suddenly seem really important but I have had some sobering home truths to snap me out of it.

An old friend Danny is currently in a hospice for his last few days aping what recently happened to my best man and mate Matt Saunders and as most readers know my mum is currently battling cancer. On top of this I have my mother and father in law out here who have had a monumental amount of hurt to deal with over the last year, the least of which is losing their daughter and grandchildren to another continent.

I look at the way they are all dealing with their respective problems with nothing but admiration and realise my lot is pretty good! My mum is a complete inspiration, she has never put any pressure or guilt on to us here and has fought her cancer with a dignity and bravery which is breathtaking. Every step of the way she has been helped by my dad who always has and always will be my hero and my sister who has a huge amount of daily pressure of her own.

My mother and father in law are probably the most decent people I have ever met and really have no right to have gone through what they have recently along with my beautiful sister in law and yet still they are smiling and showing a stiff upper lip above and beyond the call of duty.

I always get a bit introspective and low when I am facing a trip back to blighty. I don't know for definite why but can't help but feel it might be the fact that I will be back in the Conde family bossom and not want to leave again. Open fires in Autumn, good red wine, great company and roast beef are something I am really looking forward to but part of me feels that here is home now and leaving it will be a wrench. Despite this, I can't wait to see my mum, dad and sister and tell them how much I love them and how proud I am to call them my family.

More to the point, the in laws being here and seeing their hurt and knowing the brave battle my family is putting up at home against the bastard that is cancer is helping me to realise what a great life I actually have.

It is time to "man up", see that I am living the proverbial "Reilly" life and get on with it. Dan, ma,pa,Pickle,Bomes,Peter and Brenda, you are an inspiration and I am truly the luckiest man alive. Thank you.

Dead dogs and Englishmen.

The gallery was silent, the players poised, caddies rummaged through bags and ball spotters eagerly awaited their prey. On the tee representing Great Britain in the first of the singles, Sanjeev Jagtiani closely followed by Lindsay Onton, Seelan Moodley and Tomi vuorenmma. Names not sound familiar? No Poulter, Westwood and Garcia here and the American team was shorn of Woods,Michelson and Daley represented instead by Ammerman, Mungjitfamman,Nam,Ahn and Radzus! Confused? You will be.

The British singles I named above are: American,Australian,South African and Swedish respectively! They are part of the British Golf Society (BGS) "Ryder Cup" team that comprised seven Brits, two yanks, two Aussies, two Indians, one Saffer a Swede and an Italian! An eclectic mix competing in the 55th annual "Ryder cup" against the American Golf Association (AGA). This is a tournament that was first contested in 1954 between The American High commission of New Delhi and their British counterparts and morphed slightly over the years to encompass ex-pats of all nationalities living in and around New Delhi.

Golden Greens Golf Club in Gurgaon Harayana was the venue for the contest,with the respective captains Robert Lowe (BGS) and David Ammerman (AGA) calling for a more friendly encounter this year after the last two having a "war on the shore" feel to them. The BGS seemed to be heading into the contest as favourites as the AGA were apparently scratching around for players. They managed to get a side out for match day but with some slightly questionable handicaps which added to the competitive edge and feeling of gamesmanship rearing it's head!

The teams congregated on match day for a briefing on the rules and format and it was here that the gamesmanship was cranked up a notch. The AGA as hosts for the day were responsible for getting t-shirts for both sides but only managed to get their own sorted out. Their reason for this was the sort of thing you could imagine happening in the actual Ryder Cup and therefore completely excusable, imagine a conversation something like this:

2010 Ryder Cup captains meeting first morning:

Colin Montgomerie: Morning Corey

Corey pavin: Hey big Monty how you doing?

CM: Not bad thanks, I hear you have had a few problems getting a team together this year?

CP: Yeah I won't lie it has been a pain in the ass but I have got there in the end. Tiger got pulled back home due to the recession, Phil has been relocated to Hong Kong recently and Boo has split up with the Mrs and had to move back home.We got a few players at the last minute and I won't lie Col their handicaps could be a bit iffy!

cm: Don't worry about it Corey it is more important we play the game and in the right spirit as well. Have you got our team shirts as some of the guys are keen to get out on the range?

cp: Ah yes t-shirts, we were going to sort them out right?

cm: yes

cp: Yeah well,er slight problem there as we never actually managed to get yours done.

cm: Why not Corey? You all have your new matching shirts on with beautifully embroidered logo, where are ours?

cp: Well you see it was kinda funny but the place we went to get them seemed to have a few problems after they did ours

cm: Problems, what sort of problems Corey?

cp: Well it seems that there embroidery machine broke down and it was too late in the day to get them done elsewhere. Well when I say embroidery machine broke down what I actually mean is the factory got busted for using child labour and in the raid everything in the factory was seized including your shirts!

cm: Oh well never mind, we will play in skins.

cp: Good man Col, knew you would understand.

The BGS never actually played in skins - much to my disappointment, the factory was raided for breaking child labour laws though and the captain took it all with admirable good grace. Very similar to how you would imagine Monty to be!

The BGS captain Rob Lowe, is not the Hollywood heartthrob and founding brat pack member (though very similar in physique and equally handsome) but an Essex boy involved in international shipping. He is also one of the better golfers playing off a very respectable 11 handicap and one of the BGS "bankers" for a point. Unfortunately on the day he was resoundingly beaten by the aforementioned Kitisak Mungjitfamman a name a lot easier to type than say!

The reasons for the skipper getting beaten were many, here are a selection of them:

"I played like a bit of a tosser"

"I spent more time in the bush than Ray Mears"

" My driver didn't function"

"My driver ran over a pair of dogs on the way to the game"

In the last quote, the driver mentioned has nothing to do with a golf club at all but is Rob's chaufer. On the way in to the golf club he inadvertently ran over a couple of strays which is not a pleasant experience at the best of times but becomes ten times worse when the local villagers all come out and claim they are their pets! Rob was in a nasty situation where he had a straight choice between a large amount of compensation or a good kicking. Not surprisingly he chose to make a donation and try and get some treatment for the dog's and thus had other things on his mind on the first tee!

He was by no means alone in defeat though and several members of the BGS had an equally good reason - note the emphasis on reason as opposed to excuse - for defeat, another piece of gamesmanship from the AGA!

This final and despicable under-hand tactic was revealed in the pre match address when it was announced by the American captain that the free bar at the party in the evening would be closing at 9pm! A more cutting blow could not have been delivered, a dagger to the heart of the hardened drinkers of the BGS. A blow John "tiger" Tilley and David "kingfisher" Taylor never really recovered from, both losing their respective four balls through lack of concentration and huge disappointment. David was heard to grumble through gritted teeth on the 11th tee while 1 down:

"It's ridiculous, don't they know we don't even start drinking till 9pm usually"?

While they were busy going 2 down!

The four balls were undoubtedly the Achilles heal in the BGS team with the only positive score being a win from Michael Archdeacon (AUS) and Andrew Horne(GBR) proving that there really is no bitter taste left after that Ashes win!

