Death on the school run!

Just when you think you have seen it all in India from the gut wrenchingly cruel to the faith revivingly sweet, something comes along and shocks you all over again.Once you have become complacent about your surroundings, something awakens you with a lightning bolt size reality check.

I have just got back from Blighty were I was constantly hearing phrases like "uncertain times ahead" and "could get worse before it gets better" and ridiculously, "more and more people living below the poverty line". I frequently have - what now sound increasingly pathetic - conversations about how hard it is to get good housekeepers and drivers!

Nobody is truly living below the poverty line in the UK. they may be according to some W.H.O. statistic but in reality we see nothing like the poverty in Blighty anywhere that you can't see on every street corner in one of India's most cosmopolitan cities.

The fact that our drivers don't speak perfect English and our housekeeper doesn't dust the tops of the door frames without being prompted frankly make us look moronic.

Pretty much everybody I know in the world are incredibly lucky on a grand scale. We all have our ups and downs but on the whole we live a privileged and lucky life. Even though here our kids witness poverty and suffering on a daily basis, they don't have to live in it. Children back in Blighty may learn a bit about it in school and see horrors and suffering on the TV but they never have to see it in the flesh.

Imagine what a shock it was then at 2.30 yesterday afternoon on the school run on a beautiful sunny afternoon on Delhi's equivalent of the North Circular to come across two dead bodies on the side of the road!

When I say two dead bodies, one was undoubtedly dead, a man of indistinguishable age due to his severe malnutrition. The other, a young boy, clearly was breathing his last laying in a crumpled heap covered in flies.With the traffic stopped due to a jam up ahead we were parked right next to them. It was the most astonishing thing to witness as people just walked passed them as if they were not there. As if they see this thing all the time. The truth is, they probably do.

They looked like the sort of images we see on the evening news from Rawanda or a famine ridden African country, but here we were in an upmarket suburb of Delhi. With people crossing the road to avoid them and covering their mouths and noses with their handkerchiefs eventually, two young guys stopped and got out their mobile phones.

Who they would have called I don't know because there is no ambulance service here. Not everyone gets a level of care to sustain their health and dignity that we get just by the luck of being born in to great privilege. Whatever happened to them they were removed because several hours later I had to drive past again. I would bet though that they lay there for a good few hours first.

Who these two people were or how they got to be in that situation I will obviously never know. I do know though that The sight of the man laying there with head tilted back and eyes and mouth wide open twisted in agony will live with me forever. It is a sight people should not accept in a civilised society and one I just hope Raffi never got a good enough look at to comprehend (I made him keep his eyes closed).

I felt completely useless. In Blighty, you know you will most likely live your whole life and never have to witness a dead body. If you did come across one in the streets though you would know exactly what to do. Here, I was hamstrung and helpless with no idea what to do. I hope I never have to witness this again but I will make it my priority to find out what I can do to help so if -God forbid- it happens again I will be equipped.

I do know that next time I am bemoaning the fact that my housekeeper forgot to get milk or I hear someone moaning about what a mess the UK is in and that the NHS doesn't work, I shall think of that face and thank my lucky stars.

A beautiful place to be alive.

It has been quite a while since my last blog and this has been for two reasons. The first is that Indianhousehusband became incredibly busy with several different projects and the second one was probably a lack of inspiration. I had become a bit blase about my surroundings as we all do eventually. Now I am back from a Blighty trip and seeing things with a new set of eyes and a renewed vigour. Sometimes a holiday is all it takes to really appreciate what is going on around you.

Over a year now in Delhi! One year, I can't believe it has gone so fast. So much has happened that I hardly know where to begin. I have had the lows of finding out about my mum and cousins cancer and the death's of far too many friends. To the highs of seeing my mum and dad here fit and well and visiting the mountains of Kashmir. Mixed into all this has been gallons of tears and sweat, tons of frustration and anger but most of all lots of truly fantastic times and laughter.

After 6 weeks back in Blighty it is a real pleasure to be home. Spending time with friends and family is and was great and the welcome we got from both sets of parents was amazing but nothing can replace the comfort of home and I was ready for my return.

After stepping off the plane at Delhi, the old familiar smells hit you, as does the sweat but these are great sensations, home sensations, the sort of sensations you stop noticing until you leave and come back.

Just the car journey from the airport to our house was enough to bring a big smile to my face.The usual Delhi cliche's all look brand new and hilarious again. The traffic didn't matter, nor did the heat or the pollution because everyone seemed to be smiling. It is the first thing I noticed. I think one of my earliest blogs mentioned that a broad smile was always returned and it is something that you come to take for granted but after 6 weeks back in Blighty it comes as a welcome relief.

I was greeted at the local milk stand like a returning war hero. Our local grocery store owner Mr Merry wanted to hug me and the fruit and veg stall guy gave me a pineapple! The boys and I walked to the market in the rain and reacquainted ourselves with all the security guards in Shanti Niketan, who still seem to find us a constant source of fascination. One pointed out to me that it was raining which though unnecessary and completely stating the obvious, was just wonderful. We were all soaked through and the boy's were jumping around in the puddles but someone still felt they should perhaps point it out in case we had missed it!

A friend of ours Toby, said to me recently.

"India. It's just a beautiful place to be alive"

I agreed with him at the time but my brief absence has made me really feel it again.

It is so fantastic to be home!

Delhi's missing piece

Just lifted the following passage from a blog I did in July last year:

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.

