Parallel Lives

I have recently finished reading a book called 'Slavery' by Mende Nazer. It is the story of her life which starts out as a happy child in the Nuba mountains in Sudan full of the memories of village life until she was captured, at the age of twelve, by Arab raiders. She then spent the next decade as a domestic slave in Khartoum and London without pay and subjected to all sorts of abuse as she tended to her duties. Mende had the courage to escape whilst she was enslaved in London in September 2000. She thought she would be able to gain political asylum through the gates of freedom. It took two long years, and appeals, but now she is free from slavery.

It beggars belief that in the twenty-first century there are people like Mende, not just a handful in the odd country here and there, but thousands all over the world, who live in fear of abuse and are treated so inhumanely. As the current global economic crisis is starting to affect the way we live our own lives and we tighten up our monetary belts another notch, I think we should consider how lucky we are. There are young people, like Mende, living in a world of modern day slavery. They have nothing, no identity and they actually do not officially exist. They are so scared to do anything so much as to upset their masters, or to think about escape, that their plight goes un-noticed to the rest of the world. They endure suffering that is beyond our contemplation.

When Mende finally escaped she was helped by sympathetic people who became her closest friends to apply for asylum. This was initially rejected and it took a full two years to get final approval because the British system stubbornly failed to recognise the truth. Even so when she was officially allowed to stay in England, her captors were not prosecuted and have been allowed to go free. What effect this has had on the rest her family in Sudan is not known, but they live in fear of their lives!

What drives people to abuse a helpless and innocent individual to such extremes? Why do they exert such control, deception, dishonesty and power to the extent that physical harm and often death is the final result. How many poor victims have taken their own lives when they reach the point of not being able to take any more abuse, but they have nowhere to turn to because their masters have completely isolated them from the rest of the world?

During 2007 a campaign for justice for Vinceta Flores was started in Hong Kong. Vinceta was a Filipino domestic helper who had worked for the same family in Discovery Bay on Lantau Island for twelve years. In April Vinceta was seen leaving the house dressed in only her pyjamas and was found four days later drowned in Tung Chung harbour on the opposite side of the island. In the weeks following her death it became clear that there were suspicious circumstances and a action group was formed to ensure that the correct formalities of autopsy, coroner's report and hearing reached a fair conclusion about how she died. In November the jury delivered a verdict of suicide, but although that decision has been accepted there is doubt whether that conclusion is correct.

During the campaign several cases of cruelty towards domestic helpers, particularly Filipinos, came to light. Beth's story is one where her employer's fiance thrust a knife into her face because of some small mistake. There are many other stories mainly to do with contract violations, for example not allowing time off or not paying the minimum wage, that have come to light and evidence that the authorities sweep the accusations under the carpet.

The Filipinos are lovely people who go to Hong Kong (and elsewhere) out of desperation to earn money for their families back home. Usually this money is to help them survive and to gain a better education for their sons and daughters so they at least have a chance to escape the extreme poverty in their homeland. Some of them are caught in the trap of having to pay back the loans they incurred to leave the Philippines and get accommodation and a job in their new country. They are over charged and have to pay this back before they can send money home for the family. Not all of them work as domestic helpers and get drawn into the seedy world of prostitution, and their plight is often worse.

Sadly by researching on the Internet I have found similar stories in Singapore.

Because labour is not expensive in Asia employing domestic help is achievable and fashionable to those that have busy lives, big homes and families, and high roller salaries. This is obviously is not the case in England where the nearest we get to this way of life is the nursing home to look after the elderly or privately run child care facilities to look after the kids. The age of the domestic servant disappeared in the 1930's. My grandmother was a domestic servant around this time.

As a westerner I can see poverty all over Asia and I can see the perpetual effort to escape from this trap. I am now beginning to realise the price some of these industrious people are paying for their efforts. I must state there is a large number who are quite happy with their arrangements and you can see some employers treat their employees as part of their family. Certainly you can sense this each Sunday in downtown Hong Kong where they congregate to enjoy the company of their friends. Also some of the warmest smiles come from these girls as they happily go about shopping or walking the dog.

But if I thought Mende's story was simply confined to the Sudanese, now I know there is an element of abuse like this in every corner of the globe. So whilst I worry about collapse of the global economy and I begin to experience a little bit of financial bewilderment myself, I know it does not compare to the lifetime of suffering and misery that Mende, Vinceta and Beth have endured and millions like them continue to do so, in silence, because no one can hear the cries for help.