Point scorers in the singles included Sanjeev Jagtiani, an American flown in at great expense from Mumbai,Seelan Moodley a South African driven in from Vasant Vihar, Tomi Vuorenmma from Sweeden and Richard Downey from Enland,a great performance from the Scouse media mogul beating a Korean 10 handicapper. Richard was six up at the turn but his game fell apart due to a par blitz from his opponent and the distraction of worrying what he was going to do after 9pm! He eventually won on the 18th with a birdie and this wasn't to be Richard's only victory of the day, he also won most pissed person of the evening narrowly beating my wife 'A' into second place.

The day culminated in a Mongolian bar-be-que, a tray of tequila slammers from David Briskman (no doubt helping Rich and 'A' on their way),free beer and wine and the trophy presentation and speaches at the American ACSA club which was likened to: "An ex-eastern bloc detention centre" by a BGS member that wanted to remain strictly "off the record". For the record, the USA recorded a seven and a half, four and a half victory to take the trophy for the first time in 2 years

Next year could be interesting as numbers on both sides are dwindling and the chance of both teams playing in "skins" is a very real possibility! Till then, congratulations to the AGA and well drunk to the BGS!

As a small foot note I just wanted to say hi to the four very hungover Glaswegian Indians in the club house. Unfortunately, though showing a massive amount of potential - not necessarily in golf but in the fact they were wearing sunglasses in doors at 10am - they were just passing through and couldn't become BGS members. They were golfing their way from Delhi to the Punjab doing their "Kunta Kinte thing" and obviously doing some pretty impressive drinking on the way. I hope the trip was a success and if you ever move back fellas, please look us up, fresh blood is always welcome!

Pictured top left: The elegance of Richard Downey
top right: Damn that pesky 9pm curfew, David Taylor
bottom left: Richard Downey,Rajesh Bakshi and Sanjeev Jagtiani.

I wanna wake up this old city that always sleeps.

The Commonwealth games are fast approaching here in Delhi, they are in fact now less than a year away. The chief officer for the games Sheila Dikshit - I swear it is true - has promised to deliver an epic games with state of the art facilities for both competitor's and spectators.

I don't doubt what she says but they really need to get a move on! The city at the moment is like one huge building site. The redevelopment that comes along with the games is going to be a huge bonus for this amazing city, with new roads and flyovers springing up and a metro system the envy of anywhere providing a lasting legacy of the games. It should also hopefully wake the government and the people from it's slumber and get them to start taking part in sport and particularly athletics.

The Delhites and Indian's in general can be a little bit - to put it politely - lethargic! The nations favourite pass time would appear to be sleeping and 'just enough' would appear to be good enough for them. Most of the ex-pats I speak to say the most frustrating thing is the working standards of the Indian people. The work ethic is there but the attitude seems to be near enough is good enough and evidence of this can be found all over Delhi.

It is a constant source of amazement to me that you can drive past a flyover in the afternoon that looks like it still has months to go till completion, only to drive over it the next day. It is like someone has told them it needs to be finished by tomorrow so everyone piles in to get it finished and they do. They open the flyover on time as promised and the cars stream over and the traffic eases and everyone is happy. The problem is, at some point someone has said "sod clearing all that rubble up and fixing those crash barriers, we will do that tomorrow once it is open". Unfortunately the next day once it is open there is another flyover that needs to be opened elsewhere and everyone moves over to that and forgets about clearing up the rubble and fixing the crash barriers!

Everything has a feeling of 'half finished' about it and you have to wonder if they will ever get round to doing the other half. It seems to be an attitude that spills over in to sport with the obvious exception of cricket though it could be argued success there was only after an influx of foreign coaching and ideals. Football is growing hugely here but the money going into the sport is not increasing at the same rate and they are therefore plodding along with poor facilities, poor coaching and one would imagine by the sheer numbers, a massive amount of talent. The Indian 100mtr record is over 10.5 seconds and if you google sprinting and India it is virtually impossible to find anything related to Indian nationals. This from a country with an estimated population of 1.3 billion!

I am fascinated to know what the cause of this malaise is and more to the point, how do they as a nation snap out of it? The friends that I have made here who are Indians are in the main hugely successful,thus completely contradicting what I have been going on about in the previous paragraphs. Most of them have come from relative privilege though so have an advantage from the start but seem to agree with alot of what I say.

Everywhere you go you see people snoozing, on the side of the road, in the middle of roundabouts, on auto rick's, lorries,cars and even bikes. It is a national pass time and when I ask friends why this is they have no real answer. The most popular theory seems to be that is just a habit, something people have seen their father's and grandfather's before them doing and have just followed on. Our house keeper Indu snoozes at every possible opportunity. When she babysits she is often asleep before we are in the taxi and will always cop a few zee's in her lunch break.

I can't help but wonder what this country could achieve in sport and commerce if it got it's act together and woke up. They are leading the field in sectors like i.t. and their outsourcing capabilities are second to none. What if they were to turn these skills to sport. What if they as a nation made a decision to start doing things properly,finish jobs they started and stopped accepting 'just enough' as being good enough? Then we would see a huge change that would surely be beneficial to the people of this fabulous country.

I know exactly what needs to be done to wake them from their slumber and change the decades of indifference and apathy. A blueprint for the the children of India that they can follow to make them a super-power in sport and world commerce. Give them pride in what they are doing and the desire to get things finished.

I would type it out now but really feel I should sleep on it!

Fashion, my new passion!

I have just got back from my first fashion show. I say first fashion show, what I actually mean is indian fashion weeks live runway shows. There is a difference you know, I know this because I am a fashionista who has lived most of his life at the cutting edge of pop culture and fashion, from modelling snorkel parkas for Kay's catalogue at Wicksteed park in the 70's to runway modelling for Diana's dress agency in the 90's!

Dovetailing nicely with my comprehensive modelling history is my mum's who was voted 'best leg's in Creswell' in 1959, successfully defending her title the following year. She was also runner up in the 'face of Creswell colliery', a competition I believe it was compulsory to 'black up' with pit dust for!

My dad was also a fairly iconic character who sported a perm and porn star moustache when Kevin Keegan was still wondering if he "had the length right" for one. Just to put the final stamp of authority on my fashion credentials I have been married for 7 years to a woman who lives and breathes it. There is very little she doesn't know on the subject and has an exemplary history of sartorial elegance even defending her flirtation with Doc boots and dungarees in her student days by saying:
"That look was very in for a while".
She even did a bit of runway work in her time, though I suspect that may have been while temping as a baggage handler at Stanstead.

The point I am trying to get across is that fashion is in my blood, there is nothing I can do other than embrace it and so it was, with immense enthusiasm and deep gratitude that I accepted an invitation to the last day of Indian Fashion Week from none other than Mr Sunil Sethi, a powerful man on the Indian fashion council.

My first dilemma was clearly what look should I go for? Cravat and blazer combo -David Niven in Delhi? Skinny jeans and leather jacket - cool uncle Mannion? Jeans ,trainers and an over-washed T - Delhi working man? Or my usual jeans and a Ted shirt- K-town cool? The decision was ultimately made - obviously - by 'A' who's comments ranged from "I am not going out with you dressed like that" to "you really haven't got a clue have you?". In the end it was a cheeky little military style Zara shirt with a pair of 501's. I was allowed to pick my own socks which I was particularly happy about. Whenever 'A' tells me we are going to dinner somewhere I always ask socks or no socks. It is how I define upmarket in Delhi. I have so far worn them 3 times in 6 months, so you can see what a big deal the night ahead was going to be.