Roll on ten months and again I have become Indiansingledad. 'A' has returned back to Blighty for ten days on business and the contrast in emotion couldn't be more different to back in July.

I think I massively down played the sheer terror I felt the last time I was left 'home alone'. I remember the first day 'A' was gone thinking to myself; how am I going to get through five nights completely alone? Five nights!! That should have been a holiday, not a chore, but it was really tough. I felt completely exposed and slightly resentful. It was the first time and probably the only one through this whole experience were I genuinely felt emasculated. It should be me flying back on business and earning the rupees while 'A' looks after the boys and wonders how she will fill the days, but it was me. I got my head down and got on with it but couldn't wait for the moment 'A' returned and when she did, there was no feeling of pride that I had coped and everything was OK. It was just pure relief!

Move on to now and 'A' has been gone a week tomorrow and if truth be known it feels like a day! It is now much harder for her to be leaving the boys than for me to be on my own with them.I think that is a sign of how much I have changed and learned throughout this time. Nothing worries me about the boy's now, my relationship with them is incredibly different to back in July. I don't have to think too much or pre plan anything with them, everything just kind of happens naturally. I feel more skilled and more capable as a Dad than I ever did before becoming the house husband and that is something I will always be thankful for.

The real problem this time has been that I have missed my wife for selfish reasons. Not like before were 'A' was the scaffolding that held the family together, I can do that now and don't need that support. I miss her because Delhi, despite it's 16 million population feels kind of empty without her.

Every day here we see something that astounds us and that 'something' is what we share with each other. It is the little things that annoy other people that we love that make it 'our India' and our home. We both have 'love India days' were our love for the country gets cranked up another notch. We often speak during the day and 'A' will say "Having a huge love India day today" and I will feel the same. Unfortunately till she is back I can't have a true 'love India day', I need my Indianworkingmum back to appreciate everything here, I need the population to be 16 million and one!

Hurry back 'A' we miss you loads.

Raf, Sil and 'G'

Life and Death

Too many people I know are dying. I know in some Freudian way we all are, but I just wish it would slow down a bit. Four of my friends have died within the last six months, a count that is surely way out of the average. My family back in Blighty are turning into professional mourners, trudging from one funeral to the next and it is all getting pretty depressing. I daren't even answer the phone to home anymore for fear of more bad news, it is time now for it all to stop please!

Bad news is the one thing that really brings distance home here in Delhi. It is really difficult to grieve when you haven't got anyone else to share it with. At home we would have gone out for drinks and reminisced about great nights out and youthful follies but here in our little ex-pat bubble it means nothing to anyone else.

You can't tell the mums at the school gate you lost a friend yesterday, what do they care, they didn't know him. So you just get on with it. Have a quiet thought for the person on the day of the funeral and keep on keeping on. It didn't help that last week was the one year anniversary of The Bogan's death ('A' and I's best man). Barely a day has passed over that year were I haven't thought about him and the emotion is still pretty raw.

It has made me think so much more about my own mortality,something that has never bothered me at all. When life is bordering on the perfect death makes you realise how quickly it can all be taken away from you, how short our time is and how much needs to be crammed into it. The truth is that life at the moment is bordering on the perfect. We are so happy in India and I can't think of one down side to living here other than it is going so fast. Our first year is nearly up and it has gone in the blink of an eye. The weeks and months are flying away and I wish I could just put my foot on the brake and slow it all down a bit.

It only seems days since we received the terrible news about my mum. At the time my first thought was would she ever see us out here? Would she survive that long? Really terrible thoughts that now seem in the dim and distant past after she is Finally in recovery and has made it out here with Dad.

Emotion was running high when I greeted them at the airport, I think Mum had probably gone through the same thought process as me. Now she was finally here standing in our garden, the reality hit home and the tears came. It was like we had put the final big full stop at the end of what has been a terrible sentence. She didn't look great (I subsequently found out that was more to do with 5 glasses of wine and 5 brandy's on the plane and a hangover as opposed to the cancer) but I didn't care, she was here, alive and well and we were going to make the most of it.

Make the most of it we did too. We flew down to Goa and had a fabulous time on the beach. Real happy times, Seeing mum and dad with the boys - who's worship of them is at hero proportions - was something that will stay in the memory for a long time. Days were spent on the beach and round the pool and as the colour came back to mums skin it was like watching her come back to life again. Evenings were spent boozing and laughing and buying 80 quid bottles of wine because dad Miss-read the menu! Normal Conde fun stuff,living your life stuff, cramming it all in stuff and forgetting the past stuff.

I realised while I was down there that these are the times that you 'put the brake on',Slow everything down a little bit, take a step back and soak it all up. Life can seem to be running away too fast but you just have to stop and take a look around you and savour the great times.

That is my intention from now on, I am going to make the most of the time we have here in India and savour every last moment. Appreciate all the terrific times we have to come and have a ball. Bogan, Danny, Lee, Jean and Jambie would have liked that.

Danger! Decent cricket break out!

Saturday morning Siri Fort sports complex and the latest venue for the monthly British school dad's massacre. I wrote this intro 3 days before the latest game but things didn't quite go to plan. In a bizarre twist of fate and please whisper it,the British school dad's are in danger of forming a reasonably solid unit!