In search of the Chinese New Year

Today I set off in search of the Chinese New Year. I thought by now the family parties must be over for another year. Surely two days is enough with dear old Auntie Mee Yong, and grumpy Grandad Min Ying! So I set off for Central on Hong Kong Island and emerged in the middle of various female groups congregating on the pavement as if waiting for something to happen. Eventually I realised the groups were Filipino maids who always meet like this on their day's off work. There are reported to be 140,000 Filipino maids working in Hong Kong, and not all of them get a easy life. With today being a public holiday they are entitled to an extra day off. So the promising start was thwarted somewhat but the infectious smiles from some of the ladies made up for it. Looking very closely I failed to spot any clues about tonight's firework display. I was disappointed and on the verge of giving up when I came across the Ox, and a fine specimen he is too.

The Ox 'Oh' symbolic for 2009

Even so I wasn't sure about the fireworks so I decided to go to Tsim Sha Tsui on the Star Ferry and see if the New Year was any visible on that side. As I got on the ferry I read notices saying that the ferry would be suspended between 7pm and 9pm tonight whilst the fireworks were displayed. Yippeeeeeee! At last New Year in Hong Kong, my whelm was bubbling over.

On the way over I took a short but not exactly brilliant video of the city scape on my phone. When I finally replace my camera (the one stolen at Christmas) I promise to do a better job! But this short clip gives you idea.

Hong Kong Skyline at night from the Star Ferry

The crowds were gathering so I found what I thought would be a good spot and waited a full hour for the extravaganza to commence. It was pretty good actually;

As I made way home down Nathan Road I felt at last I was sharing the New Year, and as I arrived in the entrance lobby to the apartment I met the commissioner and we wished each other a 'Happy New Year'. Peace at last.

Year of the Oxo cube from the Phase 2 Gold Coast!

The year of the Oxo cube

It is the Chinese New Year, and the year of the ox. It might as well be the year of the Oxo cube as far as I can see. It is very reminiscent of a new year I once spent in Fort William with a bunch of climbing and skiing friends. Unless you are part of the family, or 'in the know', the only experience on offer is empty streets with a cold wind blowing up the dust and old fish and chip papers. Last night in Hong Kong there were warm lights behind drawn curtains concealing generations of families eating traditional Chinese New Year food and wishing themselves and others good fortune and wealth for the next twelve months. This was pretty much the scene as arrived back from a tour of Tsim Sha Tsai and Wan Chai. Even today there is a noticeable lack of people and even less things to do. The weather is overcast and getting colder, again. People are still in doors celebrating, I think.

My apartment has good views over the harbour and a spectacular back drop of mountainous coastline. I prefer open spaces rather than downtown and the air quality must be much better here as well.

From the front door

From the front window

Temple Street in Tsim Sha Tsui has become a little bit more seedy in the three years since I last visited, although the atmosphere is friendly enough and the stall vendors don't seem to push too hard to make a sale. But behind the stalls and in the nearby streets there is under world, and if you keep your eyes open you can see shifty characters coming and going into small doorways that reveal dimly lit steep stairs leading into a place where the kind of welcome you would receive is questionable. Dark coated men there one moment and vanished the next, police vans round the corner, exchanges made, honour put on the line. All this yards away from the unsuspecting tourists fresh from the cruise liners or just bunked up in the Backpacker Hotel. Fascinating place.

Butcher's shop near Temple Street

As I walked down Nathan Road I am sure I was accosted by the same tout, now three years older, who tried to sell me the same fake Rolex. Also his friend who insisted I visited his tailor shop for a new suit ready in three hours. This is the land of rip off goods and get the cash and run quick hustlers.

One of the great sights in the world is the Hong Kong sky line from the Star Ferry, and at $2.20 per trip, which is about 20 pence in the UK, it must be one of the cheapest tourist attractions anywhere. I crossed over to Wan Chai and made the short walk into another Hong Kong urban canyon. It easy not to look up whilst in these tall narrow concrete channels, but if you do you will see that people live and work here and many do not actually leave this neighbourhood very often. Lockhart Road is the main artery of Wan Chai humanity. It exists under a swarm of non stop unrelenting shoppers, where unrepentant beggars, who have fallen out of Hong Kong's irrepressible march in pursuit of the material world, look up in hopeless despair knowing they have nothing left to hide their dignity. Lockhart Road; the stomping ground of Suzy Wong who was known by every sailor in the Pacific Ocean. Her legacy is immortalised in the notorious go go bars shielded by neon, glitz and a promise to go to a land that doesn't exist. Lockhart Road; home to some of the finest gourmet restaurants in Hong Kong. It is all mixed up into a crazy, colourful cocktail open to everyone and anyone. But beware; this road has Hong Kong's finest traders who are much more skilled in helping you part with your cash than you are at spending it!

