Have you played 'What's in the box?' Well, don't.

I’ve come to tell you that I survived yesterday – just. I’m only a tiny bit traumatized.

Today the new apartment looks terrifyingly like the photo in yesterday's post.

So entirely pushed to my limits was I by the evening that I was fit to commit all sorts of crimes but fortunately for everyone else I was just too exhausted; a total waste of space by about 8.30.

Knickers and undercrackers going missing have been one of our problems. Noooo, not like someone had a fetish and has been swiping them… I mean more like there are 350 boxes and your knickers are probably in one of them but everything’s labeled in Thai by the packers so it’s like a huge game of ‘guess what’s in the box.’ Have you every played that? Don’t is my advice. When you’re properly pooped and you know that all the underwear’s gone missing but actually you can’t worry about that because you won’t need them until tomorrow morning and further up your priority list should be the bed sheets and pillows which you are going to need much sooner… not to mention the loo roll.

Anyway, Daughter’s knickers were located after she'd left for school this morning in my wardrobe (I wish.) Don’t worry, Daughter had packed some extra pairs separately because she didn’t get her organizational genes from me. And a pair of undercrackers were found for Husband  – we suspect they might be Son’s but beggars can’t be choosers - in the clean washing pile that came separately but that’s only given us a stay of execution… Top of the list today is:

1. Find Husband some undercrackers for tomorrow.

A Monday morning sort of post...

I’ve been missing the gym; not as in yearning for it but as in skipping it, avoiding it. Not ‘skipping’ as it turns out. I only managed one session last week due to a combination of lingering tummy ache and preparing to move apartments. (I am trying to sort out some of the shambolic mess in which I live.)

Yesterday I was leaving the apartment to go out and pick up some fabric I wanted for cushions (with this move I’m feeling the need to nest.) When the lift arrived there was already another tenant inside from one of the floors above.

‘Morning,’ we both said and smiled.

I looked at him and I felt a stab of guilt. He was dressed in trainers, shorts and a t-shirt and was clutching a bottle of water. The light to floor six was illuminated. Bugger it. I jabbed the ground floor button. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You’re going to the gym…’

‘I am.’ He looked pleased and pulled a small towel from the crook of his arm and dabbed his forehead in anticipation of his sweating.

I wanted to be sick. It’s proving so hard to get the fitness back since I was away in the summer and these two weeks weren’t going to make it any easier. Then I realized…

‘Oh yes,’ I said, triumphant; ‘I’m also going to the Jim. I’m going to the Jim Thompson fabric shop; do you think that’ll have the same effect?’

I'm really on my own...

I’ve mentioned a few times here about my newish gym habit. I’ve been going down to the gym in our apartment block since about April but what I haven’t confessed to here is that I’ve been doing it with the help of a personal trainer. I’m sorry but when it comes to the gym I am the idlest woman ever; I would so much rather lie on my sofa reading a good book than go to any gym. God, even a bad book would be better than exercise!

Most apartment blocks here have gyms but when we drew up a shopping list for our new home, it was still one of the things I emphasised to Husband. The new apartment needs a decent gym, I said. Gawd knows it’s tough enough to take the lift 19 floors to get to the 6^th floor gym… If you’re asking me to leave the building… well, I couldn’t be sure I could achieve that!

So, the new apartment has a gym downstairs. Not a room with some equipment in but a branch of a membership/paying gym and we get membership with our rental. And I was a happy bunny because I knew this gym is the one that my trainer uses for her own personal sessions so it would be convenient for her too.

However, at our session on Friday morning it transpired that we were not on the same wavelength at all. She broke the news to me that the gym doesn’t allow anyone but their own staff to take personal training sessions. That’s when I went ‘arrrrghhhh.’ She thought I was worried about our training relationship coming to an end and tried to let me know that it was okay. Of course I felt bad that I hadn’t realized we couldn’t still work together but actually, selfishly, I was worried about being on my own…

I spent all weekend panicking and worrying. It still astonishes me that I wouldn’t dream of messing my trainer about by cancelling sessions – barring illness or disaster – but I will let myself down. Eventually I thought back to why I started all this; that I’d realized that I am on my own. No-one else can do this for me. I’ll just have to stand on my own two feet (while wearing trainers and attractive, stretchy gym clothes) earlier than I expected.

A Room of One's Own

We gave our landlords notice on our apartment several months ago because we could have been moving to the UK.

When we finally knew we were staying in Bangkok we could have changed our minds and stayed but we decided we wanted to move. This is a gorgeous apartment but it’s expensive and we don’t use all the facilities. (Here is a picture of our present  apartment's garden. It's from my office; I’m sorry I couldn’t be bothered to go downstairs. The tennis courts are part of our garden – I’ve never so much set food on them – and the garden itself: with a playground, a seating area and a grassy bit that's out of sight. All the facilities for which people with small kids and dogs pay a premium. I probably haven’t been down there for two years. Why? Because it’s hot people. Remember, our three seasons are ‘hot,’ ‘really hot’ and ‘hot and wet.’)

But back to the present… I was in the UK; I couldn’t look for accommodation. So I told Husband he had total power to choose an apartment. Gulp. Husband’s quite good at house/condo hunting. I reckoned I could trust him to find us a nice place to live – a nice enough place anyway.

He kept in touch, telling me what he’d seen and where they were. In the end he chose one from the short list and stumped up some money so that they took it off the market…so…you know, there wasn’t any going back. Eeek.

I went to see it this week. Gulp. Our agent was nervous because he thought I might march in and say ‘I hate it. This won’t do.’ I’d never do that. I might think it but I gave all the power to Husband so if I loathed it…well, I was going to have to keep buttoned, wasn’t I? 

I already knew the area pretty well. It’s on the green route (back roads) we use to access our current home. I even knew which building it was… I knew that there was plenty of space inside for me to have my own office (OMG *trembling with excitement*) but I had also clocked that there was going to be a disagreement with our children about who’d have the better of the two bedrooms… This was already being played out in our home and they hadn’t even seen the rooms yet!

It was very nice: older but just as much area and quite light. We have more rooms in the new place but they are all a little smaller than the present place. The minute I saw the two rooms for the kids I knew it was a no brainer. Sure, the nicer room shares the balcony with the living room but the other bedroom – OMG - had a walk in closet. Daughter has always wanted one of those…