We turned up on a beautiful summer morning to be confronted by a site rarely seen before. A proper cricket ground! No mats, no cardio-thoracic hospital windows for Jamie to smash and no strange rock formations at deep mid wicket! We were all in whites and looking rather professional, ready to take on the team Toby (Henceforth to be called Splitter)Porter had put together from Save the Children.

We won the toss and with Splitter Porter captaining the sprightly looking STC team and buoyed by an inspirational team talk from Jamie- "It's going to get hot later so feel free to swing the bat" our openers Tim "Boycs" Bond and Adam "clubber" Leetham bounded to the crease looking confident and composed.

It is at this point I usually start talking about balls that stayed low and bad bounces off the mat but today was different. After having a good look at the bowling Adam settled in nicely and started to nudge the ball around purposefully before crashing the first boundary of the day off the second ball of the second over. With Tim holding up his end well we were looking in good nick.

With Charlie uttering the never before used phrase "are we really 12 for none?" it all came home how surreal this was. Two overs gone and nobody back in the hutch, it was a record and oh how they started tumbling after that. Adam was eventually out for 8 and came back in uttering something about "The opening bowler having a beautiful length" a comment nobody questioned any further! Tim was out for 12 after facing about 3500 balls - or so it felt - there was talk at one point of sending me in to run him out but we decided against it. Why bother when he is perfectly capable of doing it himself!

At the wicket we now had Bill "flashing blade" Ballenden and Vip "the V.I.P." Kumar. taking the bit firmly between their teeth they accelerated the run rate to 11 an over against a mixed bag of STC bowling. One guy was bowling from so far behind the wicket he was virtually in the pavilion with us while another ones action would have been deemed illegal in a chucking competition! You can however only deal with what is in front of you and deal they did. Flash hit a terrific 28 before succumbing to exhaustion while The VIP hit a stunning 40 not out with the sort of classy display deserving of a better set of team mates!

Jamie "hand eye" Heywood chipped in with his usual display of perfectly timed sweet spot shots and Tony "ow me hand" smith and debutant Alex "Baby faced assassin" Luke saw the 20 overs out.

An astonishing 121 for 5 from 20 overs!Records included not being bowled out, a new high score of 40 from the VIP,not losing a wicket in the first over and having more than one box to share!

With optimism in the air but also a realisation that it was a fairly flat track, we headed out to the field sweaty but eager. A faint whiff of a victory was circulating and we were in danger of becoming a credible team. Could we take the pressure? Would we crumble under the weight of expectation? Could I bowl an over without a wide?

The ball was handed to David "Dot-Ball" Mcbean to open and he snorted down the track to deliver the first of the day. A reasonable over ensued with STC falling behind the required run rate early. The second over was elegantly bowled by Richard "Slow Fingers" Downey who had warned the umpire before starting "You have to watch very carefully for the LBW decisions because I can turn the ball both ways". Another decent over, STC restricted to 11 off the first two, we were on our way.

With some further good stuff from Flashing blade and the VIP and some real eye candy leg spin from the Baby faced assassin flanked by some less than average stuff from myself Tony and Tim we managed to restrict STC to 101 and take a small margin in to our second innings.

I am afraid the old familiar story reared it's ugly head at the startof the second innings as Richard David and myself fell for 2,1 and 1 respectively. Things were starting to wobble. While Richard Downey didn't understand how you could be run out when you are in your crease, I didn't understand why I couldn't come up with one single excuse as to why I was out other than I am pretty shit!

Our ever reliable wicket keeper Charlie "the cat" Benson strolled to the crease with broad shoulders and a steely look in his eye to accompany the VIP and between them they gradually steered the game away from STC. The cat held his end up well for a credible 10 while the VIP blasted another rapid 30 before sportingly retiring.

Baby faced assassin added an elegant 8 and Hand eye an explosive 14 so we ended with 80 setting STC a target of 101 to win from 10 overs. Pick of the STC bowling was a fantastic 4 wicket over from The Splitter. Unfortunately for him, the old playground rule of 'can't be out on your first ball' meant his figures showed just the one! Laugh? Don't be silly, we felt very sorry for him!

So to the final innings. as STC ticked along at the required rate for the first 4 overs small panic was setting in. With the thought of a cider tent at the British High Commission fete sitting in the back of our minds the focus shifted slightly to upping the over rate rather than closing out the match. Then Jamie got his game face on and bought out Dot Ball, the VIP and Slow fingers to shore the match up. After Slow Fingers showed his winning appetite with an appeal for caught behind about an inch from the umpires face - his previous delivery was an inch outside off and was given a wide and well lets just say he wasn't too happy- it all came down to the final over.

Who would be trusted to take us home to a first victory? Who was the man for the big occasion? Who could take this amount of pressure on their broad shoulders? The skipper Hand eye, tossed the ball to me with this ringing endorsement.

"Here you Gareth, they need 37 to win surely you can't cock this up"!

I didn't. We won! Oh yes the BSD have won their first game and we confidently talked about the possibility of having a reasonable side all of a sudden. the problem is, I wont be able to get in it! Bring back the bad old days I say!

Shopping parade conspiracy

I think our local shop keepers have had enough of me. There seems to be some sort of conspiracy between them to keep me away. It started with balding children and ended with shrunken curtains, confused? You will be.

Let me start by telling you about our local shops. It is the sort of thing we had in the UK before Tesco's metro and Sainsbury's local destroyed it all. A parade of shops if you will. The sort of place we used to hang around after school kicking a football or trying to cop off with each other, till the fed up shop keepers threatened to tell your mum and dad and you scarpered.