We arrived in the Ambassador, tossed the keys to the valet and were whisked through the hoi polloi to the sanctuary of the VIP area, where I immediately started to feel my age and weight! We were surrounded by the young and beautiful of India and drank red wine while being Pap'd by photographers who clearly had no idea who we were. I then commited a huge faux pas by wading into the free grub while all around stared at me in disgust. "What are you doing you tit?" 'A' scalded. "First rule about fashion is nobody eats, the second rule about fashion is nobody eats" I found a convenient place to set down my plate and pretended to be interested in the programme when there was a tap on my shoulder.

I turned round to find a saxophonist asking me what I would like to hear. I was tempted to say Lick my love by Cradle of Filth but had a feeling he wouldn't know it, so instead settled for Nothing's gonna change my love for you by Glen Madeiros. This was clearly faux pas number 2 as the looks I got from everyone - including my own wife - screamed idiot!

I was swiftly rescued from my growing embarrassment and general un-coolness by a guy issuing us our tickets for the first show. Once again we were ushered through the masses to another VIP holding area just outside the main runway. Here we waited with Delhi's bold and beautiful before being shown to our seats. Front row right in the centre no less, flanked by Marie Claire India, Vogue India and GQ, I felt myself ascend from boiling hot to mildly hypothermic on the coolometer. The look's of envy from opposite row 2 would have reduced Medusa to stone. "Act natural" I whispered to 'A' through gritted teeth "Make it look like we do this sort of thing all the time" to which she replied "shut up Conde you twat", slamming me back to earth.

The lights dimmed,the hip hop music cranked up to 11 and the latest creations by Meera & Muzaffar Ali were donned by some of the most beautiful women I have ever shared the same oxygen with. The look was traditional Indian chic,all flowing silks and satins with detailed embroidery and sumptuous beading. I was genuinely blown away by the beauty of it all. 'A' seemed to be commenting more about the state of the models knees,elbows and complexions. I resisted the urge to say they may well spend alot of time on all fours!

We made most of our comments from behind our hands, this was just how 'A' was sitting, whereas I can't tell a lie in this blog and will admit I was trying to give myself an air of mystery and make it look like I knew what I was doing. The show ended, the designers took their bow and we went back to the free bar to discuss how cool we were.

Appetite whet, I was really up for the next show. The designer was Prashant Verma, a young hip Indian designer and there was a real buzz developing around the place. we took our seats again and as the flashbulbs started and the smoke machine cranked up I made a mental note to never come to something like this again without losing a stone and gaining some cool shades.

The models came and went in a flash of what I can best describe as Gotham City inspired satin and silk. In marked contrast to the previous traditional Indian look, Prashant's collection was alive,vibrant and pure sexy. Slashed harem pants - I was wearing those 3 years ago, round toe shoes - I bought those in 05 and military buttoned jackets - remember me telling you that was going to be big on Parhar Ganj, were just some of the comments from 'A'.

We both agreed though that the show was electric and a complete triumph, the audience seemed to concur. I can reveal that toe-less pumps and silk printed dresses are the future and Military is still very hot but needs to be done with a twist.I left the show enthused by fashion and looking forward to the next show but feeling all of my 37 years and 16 stone. Maybe I should leave the fashion and red wine to 'A and stick to football. Kingfisher anyone?

What would you do if a bird shit on your head?

It is the first and I hope, last time I title my blog with a Bernard Manning joke, and fortunately for you the answer is not: leave her! I did have the misfortune however, to be in the position where I had to come up with an answer to the title question last week.

As usual,it wasn't just a simple case of walking down the street and passing under a tree full of incontinent pigeons. That would be too normal for this City, it was in fact while having my weekly shave.

I probably have to explain at this point that my weekly shave is not so much a matter of indulgence, more endurance. I stroll up to the market where there are 7 chairs spread out along the pavement, underneath a tarpaulin. It is here I find my arch nemesis and torturer in chief,Asif. He looks forward to my weekly trip to him in equal measure to the amount I dread it.The reason for this is that he charges me 5times what he charges the locals and I just can't say NO!

It doesn't matter how hard I try, or how much I repeat the word over and over in my head,I can't get those two little letters out. I am convinced he could ask me for my first born and I would just hand him over.I sit down in the chair and spell it out to him with words and mime, that I just want a shave. This is acknowledged and the shave commences. All relatively straight forward you would think? Oh no, this is where the problems start! See Asif has twigged that I find it hard to get out of the chair, hand over my 10rps and walk away and so preys on it.

Out comes the face cream and before I have had the chance to object my face is set in half an inch of a concrete like substance, that he makes himself - how he magics that up I dare not think!-. While this is drying on my face he goes to work on the head massage, nice you may be thinking but he has hands like anvils and by the time he has finished I am usually semi conscious. This allows him to go in for the kill with the neck, arm and hand massage, that culminates with a series of bone clicking tugs to my fingers that usually bring me out of my coma, just in time to enjoy the pain of the concrete being peeled off.

To add insult to injury, he charges me 100rps - about 1.50 - and laughs as I leave. You may ask why I go,and believe me I have asked myself but am struggling for answers. I have always found shaving a bit of a ball ache and the thought of someone else doing it for me seemed like such a luxury and it would be, if I could just say no! I digress though and have to now tell you how I managed to end up with bird crap on my head.

I took my seat randomly in the line of 7 and tilted my head back ready for my assault. As I looked up I noticed that I was sitting in a gap in the tarpaulin,staring into the trees and blue sky above (as seen in picture above). I joked to Asif that I would be in trouble if it rained, he grinned manically and yanked my chin down ricking my neck!

It was while sitting there, head back with the butcher of Boha Rao market poised with cut throat razor over my Adam's apple, that I looked up and noticed a bird fighting a squirrel. I watched with amazement and realised this wasn't an every day experience, when IT happened.

The bird, clearly terrified let rip with its weapon of crap production and from it's trajectory, I could tell it was heading my way. I had a sudden flashback to my youth when my sister - a girl that could have taught the soldiers at Abu Ghraib a thing or two - would pin me down with her knees holding my arms, while dripping spit from her mouth over my face! This would happen only after she had eaten an orange, so as to get extra elasticity from her saliva torture weapon. With this in mind, I had a decision to make. Thrash around wildly throwing head from side to side - as I did with my sister - and risk having The Butcher slash out my adams apple, or sit still, keep my life and take it on the chin so to speak.

With resigned indignation, I sat and accepted my fate and let the pigeons projectile explode on my forehead. The watching crowd erupted in laughter while I sat still frozen to the chair, as Asif wiped it off and carried on as if nothing happened! He finished the shave, wiped my face with the same towel he used to wipe up the crap and carried on with beating me up while I failed to say "no more" as usual.

I know now that I have the perfect reason not to go back for my weekly torture but know - as does Asif - that I will be back for more. It has become a sort of character test for me now. I feel that until I can say no to Asif, I can't move on and find a new barber. I need closure now not only from my inability to say no but also thanks to the pigeon, the horror of my youthful torture at the hands of my sister. Hard to believe that a simple trip to the barbers is going to end up with me in therapy!!

Burst bubble?

The good life could be over,I suppose it was inevitable. I have been told to go home and get a job -only with more expletives - and suppose it is not bad advice. I think I have gone from one extreme to the other and become the stereotypical male.My list of irritants include the following:

1) Never showing any interest in what my wife Says.