Wan Chai from the surrounding hillside

I left the excitement behind and retreated back to my oasis on the self styled Gold Coast in Tuen Mun, New Territories. I greeted the new year, renewed my resolutions and wished myself good fortune as I crumbled an Oxo cube into my vegetable stir fry. Happy New Year from Hong Kong!

Why is it that me and dogs don't get on?

It isn't that I don't like dogs, and it isn't that they don't like me; it's just that we don't get on. There isn't that dogginess, that canine understanding, that 'man's best friend' empathy between us. It just isn't there. But it isn't all dogs that display their reluctance to make friends with me, just most of them. About 99.9% of them. And that's good enough for me to generalise and put ALL dogs into the 'I don't trust you' category.

I have good reason to be wary because last Sunday on my walkabout exploring my new surroundings I was lucky there was a strong fence between me and a bruiser of dog that looked like he must go to the gym everyday for a workout, and his owner was feeding him muscle building steroids! I would have stood no chance and would now be lying in a Hong Kong hospital with multiple lacerations and probably no legs. You might also remember the big mutt that chased me out of the temple in Thamuang a few weeks ago. So now I have changed my mind; dogs don't like me and therefore I don't like them.

However there is one special dog that has just come into my life. His name is Cookie and he belongs to nobody in particular but is welcome in Bung's house (Khamma's brother who lives next door). I have written a couple of stories about how tough it is being a mutt in Thamuang (remember Snow White?) and Cookie's life is all about survival.

Nobody knows where he came from, he just appeared, and nobody can remember when he arrived, he's always been around and that's that. He looks as though he might have a bit of corgi in him, but how likely is that in this part of Thailand? He is a very dark brown colour and his hair on his back looks as though it is growing the wrong way and has a opposite parting effect similar to some of the 'cocks comb' fashion haircuts you see around.

The only time I can remember Cookie from earlier visits to Owerrrouse was the way he would guard his food from the other dogs. One day he was lucky enough to get an over sized portion of chicken bone scraps and he gnarled his teeth at the other dogs in defiance and protection, daring them to come anywhere near his dinner. He ate the lot; bones and all!

During my last visit to Owerrrouse on one fine hot sunny afternoon I assumed a horizontal posture in my favourite sun lounger on the front porch, sipping a cold water (as you do) when I was conscious that Cookie had just sidled up to the chair. I lazily raised my eyes from the book I was reading feeling a little put out by the intrusion, especially from a dog. But the doleful look in his big sad eyes was enough to tell me he wanted company and wanted to make friends. So I went to stroke him and he backed off in a cower as if he thought I was going to hit him. Of course I wasn't going to do that after having seen what he did to the chicken! I gently stroked him on the head and under the chin. I approached to stroke him again, and another cower. He obviously was expecting a beating, but was so enjoying the attention and the TLC he was getting from me, of all people, the world's most reluctant dog lover. I continued like this for ages and after a while Cookie lay down on the porch and fell asleep with a huge sigh of doggy contentment and started dreaming about chicken bones!

The next day Cookie returned in a Pavlovian response to the reward he received the day before and strangely the other four dogs just looked on in mild amusement because either they didn't mind this new relationship was developing, or, they thought they were too tough for such luvvy duvvy antics, or, they were scarred that Cookie would bare his teeth again if they so much thought about coming closer to us.

On the final morning as we were waiting outside Owerrrouse for the taxi to take us to the airport, the other four dogs were scamperring about as dogs do in the general hubbub of a small gathering. But I noticed Cookie had decided to lie down near the road far enough away from the action either because he was tired or couldn't be bothered. I walked over to say goodbye and his big sad eyes met mine as his chin shifted and wobbled as it came to rest on top of his front paw. I bent down to stroke and the familiar cower was evident as I put my hand on his neck. But it didn't feel like the silky hair I stroked before because it was matted, a little warm and definitely wet. I looked down and could see his hair was indeed clogged up and my hand was covered in blood. The poor old mutt had been fighting something and was obviously recovering from the ordeal. We were about to leave so there was nothing I could do to tend his wound. He got up and staggered around carrying an injury of some kind to his back leg. I got in the car and wanted somebody to help him, but it is the way in Thamuang, as it is the way in Thailand - it's tough being a mutt!