We have a coffee shop;butchers;chemist;two,dry cleaners;cigarette/paan kiosk;grocery store;bank;estate agent and hardware stand.Everyone down there is very friendly and helpful, well they were until this week.

At first I couldn't work out why everyone was turning hostile but after a bit of detective work I have found that the responsibility lies squarely at the foot of The British School New Delhi. It is from there that Raffi has managed to infect himself with hair lice. Not an un-common problem one would assume. Certainly not something that would make me become a social pariah in my own neighbourhood. Unfortunately it has, and here is why.

I walked down to the chemist with Rafa and Silas to get some treatment for it and the conversation went like this:

"Hello how are you?"

"Very well, what can I do for you?"

"I am after a hair lice treatment for my children."

At this point, the girl behind the counter looked at me in utter disgust.

"Sorry sir we do not do this for children." Came her curt response.

"Are you sure?" I questioned.

"Absolutely sir, if you want a treatment for you, this is OK but for your children this is not right."

She then cast me a look that made me feel somewhere between a paedophile and a rapist and I left the shop.

A little confused I thought no more of it and went home. That afternoon the guy from the local dry cleaner came to the house with our freshly cleaned curtains. He very kindly offered to re hang them for me which he got on with until I looked and saw that they had shrunk by a good 5 inches.

I called his boss and told him he had better get up here straight away and explained what had happened. He arrived looking at me as if I was something on his shoe and I wondered if he was privy to the lice information and a little wary to enter. More to the point had he shrunk the curtains on purpose?

He looked at the curtains and told me they hadn't shrunk and that I had in fact lifted the curtain pole! I explained to him that he was lucky 'A' wasn't here and it was me he was dealing with and sent him on his way to get them stretched and on the pole by the time she got home, or his arse would be kicked all over Shanti Niketan!

After enduring 'A' screaming down the phone to the maid and I about what she was going to do if her $400 curtains were ruined I decided enough was enough and headed down to see Mr. Merry at our local store for a diet coke. I said

"Hi Mr. Merry" my normal greeting to him, to which he replied.

"My name is not Mr. Merry, that is the name of the store, my name is Ravi". He eyed the boys up with a shake of the head and look that said poor kids. I had no idea why Ravi had chosen this point after nearly a year to turn nasty and inform me of his correct name but my suspicion was still the lice.

Surely everyone is not turning nasty because my son has nits? This is India, most of them will happily pee up the wall in front of you, I they really that prissy about few nits? With the bit between my teeth and the realisation that everyone was looking at me with disgust I decided to drag the boys back into the chemist, determined to find a treatment for Rafa.

Once inside it was a scene reminiscent of the bar in American werewolf in London. All the staff came to a standstill and peered at the freaks before them. Summoning up some courage and suppressing my anger I asked again.

"Are you sure you have not treatment for hair lice for my children? It is no big deal and quite common in the UK for kids to suffer from them."

"Sorry sir them?"

"Yes them, hair lice"

"Lice?"

"Yes lice, that crawl in your hair"

With that, her frown changed to a laugh and look of relief.

"I am very sorry sir I thought you were looking for a treatment for hair loss for your son! I thought it was strange because he has very long hair and it was not nice to be treating your child for this"

With that there were laughs all round and people started relaying from shop to shop what had happened and laughter was ringing out every where.

It was then that the penny dropped. The chemist thought I was involved in some sort of sick child abuse whereby I try and make my boy's hair grow as fast and as thick as I can artificially and had told the whole parade thus making me public enemy number 1.

I left the chemist with the treatment seeing the funny side and passed Ravi on the way out who told me I could call him Mr. Merry if I choose. the dry cleaner told me the curtains would be sorted by Saturday and apologised for his mistake and the woman at the coffee shop asked if I wanted a pastry!

All was well with the world again and I was back to being, that-nice-tall-bloke-with-the-two-cute-kids and not serial-rapist-and-possible-murderer-on-the-run.

I got home and relayed the comedy of errors to 'A' who sat there looking rather sheepish. She then explained that she had just been down there herself and given the dry cleaner a massive bollocking about the curtains. The poor guy took her tirade while trying to argue his point before finally getting a word in and explaining she was at the wrong dry cleaners!

My status has no doubt once again plunged and I now no longer feel I can ever shop there again.

Thanks 'A' you are a star.

Tikli Bottom

The invitation was confusing to say the least. A bit of bat and leather action at Tikli Bottom, are you in?

How could one refuse? It was only after it was explained to me that Tikli bottom was a place and the bat and leather action was actually cricket, that the penny dropped and I reluctantly agreed.

Another outing for the British School dad's and - owing to the fact that I was playing - no doubt a good hiding! The benefactors of our combined cricketing genius this time was The Baas Educational Trust(BET)school in Garatpur Baas(Haryana). A magnificent charitable organisation that offers an education to the children of three surrounding villages. Baas, Gairatpur Baas and Pandala.

The school is the brain child of our wonderful host's for the day Martin and Annie Howard who have been in India for 25 years looking after tourists at their divine home Tikli Bottom and looking after the village children's futures. Please take the time to look at the website www.tiklibottom.com and if you are feeling flush maybe donate. You will be putting your money to good use.