2) Although not said, clearly believed that I am incapable of sorting out the slightest problem.

3) No support while she "works her arse off to make this a success".

I could go on but won't bore you with the details. I don't know where and when it went wrong but the unbreakable unit seems suddenly very vulnerable with both 'A' and I unable to communicate for more than a day without war breaking out. Maybe it is the weather! A sudden shift in barometric pressure has caused us both to go barking, maybe it is the pressure of living so far away from friends and family, or maybe it is the 7 year itch! Who knows,but I might be seeing some of you sooner than expected!

Maybe it is just "one of those things". You can't really expect to live in the environment we do without having the odd explosion at each other.It wouldn't be healthy to be blissfully happy all the time would it?

Anyway, 'A' stormed off to work this morning and no doubt was cursing me as I was her. It was with great anger and emotion,while looking down my "job list" that my spirits were raised again.

One of my duties for the day sandwiched between post office and book flights for Trivandrum was Put net curtains back up in car! Not the sort of job most people have each day is it? It suddenly hit me just how different a life we are leading. Even though the abnormal has started to become normal for us here it doesn't mean that it is.

We have to remember why we came here, the sacrifices we made and the problems it may cause and perhaps make a few extra allowances for each other. Perhaps I need to listen better than I think I do, perhaps I am not being supportive and while we are being honest admit to being rubbish at problem solving! At the same time maybe "A" needs to remember that this is not always easy for me. I don't sit on my arse watching Oprah all day and sometimes find my new role tough. Maybe we need to remember why we came and how good it is 99 per cent of the time. Maybe I should stop looking for flights to England and give her a call. Worth a try, if not see you soon!!

I can't half pick em!

If ever you are going to answer the phone to a wrong number, make sure it is next to me! I hope you have all read the 'blind date' blog and will excuse me, if I come across as suitably smug throughout the rest of this blog.

I will admit, there was a touch of nerves on the Sunday afternoon, mainly fueled by the response I received from my golf partners in the morning.

I am starting to realise that there are basically two different sorts of ex-pat in Delhi. The ones that came here with work because they had no choice and hate it and those that came here for the money and hate it. We create a third category that no body seems to understand.We came here because we wanted to and absolutely love it.

I didn't think there was anything that weird about the wrong call/blind date situation. That is until I mixed with other ex -pat's. Their response ranged from the stupid to the dangerous. I heard theories of kidnap plots, swinger's and s&m parties, occult and fight clubs!

I was surprised at the amount of suspicion amongst my fellow 'Westerner's'. Why was there no faith in the decency of the Indian people? Am I being naive or they cynical? Why do I think "how friendly" and they "how suspicious"? More to the point, what should I wear, linen trousers and Ted Baker shirt or PVC all in one body suit with strap on dildo and gas mask?

With nerves peaking nicely we arrived over the road at 8.30 and were stood at the door with a man who introduced himself as "Bob from Goa". He seemed nice enough and didn't appear to have any fetish gear on or bible in hand. With renewed optimism we entered in through the security gate to be greeted by the most fabulous sight.

A beautifully lit garden with a bar set up full of imported wine, beer and scotch. We were greeted like royalty, not the free loading booze hounds that we are. The house was amazing and the food and drink exceptional but it was all outdone by the quality of the people.

Once again our faith in the Indian people came up trumps and we had a terrific night chatting to a former general of the Bombay Sappers, Goan Bob, Vijay the host and his son Ajay,The chief coroner of Delhi and Sanjay!

Oh yes, Sanjay the person that Vijay was supposed to be calling when he got me. We were very thankful to him for having a similar number to us, something he found hard to understand until it was all explained. We spent the night making friends and basking in the glow of Indian generosity, so happy that we went with our gut and were rewarded with a top night.

Vijay told me a wonderful story about how he came to be friends with a man down the road. He went to buy some of his favourite sweet meats from a shop in Connaught Place and they had none left. The store owner took his address and said he would get some delivered. he gave his address and headed home to await his sweet bounty. About 4 hours later he got a call from a man who asked;

"Hello haji, are you Vijay"?

"yes" replied Vijay

"Did you order some sweet meat" The stranger asked

"Yes I did" replied Vijay

" I have to say it was very tasty" the stranger said

The man in question lived at 64 not 44 and the goods had been delivered to the wrong house. Only after eating it did the man realise it had gone to the wrong number and promptly phoned Vijay to thank him.

That happened 20 years ago and they are still best friend's now. Vijay said it can only bode well for our friendship and I am inclined to agree. We are going to join the family at the country house next weekend - the one shown above - and I can see a firm friendship developing.

Remember next time you are call minding, never be afraid to answer. It could be your new best friend on the other end!

Monsoon blues.

Everything has gone wrong since my last blog! Problems have been coming thick and fast culminating in my very own Basil Fawlty impression on Thursday, where instead of beating my car with a tree branch, I used my forehead!

No lies,it started brewing earlier in the week with the dreaded call centre and believe me, the irony was not lost on me when 'A' and I in Delhi are berating the standard of English call centres. There is a time delay; You can hardly hear what they are saying; You can never get straight through to them. All the common complaints were coming out that are usually associated with here. The culprit this time was Ikea in London and a kitchen that has gone wrong from start to finish.

Poor 'A' had to go all the way to Jaipur for 3 days on business. while trying to resolve problems with the Ikea call centre and a Polish kitchen fitter. I could not help due to losing my mobile phone chip, so felt a small amount of guilt but some relief that it was not me dealing with it. Little did I know what was to come!

I stayed up till 3.30am Thursday morning to watch the England game and was woken at 6.30am by a culmination of thunder,lightning and Rafa. Feeling slightly hungover, I drew the curtains to reveal the last of the monsoon rains battering Delhi. Everywhere was flooded and my normal 20 min return on the school run became nearly 2 hours!

I decided to head to the local market to resolve the 'lost chip' issue and while I was at it, fill my face with Ronald McDonald's hangover deterrent! Big mistake, the last of the monsoon rains have caused huge traffic problems and I ended up sat in a non moving jam for 2 hours! Tired, hungover and hungry I eventually staggered from the car, preferring to get wet than sweat in a steamed up Ambassador. I felt like an urban Bear Grylls, staggering around looking for sustenance and it was at this point that the Basil incident occurred.

To the huge amusement of the surrounding commuters and rick wallahs (not to be mistaken for rotund pop idol contestant), I buried my head in my hands and pounded it against the window.I had dropped Rafa off at school and was now getting close to being late for collecting him again and had achieved absolutely nowt! Suddenly the traffic moved slightly and seeing my chance, dived back into the car and hurtled across 4 lanes to u-turn into the oncoming traffic on the opposite side.

At last I was free! soaked with sweat, rain and blood from my head but free nevertheless. Free to head back to where I had just started from to come back and do it all again!

This I duly did and arrived late to collect Rafa before heading back home but not without more incident. Stopping to get petrol, the attendant filling up the car - yes you don't even have to pump your own petrol here, there will soon be bum wipers I am convinced - stopped pumping and shouted that petrol was leaking from the bottom of the car. On inspection there was indeed petrol everywhere and not only that, everything in the boot was sodden with it as well. Rafa and I left the garage to rejoin the traffic only now things were even worse, due to the green spots in front of our eyes and the nausea from the smell!

