Archive for December, 2015


December 15, 2015

As I write my now university-going Hat is winging her way home for the Christmas holidays –  London – Amsterdam – Dar es Salaam and tomorrow a flight to the Outpost. She will be followed at the weekend by her older siblings. And then we will be a fullfatfive and life will be glorious and loud and greedily voluptuous, salted with laughter and too long lunches and too late nights as we all catch up.

She sent me this picture en route – I’m posting it for all those mums out there who are deliciously anticipating the arrival home of children.

Revel in the feeling.

RM x




Back Again …

December 14, 2015

Back in the Outpost.

Who’d have thought? As much has changed as has stayed the same. You still can’t get a cappuccino, a head of highlights or a pedicure. But you can buy butter, water is shunted down the pipes and out of taps more frequently and there are more like me. Expat wives. A small clutch – myself included – are full time residents, more are of the lesser spotted migratory species, winging in and winging out, their roots newly done, their wardrobes a little less shabby.

When I first got here, trailing children and a bad attitude, I was the only permanent one. Steadfastly hanging on, grimly, through gritted teeth and crossly-slit eyes. Partly in my determination that I could bloody well do this. Partly for a lack of choice. Largely because alternatives didn’t make economic sense. Mostly because I said I would; I did.

It’s easier second time around. I know what I’ve let myself in for, my children are bigger, there is no Hat to teach – and, granted, keep me glorious, joyous company – but nor is there a small person present that I am compelled to worry about endlessly, is she lonely/sufficiently well stimulated/getting enough greens to eat ? I miss her sunshine and smiles company, and the missing is spiked every time I do something second time around that I did first time around with her.


I have thought hard about picking my blog up since I returned here – it was in anticipation of Outpost living that I began it. I miss the writing. Stringing words along sentences as beads on a thread so that I might coherently record my time here, with a modicum of articulateness and a lot less swearing. I considered abandoning it and starting again, in a bid to reinstate some anonymity. One or two people have noted, since I returned, ‘we read your blog, you know’; and it sounds like an accusation not admiration. I’m appalled to have been found out.


But then I thought, nah, this blog will be nine years old in March, I’ve posted 512 times since then. That’s a lot of years, and more than a quarter of a million words. I’m not going to abandon it – it was a lifeline back then.


I think it may be now.