To the cricket. The format was "simple enough" our erstwhile organiser and team skipper Toby, told us. Two local village teams against us in a "round robin" 10 over-a-side tournament. This was all rounded off with a fairly stern "do you know anyone who has a batting helmet"? Now I love a game of cricket but the version I like involves pies, pints and gentle medium slow bowling. When mention is made of helmets I think more of American football and Ice hockey!

Re-assured by Toby that it would be fine and we are taking along our own mat to avoid the "difficult dust bowl bounce" I arrived on the day full of beans. The village teams we were playing were Baas and Pandala and were there ready for us as we arrived. The first thing I noticed was that they were generally speaking young and particularly athletic, then talk of helmets surfaced again and panic set in.

Having won the toss, we decided to field as we started the first match against Baas. The rules were simple:10 overs-a-side rotating bowlers as much as is sporting; if you hit a 6 into either the village pond or over the wall you had a minute to find it or you are out and you can't be out first ball. All very British one would think.

After the first over, bowled very well by Adam Leetham was spanked for 13 we realised they were taking it quite seriously. It all had a faint whiff of the Aamir Khan film Lagaan were the local villagers in the Victorian British Raj period took on the British gentry over the payment of an unfair tax. If the villagers won the tax would be scrapped for 3 years, I am sure you can guess the rest.

We were not trying to impose a tax, in fact we were not imposing much at all. As over after over of fair to rubbish bowling came down the Baas team found themselves piling on the runs pretty quickly and eventually finished with a fairly impressive 116.

With 12 an over required, we felt reasonably confident,completely Misplaced as it turned out! After a reasonable first wicket partnership of 29 from Adam Leetham (8) and the ever dependable Jamie Heywood (21) the collapse came! Conde and Saif both fell to snorting deliveries which destroyed their stumps and dignity before the rot was slowed a little by Toby and Puneet with 11 and 10 respectively. Tim Bond then quacked his way back to the hutch while Bill - looking distinctly like a proper player - scored 12 aided by a splendid 1 not out from debutant Tony Smith.

After the 10 overs we limped to a poor 65 - 8, the only bright spot being that we were not all out!I still can't help but think that the rapid tumble of wickets may have had something to do with the shared box. The quicker you were out the quicker you got to remove it!

Lunch couldn't come quick enough and we sat and gorged our way through Pimms, Kingfisher and pie while watching how it should be done as Baas played Pandala. With Pandala winning comfortably, we took to the field against them to avenge our earlier defeat. Buoyed by the Kingfisher coursing through our veins we started fairly promisingly, limiting them to about 12 an over!

With Tim Bond taking a breathtaking catch at point and Charlie Benson performing magnificently behind the stumps, we suddenly looked in good nick. Saif and myself popped up with 'once in a lifetime' deliveries that clattered the stumps and we suddenly fancied ourselves. It was to be a false dawn! The runs started to come thick and fast again as the crowd were dispatched time and again into the pond to retrieve huge 6's. Pandala went on to rack up 128 setting us a target of 228 to win the tournament!

We could do it, 23 an over was mathematically possible, we just needed to believe, seize the moment and slog for the boundaries. The score board looked like this:

Tony 5 bowled
Charlie 4 bowled
David 2 bowled
Tim 3 bowled

Can you see a pattern forming here?

Toby 1 bowled
Saib 1 bowled
Bill 5 run out
Pradeep 8 caught
Gareth 1 stumped
Jamie 14 caught
Adam 1 not out

All out for a fairly pathetic 44 and falling about 200 short of the necessary total. There were some bright spots and positives to take forward to the next game however.

Bill looks like a good addition to the squad and there were promising debut's from Tony (Foolishly tried to get his fingers to a massive 6 on the boundary while bouncing off a tree, that's the spirit) and David (Cracking team member, just got to promise not to bowl again).

Pandala were the eventual winners but we had a sense of moral victory as we manged to avoid any serious injury and all live to lose again another day.

Photos from top to bottom:

Martin presenting the Pandala captain with the winers cheque and a magnum of Veuve Cliquot (may have made that last bit up.

Our star player Jamie.

Toby checking the communal box is still in place!

Toby with a rare boundary.

The teams.

Anne's life admin lesson.

Does anyone else remember a time when they knew their age to within a day or two? I can vividly remember a time when I asked my dad how old he was and he genuinely couldn't remember.

I was absolutely gobsmacked how could someone not know how old they were? When you are 7 years 5 months and 22 days, nothing in the world was more important than getting through the next 8 or 9 days so you were 7 and a half and here is my dad not knowing if he is 34 or 35. I remember thinking that life obviously didn't matter at that age and dad had just given up. I remember asking mum who explained that dad was under a lot of pressure (he was manager of a football club) and age wasn't really important. I asked mum how old she was and she knew instantly but told me not to tell anyone.

Here is the thing, I had a birthday yesterday and I spent most of the day genuinely confused as to whether I was 37,38 or 39! I am still not sure sat here writing now and essentially I am not really bothered. I am late 30's somewhere, that is close enough isn't it?

Now 'A' on the other hand is an entirely different kettle of fish. She is incredibly aware of her age and how it is creeping up to the point of it becoming a real anxiety problem (nothing new, her mum once told me she was like it at 16).

Why does it seem to bother the fairer sex more than us blokes? The more I thought about it the more it started to bother me. It was then that I bumped into Anne, the mother of one of Rafa's best mates at school. I asked her if she was skiving off work and she told me she had taken a day off to "do some life admin stuff".