I eventually arrived home to an exploded water heater and a flooded kitchen and Indu complaining that her water supply had again cut off. I had left the house at 7.30am and got home at 2.30pm. I had covered about 8 km's, had a bleeding head,double vision,acute nausea,hunger pains,dehydration,a knackered car,a knackered water heater and an unhappy house keeper!

Not one of my better days but I wouldn't swap it for the world. Come rain or shine, blood or vomit there really is no place like Delhi and nothing could spoil the sight of Rafa loking forward to his first games lesson!

Blind date.

You may by now hopefully have an idea how things work out here in Delhi. People generally speaking are polite, respectful, modest and friendly. Well, friendly just went above and beyond the call of duty after a very strange phone call!

I answered the phone while holding a chuntering Sillli and unfortunately didn't get the name of the person speaking at the other end. The conversation went like this:

"Hello.............................. (didn't get this bit because of Silli) How are you"?

Me - "I am very well thanks and you"?

"Good, good, good. We were wondering if you and your beautiful wife would like to have dinner with us on Sunday"?

Now I am in a bit of a situation,firstly I do not know who I am speaking to but assume it is one of 'A's friends through work. Secondly, I don't know if we want to go to dinner or not. Mind racing, I came up with the parent's escape clause.

Me - "That would be lovely, but first I will have to check we can get a baby sitter, what time"?

"8.30"

Me - "Where abouts"?

"At our house"

Me - "ok I will check with Amanda and call you back if that is ok, sorry I didn't get your name, who is calling"?

"VJ. This is Sanjay isn't it"?

Me - "No, this is Gareth"

VJ - " Oh dear, it would appear I have dialled the wrong number, my apologies. Where Are you from Gareth"?

Me - "I am from England"

vj - " And where are you living now"?

Me - " Shanti Niketan"

VJ - "Ahh so do we, so listen now I have invited you, you really must come to dinner"

Me - " That is very kind of you but you don't know us and you were trying to invite Sanjay"

VJ - " No problem, Sanjay will still come and so will you, we are neighbours and it will be great fun. Take down my number and check with your wife, call me back and let me know if you can make it. If not we will re schedule"

Me, in shock - "Ok, I will call you back"

The most surreal thing that has ever happened to me. I have been invited to dinner by a complete stranger who got hold of me through a wrong number!! It turns out we actually live on the same road and about an hour ago I got the above invite through the post! 'A' and I are now going on a blind dinner date, and to think I was fretting about making new friends in my last blog!

Sod the school gate, I am going to kick back and wait for the wrong numbers to roll in.

India, what a place!!

Enemy at the gate.

I have no idea about the etiquette at the school gates. I am usually fairly adaptable to most circumstances - Though some may beg to differ - and have negotiated most of the traumatic events over the years with reasonable aplomb. You know the sort of thing's, first introduction to girlfriend's parents;dinner date's with complete strangers organised by the wife; Wedding day etc. etc. I like to think of myself as a bit of a social chameleon, able to blend in reasonably well in most company, yet am at a complete loss how to behave and who to speak to when collecting Raf from school!

What is the 'done thing'? I am starting to have panic attacks about it 30 mins. before it is time to collect him. Should I just bowl up to the first person I see and break in to conversation? Keep myself to myself and wait for someone to approach me? Stare at the floor and avoid eye contact at all costs? It is all a complete mystery.

Everyone always said that your kid's going to school is a great way of meeting new people and in our current circumstances this would be a good thing. We certainly met some great people through Rafa's nursery when we had moved to a new area so were hopeful it would work the same way here. Unfortunately, it is going to be hard if I never speak to anyone! Complicating matters further is the fact that there are about 15 different nationalities in Rafa's year, which means 15 different cultural rights,wrongs and languages at the school gate.

I am at a complete loss. As usual, 'A' has just got on with it and is now on first name terms with everyone and organising 'play dates', while I am still sat in the car till the last possible minute in the hope that all the other parents will be gone by the time I get in. It is so not like me and really starting to bother me. I am wondering if it is because they are - in the main - women? They all seem to have huge smiles and endless chit chat, it all seems so natural. All I have is a morbid fear of eye contact and a soaking wet t-shirt.

Am I discovering another thing that men are just not genetically predisposed to - others being: finding item's in fridge/wardrobe/handbags; Remembering.... anything; clothes shopping and knowing which cushions can be sat on and which one's can't be! - ? Or am I just turning into a grumpy middle age man that has forgotten how to be sociable?

My main problem with it all is the fear of striking up a conversation with someone that turns out to be completely boring. I have no ability to spot a bore at all, let alone deal with distancing myself from them once I have discovered they are. Once I have started, I know it will end up with me suggesting we should go out sometime, exchanging numbers then being stuck in a borefest for all eternity. In short I have no boredar at all and I am just not prepared to take the risk.

Why should we all get along anyway? The only thing we definately have in common is that we all chose to have sex at about the same time 5 years ago. Hardly a solid foundation for 'new best friend' finding is it? The only person I have braved talking to so far is a guy who is actually in the same boat as me, a house husband. RESULT!!!! Things were looking up for about a week, until he announced he is going back to Blighty for 3 month's to work! GUTTED!!!! Perhaps his boredar works well and he sussed me out, who knows?

I have decided now there is nothing left for it other than to face my fears. Tomorrow I am going to walk in to school like Jack the peanut, sidle up next to the most un-boring looking person my rubbish boredar can find and strike up a conversation. I asked 'A' for some advice and she gave me 2 tips.

Firstly, find out very early if they are likely to try and indoctrinate you to a religion and secondly and most importantly, make sure they drink!

Watergate update

Further to my last post, I am now pleased to be able to tell you that all threat of strike action has been averted! Tool's are back in hand, smile's back on face's and water running freely. I would like to take credit for this but ironically it is all down to a plumber rather aptly named Sabu Praba wata!

I have still not managed to win Indu over though but (unlike the water supply), hope springs!!

Sexism in the work place

Just returned from a flying visit to England to renew visa's, passport's and acquaintance's with family and friends. Everything went incredibly smoothly considering the British passport office and the Indian embassy were involved and I had a chance to spend some time with my Marvellous mum and dad who have had a real rough trot of late.

For those who don't know, on top of having to deal with the loss of their beloved boy's to India ie Rafa and Silli, they have also had the unwelcome news that my mum has breast cancer. Dark day's indeed in the Conde house and yet you would never know anything was different. My mum has re invented the word brave and my dad has shown a love, dedication and resolve to help mum through it that most men could only dream of producing.

My mum started her chemo on Friday at 12 midday and was shopping at 3pm! We left them on Saturday with mum feeling a little nauseous but still smiling and determined to beat the cancer and dad, as usual by her side to help her on the way. A more inspirational and remarkable mum and dad I couldn't wish for and though separated by a few thousand miles we are with them scrapping all the way.

Love you both.

So to our Delhi return. I have to say both 'A' and I felt that it was like returning home which is so nice. The journey back was relatively trouble free, though I did feel gutted that I couldn't spend 5 hours at the bar as I did on our outward journey! We returned to a perfectly clean and tidy house, milk and water in the fridge and the a/c on courtesy of our house keeper Indu. Pretty ideal isn't it? Oh to have a housekeeper I hear you cry. It must be so great to have 'staff' you all snarl through gritted teeth! Well this is where the trouble starts!

