Wishful thinking

When Son and I were staying in Chiang Mai at half term, the hotel gave us a fortune cookie each day after housekeeping had been to clean the rooms. Here are three of mine:

I got it twice; it must be true. *Sigh*

I do wish that they applied to any part of my life but I seem to be out of control in every sphere right now.

So I am going to assume (and pray) that they apply to the writing part of my life. They certainly should: I am the only one at the helm. (WHAT? There’s no-one else in charge? EEEEK.)

Just before the red shirts' midday deadline kicks off, I am going to get myself out of the apartment for some air and to do a few jobs. I need to pick some New Red Editing pens, because L-Plate told me so. I am listening to her because she knows these things, even though I think scythes and bin bags might be more in order. What I have to do to this manuscript is looking less like editing and more like wholesale slaughter.

Half term

Is it half term every where this week? It is here for our school. Daughter has gone off on a school trip to London and Son and I have work to do. My work (on the travel articles) is being met with little resistance; after all this is what I want to be doing. Son's work... well not so much.

In order to make it as pain free as possible I've brought him to Chiang Mai, Thailand's second city. We're staying in the same hotel that we stayed in when we came here two years ago. It's orange so I'm very happy. It has criss crossed chips - fries - so Son is happy.

Yesterday I went down to breakfast before Son. I'd been up longer, was starving hungry and he was dragging his size 12 feet, hoping that the longer it took him to get to breakfast, the less likely work time would appear.

I was sitting in the restaurant; gazing around. There was a family on the table by the window with two small boys. They were around seven and nine, I'd guess. I began to think about how normal that is now... to fly longhaul as a family. When I was a kid I had a good friend whose Dad had his own travel agency and they went to exotic places and came back with suntans. I do remember being quite envious of her.

I watched these two boys, thinking how lucky kids are today. My family holidays had been camping to Somerset when we were that age. There were no suntans to be had there, though one year we did have a whirlwind that picked someone's tent up and placed it in the field next door with some cows. I certainly wasn't deprived: I went to Rouen in France on a school exchange. Then later, my Dad's job took him to Germany for work during the summer holidays, and we would go out to join him for a bit. I thought that was exotic.

After they'd finished eating the boys were allowed to play on some sort of computer console while Mum and Dad finished at leisure. I'd caught the Mum's eye a couple of times but eventually I looked at the Dad. I could only see him almost in profile, behind the Bangkok Post.

I wondered where my son had got to.

I looked back at the Dad: hmm, I thought.

Where is Son? Whatever is he doing?

It was a slow dawning. I was tired and it was out of context.

I texted Son 'Are you there?' No answer.

'SON' I texted next. 'You won't believe this...' Still no answer.

'Son, don't freak out, but your headmaster and his family are having breakfast next to me.'

I'm surprised Son came down at all to that news.

I'm a convert

It was without enthusiasm that I set out with family for the start of the Songkran water festival. My lead lined boots and I shuffled miserably up the road, a smile pasted to my face just to prove to the family that I do know how to have fun. A day earlier, an AK-47 seemed the best possible option, but on the actual day, I declared myself a pacifist. I would not arm myself. I was going to make a political stand. (In truth I hoped that the combination of unarmed, bespectacled - I'm having problems with the jellyfish contact lenses - and the status of a farang woman would discourage anyone from dousing me. Yeah, I can hear your withering laughs from here...)

In Chiang Mai all the action is at the moat which surrounds the old town so we walked from our hotel, purchasing water guns on the way for Husband, Son and Daughter.

We got progressively wetter as we approached our destination and by the time we'd taken a position by the moat the guns had been abandoned in favour of buckets and we were drenched. We were totally soaked through ... to our skin; like we'd been dunked in the swimming pool, fully clothed. It was somewhere at the beginning of this process that I realised. It dawned on me that it was a good idea because quite suddenly the heat was no longer an issue; my temperature was comfortable for the first time in weeks.

It was pandemonium: total madness. Young person music pumped out of a pub with a 'it all sounds the same to me' beat. Everyone was armed with buckets and a variety of water guns. A motorcade of trucks, cars, tuk tuks and motorbikes crept along the roads, hurling gallons of iced water at the hundreds of people lining the roads, who drew water out of the moat or pumps by the roadside and threw it back. People screamed and squealed with laughter as they were sprayed with freezing cold water and rushed to fire back.

I really enjoyed myself though. For two hours we took part in a sort of happy warfare. There is nowhere else I can imagine this happening without fights breaking out. It was great fun for two hours, but not five days! I had the brilliant idea of photographing the spectacle through a plastic bag and I've got lots of truly dreadful hazy pictures but I may post them when I get to Bangkok anyway.

Back in Bangkok tomorrow. Boy, will I be glad to see my laptop!