What a great phrase "life admin" Is! I chuckled to myself all day every time I thought of Anne sat at home re-administrating her life and fell in love with the idea and have decided that starting today I am going to have a monthly "life admin" day.

This morning I pushed all work aside (oh yes people work, not one but four jobs more of which later) kicked back with a bowl of corn flakes and a brew and got stuck in. I made a list of my life priorities for the next month and they looked like this.

Make more time for the boy's. (ridiculous, I have been back working 5 weeks and mainly from home!)

Maybe see if 'A' and I can get out for dinner at some point in the next month!

Prepare for the arrival of mum and dad by listing jobs that need to be done.

Book taxi for cricket at Tikli Bottom on Saturday.

Reduce golf handicap to single figures.

It was at this point that I realised that my life is in pretty good nick! I may be late 30ish and disgusted that I have forgotten that boyish instinct of age importance but it is not because I have given up, as it probably wasn't for my dad. It is that I actually don't care and believe that it is just a number.

I have never been happier and feel that if my "life admin" list is as flippant as to include cricket and single figure handicaps I am a very lucky bloke. The sun is back out in Delhi, we are very settled, have some great friends and feel very privileged.

Life admin complete. Over to you.

Homeward bound.

Oh the joy of international flights. Like picking dates from a bowl, you know it is only a matter of time before you get a bad one! No matter whom you choose to fly with and at what class, you know a stinker is only just around the corner.

I feel - with some justification - that I had got mine out of the way last year. I had the one where the last 30 minutes were spent covered in Silas’ pooh and who can forget the one where were we sat on the plane for 6 hours before taking off, with a tourettes suffering girl behind me telling anyone that would listen that all Indian’s stink, I was a fat bastard and the flight attendant, “needed to shut his mouth because everyone on the plane knows he is just a shit stabber”!

It was knowing I had got these recent horrors under my belt that I felt rather smug and pleased with myself as I headed to IGI for my latest flight back to 'Blighty'. This time it was going to be plain sailing. No baby crawling all over me, no pooh, no delays and no hastle. Just myself, Rafa and 2 Virgin Upper class seats, Nine and a half hours uninterrupted cartoons for Rafa and nine and half hours uninterrupted wine and cheese for me.

How wrong could I be?

The 4 week winter seems to have run its course in Delhi and as we headed to the airport it was shorts and sunglasses weather. Unfortunately the Delhi airport authorities opinion differed. Still believing the Indian myth that anything below 20 degrees is likely to cause hypothermia, they have the heating in the airport cranked up to 11! This, one assumes, is just to show off the fact they do actually have heating that works. When they get a chance to prove it, boy are they going to.

By the time I was through check in I was sweating spinal fluid. I looked like an extra in Ice Cold in Alice and felt a little faint. Rafa’s cheeks looked like 2 pieces of rare beef and all around me people were wilting. The fact that I was marched past the hoards of sweaty travelers to the front of the queue at emigration added to my scarlet complexion.

Safely through the proletariat, we made it to the sanctuary of the lounge. At last, a sit down in the a/c and a cold beer to re-hydrate. No such luck, the lounge was hotter than the seventh level of hell and completely packed while the beer was warm!

Due to fog and numerous cancelled flights Delhi airport was in meltdown. There were too many people, little organization and a huge amount of impatience. It was while queuing to get through security I finally blew!

I exploded! The recipients of my spleen venting were two Indian gentlemen who decided that unlike the rest of us, they were special and really didn’t have to queue. Cutting through the ropes to a position several in front of me, tipped me over the edge and turned me into Basil Fawlty.

Expletives tumbled forth in a spitting torrent of rage. ‘How dare you’, ‘who do you think you are’ and ‘you pair of ignorant rude tossers, get to the back of the queue’ were of the more printable. I was so angry I was actually shaking and more than happy to take him and his several mates on. Sensing my rage and seeing a 6’6” gorah foaming at the mouth and shaking with rage was enough to do the trick.

Tails between their legs and with a little goading from their friends who clearly didn’t want to be seen to be condoning such behaviour, they shuffled to the back of the queue. A small round of applause ensued from my fellow passengers and for a brief second I felt quite proud of myself. The peoples champion, the defender of all that is civilized and righteous, the……… father of a 4 year old who’s just completely lost the plot in front of him and now feels slightly embarrassed!

Having got my Basil out the way we headed for the plane and found that due to the lack of quality at security the Captain had ordered everyone to be searched again! Eventually we took off 2 hours late and my run of bad flights continued. When will it end? Not on the return leg that is for sure. That was spent wandering around the plane trying not to wake people up with a wide awake baby. Oh the joys of parenting!

It was all worth it in the end though. Catching up with the conde's was as much fun as ever and my super-mum now has less than a week till her treatment ends. It seems to have gone by so fast and it will be such a relief when it is finally over. My moaning about flights sometimes needs to be put into perspective I think!

Come back 'A' all is forgiven!

I have had a surreal look into what my life would be like without 'A' this weekend and have to say it was not pretty! Becoming a lad for the weekend always seems quite an exciting prospect but invariably ends in tears!

Late nights, alcoholic poisoning, fast food, golf and football should be Nirvana but the reality is usually a little different.'A' left on Thursday and when I picked Rafa up from school, all was well. We decided we were going to have a lads weekend and lots of fun but within an hour rattling around the house Rafa said "I miss my mummy". I had to agree!