But I am happy to say that somehow Cookie is fully recovered and back to his usual self because that is how a mutt survives around these parts.

Do we have small freedoms anymore?

In Singapore I had to obtain an identification card and it is no different in Hong Kong. After registering my employment pass I was told I had thirty days to get an identity - card that is. I have just started to read 'The Dark River' by John Twelve Hawks and the summary of the story starts 'Everywhere you go, someone somewhere is always watching. Waiting for the mistake that will reveal secrets, truths, lies, the real story or what they might want to believe. No longer is anonymity a given right. And small freedoms are sacrificed daily, never to be returned.' Sobering thoughts indeed as logged onto the Hong Kong website to book an appointment.

Anyway I am not here to fight the system so I took the shuttle bus to Tsuen Wan and the MTR to Sham Shui Po (locally known as SSP!!). Once again my senses shuddered as I emerged out of exit C1 to the sight and sound of hundreds (as opposed to last Saturday's thousands) of people milling about in a street market selling everything from greasy ducks to key rings. The air was spiced with the aromas from the myriad of food stalls and cafes. Why was I surprised again?

The government offices looked easy to find on the Google map but in the midst of the SSP muddle I couldn't even work out whether I should go left, right or straight on because the streets were so narrow and didn't match the names I had written down. I decide to go left and enjoyed the market as I stumbled along. Lots of electrical gear from small switches and cables to neon signs and security cameras. Luckily I could afford to linger a little bit but it was important to find the right building before my appointment time.

I arrived at the building about 15 minutes early and after a false start by entering the family planning clinic I followed the signs to the I.D. office. Again I was surprised at the number of people waiting in line for their ID. I know I should multiply my expectations on the number of people I expect to see anywhere in Hong Kong by a factor of twelve, but I can't remember to do it. It looked like I was going to be in for a long wait but I spotted a reception hatch which read something like 'On line appointments' and as there was nobody in the queue I asked if I was in the right place. No problem, my application form was taken off me was written on, signed, chopped (stamped) and copied and the delightful reception lady asked me to join the other 200 people waiting in the room and to watch out for my 'tag number' appearing on the plasma screen. I could sense that beneath this chaos there was a stream of activity progressing unhindered from the complications that the 'walk in' applicants were causing by their lack of organisation and forethought. Smugness. However I saw the reality before me and mentally prepared myself for a long wait. A random glance at my watch revealed the time was dead on noon, my appointment time, and at that precise moment my tag number appeared on the plasma screen and was more than twenty numbers in advance of the last one displayed. Wow something was going on underneath the surface.

I have attended many interviews in my lifetime, including a job interview I walked out of which is another story, but I have never attended an interview where the interviewer didn't ask any questions, until now. I was looked at, finger printed, photographed, the form written on again and chopped once more and told to wait with the other 200 people waiting in the room for my tag number to appear on another plasma screen.

I could see that nearly 100 numbers had to scroll on and off the screen before mine would appear and it was a slow rate of turnover. I decided to cut my losses and had an amusing thought that if I fell asleep I would still wake up before my number appeared. But it really wasn't that bad and after twenty minutes I was being interviewed by a policewoman whose beauty was camouflaged by a starchy uniform decorated in a military pattern of silver buttons and commendations. I was looked at and checked against the mug shot; I had to re-do my finger prints to check that I really was the person I was twenty minutes earlier and my application form still said I was the same (and to see if the database was updated). I was given a temporary ID paper and that was it. I am in the system and can be watched and shall not be surprised that when I make 'the mistake' I will reveal all my secrets, expose the truths and the lies and expose the real story about what goes in my life - or what they want to believe. If only my life was that exciting!!!!