It would appear that from a fairly stress free 4 months with the 'staff', we have returned home to uproar. The housekeeper is not happy and it seems the malcontent may be spreading. 'One out all out' banners have appeared at the front gates, along with an oil drum fire that they are all huddled round with fingerless gloves on (made the last bit up obviously, fingerless gloves are so 80's and don't go with sari's)!

There is however a feeling of 'strike' in the air and all 4ft 8 of Indu is like the guns of the Navarone! While we have been away the water supply has failed in the house and the staff quarter's - I know, I know staff quarter's sound dreadful but it is better than servant's room which is how it was originally described to us - and it would appear there has been several thousand builders around to try and sort it out and every single one has managed to offend her. She mentioned to 'A' that she is:

"Aware she is only a little women and shouldn't have an opinion but that man is very much too proud of himself"!

On this occasion it would appear that the man in question is at least not me. It is the builder, but most of the time I do seem to be the one feeling the wrath of Indu. On regular occasions Indu and Mia, our sweeper - yes I know it sounds terrible but everyone has one - seem to get their head's together and confront me over something or another. They remind me of the 2 Polish girl's working in the Cafe on Harry Enfield's tv programme, who constantly make him feel uncomfortable. The only difference being, with us the tension is not sexual but sexist!

I get the feeling that they think I am just a lazy, misogynistic, male chauvinist pig that spends his days on the computer, downloading degrading image's of women while his lovely wife goes to work. This is quite common amongst Indian men,so I can't really blame them for thinking that but I am working hard to change their opinion.

For the time being though things aren't good. A perfectly civil "morning Indu" can be returned with a look that say's 'stop undressing me with your eye's you evil rapist scum'. She still insits on calling me Master despite numerous requests to the contrary. I imagine her talking to the rest of the staff and saying:

"Can you believe the scumbag still makes me call him master in this day and age"?

Whenever I ask her anything she pretends not to hear but when 'A' repeats the question she gets a reply. 'A' thinks she has hearing problems and struggles with the pitch of my voice. I reminded 'A' that she is not a dog and I am not Brian Blessed. She speaks queen's English most of the time to 'A', yet struggles to put a sentence together around me unless she is criticising something I am doing with the boy's.

"Too hot for them to be outside", "too dangerous for them on the road" "too many times you feed them food they don't like" are common criticism's

It might all be a bit of paranoia but she is civility personified to 'A' and I just can't seem to win her over. I now see this whole issue as perfect opportunity, I shall ride to her rescue on a tidal wave of water like a monkey wrench wielding Richard Gere,save the day and become her hero!

Hold on, is that sexist?

Posterity!

CHILDREN IN BED, 19.30

WIFE IN BED, 20.30 (AIDED BY KINGFISHER,QUALITY IMPORTED WINE AND GENERAL OVER EXCITEMENT!)

GARETH WITH NEW ARRIVAL OF INDIAN WINE SOCIETY IMPORTED HAMPER........... PRICELESS!!

An-noy-ing, adj. - To cause vexation or irritation!

I went to my first 'parent's evening' last night. Just when I thought this period of my life couldn't get any more surreal it suddenly has a damn good go!

Parent's evening! The two word's that would strike the fear of God into any school kid and a guarantee to bring on total panic in me and ultimately total apoplexy in my poor parents. I am just getting my head around the fact that I have a son at school when they spring Parent's evening on me.

My anxiety about it had been simmering away nicely, before finally spilling over into a mild panic attack an hour before we went. What if Raf has been hitting people? What if they don't think that he is as advanced as he should be? What if he has said "skin me up one time blood" - gangster parlance that his mother has taught him! - to one of the teachers? I was beside myself and suddenly realised that I was actually more scared about going to a parent's evening, than I used to be while waiting for my folk's to return from one. How ridiculous! I snapped myself out of it, calmed down and started to prepare excuses for whatever they might throw at us!

As it turned out it was a pleasant experience. We turned up at the school, met all the staff, looked around the classroom,had a little chat with the teachers and nearly left without incident. I say "nearly left" because there was just one little thing! We were looking at the 'house point' board and couldn't help but notice with some pride that Rafa was second. I say "notice with some pride", what actually happened was 'A' made a point of tapping on the pictures of all the other children Raf was beating and laughing while their respective parent's looked on!

I could have died of shame, while 'A' really doesn't get wound up by things like that. It is one of the 'little annoyance's' that we all have in our relationship's,others include the fact that I have to walk round the house after her turning off light switches - a real pain when you have 96 in the house -, She never closes a door and walks every where in the middle of the road (I am sure mine would be too extensive to list but would probably include the fact that I would actually walk around the house to count the light switches!).

The problem is I am quite easy to annoy.It is not just 'A', yesterday afternoon the boy's were at it. Every time I put Silli down he cried, it was impossible to eat in the same room as him as he wanted it and he is like a moth to a flame with anything he can't have. Raffi hit Silli every time I got him happy and settled, never -and I mean never- ever stops talking and can take an hour to eat a cheese butty.

What causes these annoyance's is that obviously we are all different and the fact that I understand this makes it more annoying! I know that opposites attract etc. etc. but sometimes 'A' and I are poles apart. Never mind singing off the same hymn sheet, most of the time we are in different churches. 'A' is so artistic yet I can't draw a straight line, everything she watches on TV I hate and vice versa, she is a morning person I am a night owl. She likes mayonnaise, shopping and muesli, I like ketchup, football and frosties'.

Despite all these little annoyance's and differences I adore them all. 'A' is about as close to being the perfect person as is possible, Raffi is the life and soul of the house and Silli is the most loving happy little baby you could ever wish for. Somehow,as a family we just seem to work. I don't know how or why and I am not sure what I contribute; but know my difficulty in absorbing the fact I have a child at school must be really annoying!

School Daze

Rafa has started school! I know it is the oldest cliche in the world but now the question really does need answering; WHERE DOES THE TIME GO? I am fairly sure he only came out of nappies 6 weeks ago and started talking only last week. This is how it seems to me anyway. There is definitely something in the space-time continuum that changes when you have children. It somehow makes time speed up for you, while simultaneously slowing it down for anyone without.

What exactly did we used to do with our lives before having children? I asked 'A' who seems to remember a lot of dining out, theatre and pubs. My recollection is pub's, Cat deeley on SMTV and the Hollyoaks omnibus and yet here I am planning the school run! What happened in between? Is this how it is for everybody? Time is slipping by so fast. Before I know it Raf is going to think I am a complete tosser and not want anything to do with me,'A' will have left me because I play golf too much - she can't bear to see me in golf slacks and polo shirts - and I will be 22 stone,living in a bedsit in Penge while working in a call centre.

This might all sound a bit dramatic but the problem is, my mind is having chance to idle again. With Rafa at school and Silli asleep my head has time to contemplate the future and it keeps veering off in the direction of the South circular and Penge in particular!

This is all I am sure, just my way of dealing with this very proud moment in a parent's life. I get all introspective and nostalgic, while 'A' just keeps crying! Packing the lunch box, little snivel. Rafa walking to car in his uniform, small sob, Rafa walking in to classroom, a tear shed but in control. Rafa bursting out of the school gate with his shirt un-tucked and his hat on yelling:

"Don't worry, I did everything the teacher told me to!"