There was a slight whiff of 'single parent' about the whole thing. I felt like 'A' had dropped Rafa round for a weekend of McDonald's and cartoons, while she was off for the weekend with her new beau and it really disturbed me.

I had the glory of a full on lads weekend to look forward to though, so I got all negative thoughts from my head and started getting ready for the perfect lads itinerary. Friday night - boys night out. Saturday - kids party with bar followed by football on the box and another party in the evening. Sunday - Golf followed by more drinking and football.

Does it get any better? Now excited and having stopped pretending 'A' had left me I headed out on Friday and had a top night. Arriving home very late I staggered to bed anticipating a really bad hangover. I wasn't disappointed, it was teenager in its proportions but I had parties, football and drink to get through so decided to man up and bring it on.

Saturday passed with similar consequences. A full on boozy day culminating in me very nearly spewing in the back of the car of new friends who very kindly offered me a lift home! It was Sunday am at 7.30 when Rafa woke up that the full horror of my single life hit home. With head pounding and nausea welling I had an "It's a wonderful life" style moment were the spectre of some bloated alcoholic spirit, showed me the error of my ways. With golf, more booze and football still to come I doubted whether I could do it.

I am crap at being a single lad again. Long gone are the days of wonderful lost weekends spent gambling, drinking, clubbing and pulling with no consequences and no hangovers. Now the hangovers hurt but they seem even worse without 'A' around. Maybe it is just that we have had so many together over the years I got used to having her here when I was rough, more likely, I am just getting old!

I headed for golf with my tail between my legs and a belly full of Ronald McDonald's hangover elixir and managed to work it all off in the sunshine. It was a tonic, and I even managed to brave a few beers but I knew I was going back to an empty house which caused that empty feeling in the pit of the stomach to return.

From now on I think I am going to limit my laddish activities to 24 hours. Being married with kids is a good thing, it keeps you honest and on the straight and narrow. A weekend partying is just too long these days and 3 day hangovers are no fun. If you are reading this 'A' and not shacked up with a new pair of tights already, Please don't ever leave me. The only good to come of it would be McDonald's, Kingfisher and Gordon's share prices soaring.In the mean time I would give myself 6 months!

I am now de-toxing all week and jumping on the wagon, no doubt just till my return to blighty. Once there, temptation of good red wine and being reunited with my drinking partner, means I can forget everything I have just written and revel in the glory of a stinking hangover, knowing 'A' will feel the same.

See you Saturday 'A' I have missed you loads!

Cohandi!

Many thanks to my old mate Steve Downing for his contribution to the beard debate. This is his Ghandi/Conde contribution. Please check out his web-site at www.mendhamcreative.com There aint nothing that boy can't do with a Mac and a load of spare time!!

To beard, or not to beard, that is the question?

In these dark troubled times, I thought it was time to stop the dumbing down and start making the Indianhousehusband more highbrow. Away with the banalities of nappy changing and school runs, be gone tales of Delhi madness and drunken wives. It is time to start addressing some of the big issues currently circulating the world.

Global warming, melting polar caps, world financial meltdown, natural disasters and Sir John Chilcotts official inquiry into the Iraq invasion.I thought long and hard about discussing potential safety risks at the world cup in light of the recent horror in Angola, the assassination attempt of Captain Moussa Dadis Camara, leader of Guinea's military junta and the argument for cancelling third world debt.

All subjects that are indeed worthy of intelligent, lively debate yet paling into insignificance when the real big talking point is should I or shouldn't I have a beard?

Please feel free to vent your spleen, proffer your opinion or remain completely apathetic to the subject but please never let it be said that I am trivial!

Gis-a-job, a-can-do-dat.

The Indianhousehusband is looking like he could be out of a job! As of 2010, I am under notice that my position is going to be made redundant and I am seeking gameful employment as of today.

It is about time. I am afraid my 'maternity leave' has run its course and I am ready to start taxing my brain again in ways other than school runs and nappy changes. I am sharpening my cv and dusting down the suit ready to do battle with the other one hundred million in India looking for work!

With Rafa in school and Silas starting nursery I feel now is a good time to get back in the market and work out what I am going to do for the rest of my life. I have the full backing of 'A' who bought me a lovely alarm clock for Xmas. When I asked why I need an alarm clock she replied "Because you are getting a job in the new year", always the last to know in this house!

2009 was such a peculiar year for me. I had the ying: excitement and joy of moving to Delhi and spending some time with my beautiful boys. Mixed with the yang: The terrible news of my mums cancer. Fortunately, mum is on the mend and ready to come out and visit us and we can forget all about the bad times of 09 and get ready for a great 2010.

Christmas was terrific,despite missing family and friends we had a great day. Christmas eve was spent on a crazy dash around Delhi's various markets looking for sprouts! We eventually found them which gave us good reason to get the hoarded imported wine open and start the celebrations. After finally opening the last presents at about 7pm we got the kids to bed before collapsing ourselves not long after in a state of exhaustion.

On the 29th we flew down to Kovalam for some much needed r&r. We met up with friends of ours Sophia (or on-fire as she was christened by Rafa) and Peter. A better pair we couldn't have spent time with. While Peter and I got on with some serious Kingfisher annihilation the girls theorised about every single couple we saw and discussed what they would be buying in M&S food hall if they were at home! Once they had got their head's around the fact they couldn't get pain-au-chocolat and skinny latte's every morning things progressed quite nicely.