Where the nation meets its nation

After yesterday's exhilarating run along the beach in relatively warm sunshine, and mastering the washing machine technology, I felt I was gaining control again and wanted to go and explore Hong Kong. I was somewhat blase in my thoughts about catching public transport and in hindsight I judged everything in terms of Singapore. Hence I purchased a single shuttle bus ticket to Tsuen Wan MTR and felt content in my bubble as we trundled along the highway. The suspension bridges linking the New Territories to Lantau are a spectacular engineering achievement, with the cars, buses and trucks pailing into insignificance in the magnitude of the structure which can be public transport infrastructure and art and engineering all at once. Staring in amazement at this sight only succeeded in making my bubble more secure and comfortable. We soon arrived at Tsuen Wan and I left the confines of the shuttle bus to enter the mayhem of Hong Kong. I suddenly realised I had to be sure where to catch the return bus but in the midst of the masses and concrete I thought I would be lucky to remember. I ventured into the local malls and lost myself amongst the rich variety of everything this frenetic life has to offer; restringing tennis racquet's, music tuition, hair cuts, dodgy food, clothes, shoes, trinkets, Buddhist relics, pets, more hair cuts, mobile phones, and on and on. I settled for a hair cut and was treated to a wonderful display of multi tasking as my 'stylist' (sic) attempted to tend to four customers at the same time. Naturally as the foreigner I was last in line but with the least hair!
Outside the atmosphere of the Chinese markets was more intense and walking along the pavements and dodging the traffic was at first entertaining but soon I decided to catch the MTR to Mon Kok and walk down Nathan Road. I was entering a kind of twilight zone where the railway line was a tentacle of some big slimy monster inviting me to come inside and travel to a world where the promise was greater than the reality of the experience. The train was full all the way and soon we arrived at Mon Kok. Leaving the train there was a seemingly constant mass of humanity travelling out of the station balanced by a equal mass of people coming into the station. This was shoulder to shoulder crowd swarming, or in my case shoulder to elbow because Chinese people are at least 20 centimetres smaller than me. My naive plan to walk down Nathan Road was looking ambitious but I persevered for all of ten minutes and then just turned around and was sucked back into the MTR station in the same unceremonious manner I was spat out. Plan aborted!
In the sanctity of my apartment I looked up the population density of Mon Kok: 417,680 people per square mile and to give you idea of the scale of proportion, the density in Kensington and Chelsea is 34,565 people per square mile. Twelve times more people, and I thought London was crowded! (http://www.demographia.com/db-dense-nhd.htm)
It has to be experienced to be believed and now that I have I will deposit it into the category of 'been there, done that' and concentrate on exploring the open spaces of the hills and mountains. And that is the contradiction of Hong Kong because outside the intense cauldron of humanity which promises so much but has so little, there are beautiful islands to explore where there are traditions and gentle pace of life with landscapes that seemingly promise so little to the uninitiated town dweller but have a far greater reward to those of us who are adventurous .

The Loneliness of the Long Distant Project Manager

After spending most of my time in the last few months in the company of family and friends, and especially the last seven weeks with Khamma, it feels very strange to be totally alone in a new country. I miss Singapore with its spotless roads and palm trees, its warmth and surroundings that gave a sense of familiarity. But most of all I miss the families in England and Thamuang.

When I have spoken to them throughout the week there has been something going on all the time, something I could join in with if I was there, laughter, spontaneity, bonding. I can tell my family in England accept that I do what I have to do, but I know they would prefer it if I was back home. A few English domestic admin problems have also pre-occupied me this week and meant that I had to selfishly rely on family when I should have dealt with the problems myself.

Now that Khamma is back in the village, and her sister has returned from France as well, she sounds very happy with all her family around her. They had the annual 'fishing in the rice field' day this week and big sister and big brother arrived at Owerrrouse to enjoy a family re-union in the special way that Thai families do. When I spoke to Khamma the party was in full swing with only one absentee.

Working in a foreign country isn't always as glamourous as it sounds and this week has been the lowest spot for a long time. My memory was cast back to the time I arrived in Denmark at the start of a two year contract in 1997. I thought then I had made a wrong decision. The Denmark I knew had sunny warm days, was fresh and Kodachrome bright with vivid sharp colours; but when I arrived it was raining and cold and dark and deserted. Nobody told me Denmark closes down between October and April!

Hong Kong is a little bit like that too. It has been very cold this week and as I look out over the yacht club harbour and the glistening and bobbing boats towards the clear sea in one direction and the majestic mountainous coastline the only thing that is missing are the people. Yet in the city it will be madness and mayhem.