Breakdown!!! I have to confess, for us both. Nothing can prepare you emotionally for the start of your first Born's schooling. It is a huge mixed bag of pride, happiness, sadness and worry. Pride that you have managed to get them in to a good school, happiness that they are going to make new friends and have new adventures, sadness that it is the end of an era and worry that you are now handing over your most treasured thing in the world to someone Else's care.

The first day was like a full on, out of body experience for me. It felt like it was happening to someone else, while I hovered just above looking down on it all. We gathered in the school hall waiting for the headmaster to give us a welcome speech, when I had my first flashback. I clearly heard one of my old teacher's 'beefy Graham'shout

"Conde, stop cloyning abite an sit dine nigh" (needs to be read with Belfast accent)
Closely followed by 'Porno Pete Atkinson' clipping me round the ear. I swear, I actually had the ringing in my ear afterwards it was so real.This couldn't be me, here, now with my own son could it? I still feel like a child myself most of the time and don't feel anywhere near old enough to have my own at school.At the same time though I felt an overwhelming surge of responsibility. Responsibility to encourage him through his school years, to try and help him develop an interest in learning and make him appreciate what he will get out of it with a little effort.

It was with some relief that we eventually left the main hall and the smell of the polished floor - the same smell at all schools in the world - and crossed the playing fields to Rafa's new classroom. The place that is going to start him on the path to greatness, Doctor, surgeon, lawyer or city high flier? Who knows what the future will hold for him? 'A' thinks he will be Albert Einstein while I am more inclined to think Lex Luther, but whatever path he chooses, I will always remember his first day at school. I will remember the look of joy on 'A's face, the look of fear on Rafa's but most of all the feeling of love and pride I felt at that moment for my little boy.

Pesky rain.

Just to put a more manly stance on the last blog, I may not have been quite so philosophical if the rain hadn't stopped play for most of the day!Pesky Brittish summer time is playing havoc with my testosterone levels and I don't even live there!

www.Indiansingledad.com!

It is has been a strange week for the artist formerly known as Indanhousehusband. The loss of the better half has been a strange experience. It started out with a horrible foreboding, yet has actually been a good confidence booster. There was a huge amount of anxiety that very quickly slipped away on 'A's' departure.

I quickly realised that I am a fairly capable dad now. I know I can cope with the day to day grind of nappies, tantrums and tear ups but had wondered how I would cope without the relief that comes with 'A's' arrival from work each night. No matter how much fun and games I think I provide to the boy's each day, they still welcome the arrival each day of mum and a fresh face to entertain them. It is also a welcome relief for me to have some adult conversation and someone to share the day's stories with.

This set me thinking about how tough life must be for a single parent. How do they cope knowing there isn't going to be that key in the door at the end of the day, that relief of duty for the last hour before bed and that companionship that we all really need whether we like to admit it or not. I have the utmost admiration for how they keep mind and body together dealing with what is - whether us male of the species want to admit it or not - a tough job.It is easy for me 'playing at it' for a week knowing that 'A' will be back soon and all will be well but a month, a year or a lifetime, I can't comprehend.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am truly grateful that I am in a good relationship. That 'A' and I work really well as a team, that the boy's are happier with the two of us trying our best to make them happy. Most of all I really miss my wife. The thought of 4 day's of uninterrupted Ashes viewing is really no substitute for the love of my life and her safe return to our beautiful home can't come fast enough.

Beautiful game update

Further to my last post, I thought you might all be interested to know that my experiment with the communal water cooler was in fact a mistake. Consequently I may now have to also revise my weight loss from 8 pounds to about a stone by this time on Wednesday.Please think of me when you are moaning about the weather in Blighty!

The beautiful game!

It was an innocent enough conversation between My beautiful wife 'A' and Annand, a work colleague that ultimately left me in the sorry condition I find myself in today. Sorry condition? That actually doesn't come anywhere near doing it justice, if I was the proverbial horse, I would by now have been led out the back and unceremoniously blasted in the head!

In complete agony with a bad back, torn hamstring, constant cramp in both calves, blistered toe's, heel's and ball's of feet, not to mention alone - 'A' is UK bound with work - and all this on my 7th wedding anniversary! Happy anniversary darling I love you more today than ever, but will not forgive you for that pesky conversation with Annand!

'A' made the mistake of mentioning to Annand that I had played a bit of football in my time. Though this may be true, my time was unfortunately too far back in the murky depths of time to be remembered. I was introduced to him and he asked me to:

"Join me and a few friends on Sunday for a game"

It is very hard to say no to anyone here, as they are so genuine and enthusiastic about everything. Also it has to be admitted, I still fancy that I can "do a job" for any club, anywhere and at any standard if pushed! This clearly is a ridiculous thing to think and has been proved utterly incorrect on more than one occasion, however I just can't resist. Ever since I scored a 40 yarder at my cousin Nigel's 40th birthday game 10 years ago -it gets longer every time I see him - I still feel I have that little bit of magic to offer and thus agreed to play!

Mistake number 1!

Play however I did and though I may not be able to walk properly ever again I have to say that I really enjoyed myself. On arrival at our meeting point, the Hari Nagar sports complex it started to dawn on me that this wasn't going to be a Sunday afternoon stroll at the local park. This was a fairly serious affair with good facilities and what appeared to be a well kitted out bunch of athletic looking guys in their mid 20's. After a bit of stretching and 10 mins of knocking the ball about I was asked - due to my height as opposed to them witnessing my first touch I hope - If I played in goal. I replied that I was predominantly a defender but had played in the midfield quite a bit as a youth.

Mistake number 2!!

After a bit of pre match chat - which involved me telling anyone who would listen I was nearly 40 - it turned out that this was in fact the squad of the Delhi Cantt football club - yes that is cantt - a well respected member of the Indian fa national league!! I was so far out of my depth I was in danger of getting the bends and was seriously considering feigning a hamstring strain! The only glimmer of hope I had to cling to was that I am a good 2 stone lighter than the last time I pulled on a shirt and I no longer smoke. These faint glimmers were unfortunately completely overshadowed by the fact that it was still about 38 degs and 90 per cent humidity, the pitch was like concrete, the other players were younger and fitter not to mention acclimatised and I haven't played for a long time! I was in trouble and knew it. On top of this I had already drunk most of my 2 litres of water and we hadn't even kicked off!

Mistake number 3!!!

Now the fact that I had drunk my 2 litres of water will not seem like a problem to most people. Here however, drinking water from a source other than purchased bottles or home filtration systems is like playing Russian Roulette. The main difference being that instead of the contents of your head plastering the walls, the contents of your stomach plaster the porcelain. For about a week! This now left me with a serious problem, dehydration or dysentery?!! I felt like Bear Grylls in a pair of Adidas Gazelle and a yellow bib. I could hear his voice going through my head over and over again:

"In these conditions a man can die of dehydration in hours. He has to find water and fast but from a reliable source. Drinking contaminated water in this environment is an instant death sentence"!

All this and we hadn't even kicked off! I decided I had to drink or die and so filled my bottle from the communal water cooler a decision I am waiting to see if I regret! Finally we kicked off and I immediately stepped into the holding midfielder role, thinking I would just stand there, collect the loose balls and pass it on.