What is it with women? Why do they have to have a theory on people they have never met?

While sipping the first cold Kingfisher of the day my peace was constantly interrupted with "Definitely second marriage" or "I can't work those lot out at all" or "Must be a Thai bride job surely". I pointed out to 'A' that there was a good chance people were looking at us and saying "Can't work out what that skinny bird is doing with the hairy beer bellied bloke" but she shrugged it off with a lowering of the chin, a raising of the eyebrows and a vigorous shake of the head,(think Brucie having an asthma attack)! I carried on sipping my beer and reading my book only to be told 5 minutes later I am not as much fun as Sophia.

Apparently, when 'A' pulls the 'Brucie' face it means: don't look now but behind us is something you need to look at. Amanda knows not to actually say the words "Don't look now but...." because I just look immediately, thus spoiling her fun (I seem to remember an incident in Vietnam involving Swedish blonde twenty something girls kissing behind me, come on, who wouldn't look?). It spoils her fun because it is much better if I don't look. Miss it and she can spend the next 2 hours telling me she can't believe I missed it!

Only women understand the subtle eye and head movements used in bars and restaurants to point out something to be looked at surreptitiously, so when Sophia wasn't there I was useless,how was I supposed to join in? I have testicles!

I am useless at gossip, I have no ability to guess a woman's age by the bikini she wears or tell if someone is a single parent by what their child is wearing!More to the point I have no interest. I asked 'A' if I was really so boring to talk to that it was more fun guessing where random strangers come from and if they were on honeymoon and she replied without a seconds hesitation: Yes!

Am I alone here, or do other men find they spend large chunks of their holiday repeating themselves continually because their wife is actually straining every fibre of her body to hear what the German couple behind are talking about? It didn't help that she had an ear full of water and was completely mutton for 5 days and insisted on sitting with her good ear to the tables around us rather than towards me.

Despite all this it was a terrific way to spend new year, Rafa learnt how to surf, 'A' got a tan (thank the lord) and Silas ate his own body weight in sand. I just basked in the glow of my terrific family for a week and realised just how lucky we are. My mission now before next holiday is to learn the subtle art of female speculation on others and perfect my 'Brucie', obviously in-between trying to get a job.

Help!

Like cricket but different.

While London was snowed in the week before Christmas, I was invited to play a game of cricket. A week before Christmas and playing cricket? It couldn't have felt more wrong yet Toby and Jamie the co-organisers managed to rally up "eighteen once a decade'rs and 4 virtual professionals" for a game of 20/20 in aid of Save the Children and Child In Need Institute(CINI) at the British school in Delhi.

Being the altruistic fella that I am, I accepted with gusto and immediately began to talk up my ability. It was after being dispatched to Sarogini Nagar market several times to pick up cricket whites, I realised my inclusion had more to do with having time on my hands than genuine cricketing ability!

With temperatures in the high 20's and the feel of a summers day adding to the strangeness of it all, we gathered and in true tradition of the playground Toby and Jamie were elected as team captains and had one pick each until the unfortunate last man standing. His name will be protected to hide his shame but he was close to manning the bouncy castle for the day!

The CINI team (Jamie's) won the toss and elected to bat first a decision that looked to have backfired as they were quickly reduced to 18-4. With talk in the field being of "early lunch and a few beers" and "possibly letting them bat twice,maybe 3 times" confidence was high. Unfortunately the confidence was Misplaced!

A partnership between Glen and Nigel was beautifully crafted to take the score to 84-4 before compulsory retirement (at 30) was enforced. With Fergus dispatched back to the pavilion (bouncy castle) considerably quicker than the ball that got him out, confidence was once again high in the Save the Children camp. Then came Jamie.

Now Jamie had claimed to be "reasonably handy with the bat", but a long time ago. As it turned out, he was more than "a bit handy". Having taken out the windows of a neighbouring hospital not to mention the windows of several cars innocently driving along the adjacent road with mighty sixes, he was forced to retire on thirty for health and safety reasons. He was allowed back in after the fall of the last three wickets (Trevor and James respectively making double figures) to add a further 11 and help his team to a tally of 175.

The only incredible thing from a bowling point of view -apart from Tom Le Quesne taking 3 wickets in one over to polish off the tail- was that we nearly outscored Jamie in extras! With Toby considering replacing me for the bouncy castle mid way through my second over things were at a real low and it was eventually only the umpires generosity that kept the score below 200!

The less said about the batting from Toby's Save the Children team the better. All out for a paltry 86, the second law of the playground was invoked and we all batted again to get through the twenty overs, reaching a rather pathetic 146. Credit through gritted teeth to Jon who bowled a spell of devastating three-bounce-daisy cutters to remove our top order - including me for the days only duck - and a spell of 3-0-1-11 from Richard 'me a swan's wily leg spin.

Worth a mention was a quite brilliant reverse sweep for 4 from Toby (who also ended with a credible 32 from 2 innings and produced a cat like performance behind the stumps),a dashing 14 from Adam Leetham and knocks of nineteen from Gary and sixteen from Jono creeping into the realms of respectable. Run outs were too many to mention as we collectively realised getting between the wicket wasn't as easy as it was at school and that though great fun, bi-monthly would appear to be plenty!

Revenge will be sweet if the re-match happens in February, most of us may well have recovered by then.