Failure in transmission

Greetings dear readers. Just when I though it wasn’t possible for life to get any more busy, the school events calendar decided to show us what it was really capable of. A month later, looking somewhat worse for wear, and feeling a little weak, I have re-emerged from the hefty pile of extra-curricular events and activities under which I have been buried. This, and my recent failure to pay our internet bill, is the explanation for the lack of blogging activity over the last month. Sincerest apologies.

The blame for our ridiculously busy life does not lie solely with school. In a moment of foolish enthusiasm, spurred on by a heady weekend watching house volleyball, Bella and I decided to get involved with daily volleyball practice down the road. Naively, I thought we might be able to go along to volley sessions a couple of times a week, revive some long-forgotten volley skills and play as equals with our Maldivian friends. How wrong I was. It quickly became apparent that if I had ever had any volleyball skills they were now completely gone and I had no idea what to do.

Determined not to be defeated, the subsequent weeks have seen us bumped, bruised and broken as our team mates have done their best to transform us into reasonable players. After three weeks Bella made the team. I made it to the health centre where the doctor searched the poorly equipped building for something with which to splint my deformed fingers. As I type, two weeks later, I am still intrigued by the lump adorning the joint of my little finger.

The most recent event in the calendar took place just last night: the annual Ihavandhoo School prize giving ceremony. To mark the occasion, staff were asked to wear light blue and the matter of mine and Bella’s outfits was addressed directly. It was made clear that a half-hearted effort with a light blue T-shirt was not going to cut the mustard. New clothes were going to be required. After a week of creative discussions, negotiations, fabric shopping and pattern cutting, Mama Chief, our esteemed land lady, presented us with our new clothes. We were delighted and only slightly perturbed by the idea of wearing synthetic crushed velvet in 30 degree heat.

My gratitude lasted until about an hour into the four-hour ceremony when I became conscious of just how itchy I was. By the end I didn’t know what to do with myself and had to make a hasty exit to run home and get undressed. It seems I am allergic to my dress. I look like I’ve fallen into a nettle patch: I’m now covered in enormous red welts and I’m intensely itchy all over. Not a good look and definitely not fit for public consumption. As such, I have enjoyed the first quiet day at home for many weeks – a small blessing in a pink and lumpy disguise.

And so the sun sets on yet another extraordinary day. Until next time dear readers, TTFN xx.