Of course it isn't only people that make for a sense of belonging, it is the culture and I am sure that must out there somewhere beyond this high rise complex and snooty yacht club. Also having your own possessions and belongings around you help to tease memories and remind you of loved ones. These will arrive one day sometime but the logistics of transporting things around from Singapore to Thamuang to England to Hong Kong means that at the moment nothing seems to be in right place.

One of the distractions to the 'loneliness of the long distant project manager' is to have an interesting and challenging project to manage. I hope I can muster the spirit we had in Singapore, but I hate the word 'hope' in projects as it conjures up an image of failing expectations. I can't even assume we will get the spirit we had in Singapore, because in projects assumption is the mother of all cock ups! Time to get positive me thinks!

So it's time to snap out of this mood and get out there. This morning I will continue with my running, do a bit of grocery shopping, try and make sense of the washing machine, and this afternoon go into the city for a wander. Tonight there is wall to wall Premiership football and squeaky bum time as the Reds aim to go on top, where they belong. Wow I feel better all ready!

Hong Kong - It's Flippin Freezin

Thankfully Khamma was discharged from hospital after five days and everything seems to be ok now. For the remainder of our holiday we visited friends and family and ended our holiday in the same pub as we started in; the Tunnel End in Marsden.

Our flights back to Bangkok soon passed and we spent our last night relaxing at the convenient Convenient Resort Hotel close to Bangkok airport. Sadly next morning Khamma and I went our different ways and she returned to Thamuang and I carried on to Hong Kong.

Having a good break made us relaxed, even though there were plenty of traumas to distract us. It was good to meet up with everybody and difficult to say 'tarrah'. There has been all sorts of emotions in the last few days, but the abiding memories are family and friends, and the pleasure of introducing Khamma to them. All too suddenly it ended and thinking about it now this is the first time I have been alone since last August and it takes some adjusting to. Ah well!

I am sorry Khamma's introduction to England was marred by the burglary and having to stay in hospital, but it hasn't put her off from wanting to come back in the summer.

So this is Hong Kong. My apartment is more modern than Singapore and doesn't have 'landlord's furniture' i.e. everybody else's cast offs. It is a two bedroom cosy pad with excellent views over the harbour at the Gold Coast Yacht Club. When I get a camera I can show the view, but take my word that the sunset is excellent!

The only problem is the cold, and it is flippin freezin! Apparently everybody endures this discomfort, or torture, because winter only lasts for a few weeks, but on Sunday afternoon it was actually warmer outside than in. I am sleeping under two duvets with two T shirts and a thermal running vest and tracksters. I even keep my socks on. There is no heating apart from the heat generated from my laptop, which is on my lap as I write. My legs are ok but my feet are blocks of ice. Even in the office it is cold and I sit with a fleece jacket on until the sun works its way round to my side of the building. There is no frost or snow just cold air streaming in from mainland China and lingering like an unwanted guest at a party.

On the other hand Khamma has spent the last two days cleaning the house, not that Yo and Pel wrecked it whilst she was away, just that she enjoys doing it. It is a little bit cold there and windy too. Although my guess is that it is a damned sight warmer than here.

Well that's the latest until I can go exploring at the weekend. It looks like there is a lot scope for walking on the mountains and a bit of island hoping, but not before I get a camera and warm coat, gloves, hat and warm boots.

Another problem

It is a well used cliche; 'it never rains but it pours!' As I write this blog Khamma and I should be sat on our return flight to Bangkok after a restful holiday. I should be thinking ahead to the next project in Hong Kong airport which commences on Monday and Khamma should be looking forward to meeting the family and sharing her stories of England. We should be reflecting that over the last six weeks we have been in Singapore, Thamuang and England. We have had a great time and enjoyed being together, but we are having a bad run of luck!

We were burgled on Monday morning and still dealing with the admin, but even worse is the news that yesterday Khamma was admitted into hospital with a severe kidney infection. She was quite ill but we did not expect we would have to delay our return to Asia. The important thing is Khamma is slowly getting better and we have taken a flyer that she will be fit to travel next Thursday. This is not the ideal ending to the holiday we had planned for, but thankfully we did not ignore her symptoms otherwise she could have been in severe pain 11,000 metres above Iran or somewhere.

I am looking on the bright side but can't really see any lights on at the moment. I am relying on my naturally optimistic outlook and calling on the reserves of patience. But I suppose it could be worse, I could be a Manchester City fan (City 0 Notts Forest 3). Ouch!