Mistake number 4!!!!

I seemed to have the responsibility in this position of picking up probably the best player in India. Within 10 mins of kick off I was ready to collapse. Shirt soaked, head spinning and breathing the way a goldfish does when tipped from the bowl. All ready to admit defeat and head for the side lines an extremely odd thing happened. I received the ball from the centre half with my back to the oppositions goal on the half way line. Summoning up all my powers of strength and concentration,I got on my toes ready to get my touch right when a cry of "man on" went up! Oh the sweet international language of football! I snapped out of my dehydration induced dizziness and as if in slow motion my body became at one with the ball. I rolled round 180 degs while bringing the ball under control and with a swivel of the hips and jink of the foot side stepped the on coming Indian Pele before stroking a perfect cross field ball to the feet of our left winger.It was like old times. I had remembered in that few seconds what it was like to play properly, how you know when something you did looks good from the sidelines, feels good inside and is respected by others on the park.This is why I was here, this is why I said yes, this is the buzz only football can give you! With a mixture of adrenaline and shock, I headed off down the pitch looking for a return pass from the tricky looking little Sikh winger thinking to myself maybe I can still play, more than that, if I can get fit I might still have a season in me, sod that I might even have a world cup in me!

Mistake number 5!!!!!

The return pass never came! Not only did it never come, I was now in a situation where I had to sprint to get back into position, this I duly did wanting to show willing for the team but knowing it was probably going to finish me off and boy did it. Realising the error of my way's I returned to my holding role and prayed for the end of the match. Half time came and now feeling the 4 litres of water I had consumed taking affect I asked the skipper where to go for a pee. His response was:

"Find a wall, make sure there are no women watching then go naaa"

Re-hydrated and rested over half time, I approached the second half with renewed vigour and a fourth wind. It was quite a surreal experience to hear players using phrases like "good shot", "man on" and "knock it" interspersed with their native Hindi.I started to think I know how it feels for the foreign import, thrust into a team he doesn't know speaking a language he doesn't but loving the game enough to put up with it. Javier Mascherano basically only taller, fatter and rubbish. The full time whistle came and not a minute too soon, we shook hands and I dripped off to the car with Annand to be deposited at home where I stumbled into the house near death. As I sat on the settee and basked in the aching limb glory of it all, I realised that I actually enjoyed it immensely. Though hard work and possibly doing damage of the long term variety, you just can't beat a game of football.It doesn't matter if you speak the same language, are the same colour, caste or ability it is the perfect game for male bonding anywhere in the world.

For the record,my side won 10-2, I drank 7 litres of water - and only pissed once - lost 8 pounds in weight, scored 1, made 2 and have been invited back to play next week with the coach's words echoing in my head

"We would like you to come again next week, you have good height"

Will I be going again?

Definitely.


Mistake number 6? !!!!!!

Don't look back in hunger.

There is more money spent each year in the USA on domestic garden products than is collected in tax every year by the Indian government, where the population is over a billion!

Staggering isn't it? I have to stop from time to time and remind myself just how desperately poor the majority of this country is. You can find yourself becoming so desensitised to the poverty surrounding you everyday, living in the relative wealth that we enjoy. No more than 500 yards from our home is a flyover where several families - including babies - eat, drink, wash and sleep. They fetch their water from a well on the other side of the road using a bucket on a rope. When you stop and consider it, it is so disturbing to think that people live like that in a civilised world, so close to one of the most upmarket parts of the city.

I had a moment last week were a beggar - a girl younger than 10 - came up to me at the traffic lights and rather than pester me for "one chapati sir" looked in and walked right past. She recognised me and realised that she had tried umpteen times before with no joy so wasn't going to waste her time again. It was only when she ignored me for the first time that I could actually comprehend the absurdity of the situation. What is more unusual, an 8 or 9 year old girl walking past you in the street and not asking for money or a shoeless unwashed 8 or 9 year old girl begging for money in 40 deg heat? The fact that I thought it was the former disgusted me. I felt Completely ashamed, guilty, and horrified that I had let myself think of this girl begging as normality and not something that the whole country should be ashamed of.

The problem is that the gap between the 'haves' and 'have nots' here is absolutely massive and unlikely to change anytime soon. The 'haves'- the category we fall into -have the means to live an extraordinarily privileged lifestyle.They say that money can't buy you love, but here money can buy you time. Time to spend doing what you want to do with the people you love the most thanks to the drivers, nannies,cleaners, gardeners and cooks in your employ which are all par for the course. It seems so gauche sometimes to have all this staff but the guilt is balanced out by the fact that you are at least employing people and helping them to make a better life for themselves.The average wage is less than 1000 pounds pa and someone would be considered to be 'doing well' if they earned 4 -5 thousand pa!

Our housekeeper, Indu gets about 100 pounds a month which is a decent wage by Indian standards - and incidentally manages to put her son through university in Australia - but do we have a responsibility to pay her more? We are told not to by the Indian locals we know but I can't help but feel the status quo suits them. There has never really been much encouragement for the lower caste's to better themselves and the higher caste's would like to keep it that way but change has to come in this country from the bottom to the top and everyone needs to do their bit. We did ours this weekend by giving the housekeeper more money. It may not make a difference in the great scheme of things but it will do to Indu and at least we are trying. Lets hope the Indian government starts doing theirs sooner rather than later.

Marmite nation.

I met one of Amanda's work colleagues Jules a couple of nights ago and we had a great night out but something he said really got me thinking. Jules is a top fella who lives in the same part of London as we used to, eats in the same restaurants and drinks in the same bars we used to in fact he is very similar to us in a lot of ways. Yet when I asked him if he likes India I was surprised to hear him say he detests it! He could come up with countless reasons why he disliked it but when he asked us why we liked it so much we struggled to come up with anything remotely tangible. The thing about India is that it is complete Marmite - apologies for the plagiarism Reynolds! - People that have visited this country are always split straight down the middle when asked what they think. It is a country of such extremes and impossible to pigeon hole and that is part of the attraction for me. As the reasons we gave to Jules for our love of India held no sway I decided I am going to try and explain in greater depth why I love it.

I like living in a place where material gain is not the ultimate aim of people, a place where the goal's of most 'working class' families is to get the children a good education and teach them some morals. A place where people have a smile on their face but no money in their pocket's and are thankful for what they have, not bitter about what they don't have.I like all the little idiosyncrasies that would drive me nuts in Blighty like rickshaw drivers claiming to have no change (in the hope you will tell them to keep the difference),people not respecting queues anywhere,getting 'cut up' on the roads constantly and people trying to sell you something wherever you go. I like the fact that car's regularly drive the wrong way up motorways and it doesn't make headline news I like the climate,food,and beer, the city and the countryside. I like the fact that Sir is used to address each other and a smile is always returned.I like the fact that there is no compensation culture, that there is not necessarily a claim where there is blame and health and safety doesn't dictate how people live their lives. I like the fact that if someone arranges to come and do a job for you they come when they said they would with what they need to do it.I like the people,they are a kind, gentle friendly race full of joy and optimism not hate and cynicism.Basically a negative of how I sometimes felt I was becoming slightly in England. I like it most of all though because it seems to bring out the best in me. I feel more calm and patient, relaxed and at peace with myself here than anywhere else in the world and that is reason enough to love it.