Days 96 - 98

There have been mainly power cuts this week and therefore I have been reduced to watching pirate DVD's (they cost 15p) on the laptop in the evenings. Fern is obsessed with Harry Potter so the film-watching has been heavily dominated. I made the mistake, after a couple of glasses of wine and when he appeared on screen, of pronouncing loudly that a friend of mine had actually slept with Timothy Spall. This caused great confusion to Fern and Clover - who can't imagine anyone 'doing it' - and a hasty explanation on my part. Apologies all round - but it is a slow week when there is nothing to do but drink wine and stare at a computer. Power cuts are HRNDS - you can't plan anything. You can settle down for a film, a Skype chat - and then blackout. So depressing.

Black Dog was let in one night (see part on too much wine) and we found him in the morning asleep on our kitchen table. Despite making a bed on the floor of nice blankets, he chose the table. We spent the best part of a morning analysing this behaviour. Needing to feel safe, needing to feel protected, unclear of protocol, better viewpoint? No further forward in our diagnosis, we turfed him out and have refused to have him in since. He blew it.

I have been getting a lot of filthy looks this week and have decided to stop wearing strapless tops - it appears to upset a lot of old Nepali men and I feel self conscious and a little vain and pathetic. It is either the brazen nature of the clothes or me shouting 'what are you looking at?' in an aggressive Scottish accent. But I always smile and am always polite. I respect their culture - they should respect mine. It's not my fault I have particularly nice shoulders.

Not much happening on the charity work front - still plodding along. I am amazed at the bravery of young women who have a life of hopelessness ahead of them but who dare to dream. And then I am hit by the emotional and typically British wall of 'why dream?'. What is the point? Waste of time. Life will be dreadful anyway. In the words of Buddha himself, life is suffering. But they are good girls and they are beautiful and clever and hard working and proud and I hope I learn something from them - they will no doubt learn absolutely nothing from me.

Have been particularly homesick this week and nothing can reduce me to tears quicker than a rousing rendition of 'Caledonia' on the iPod. Those lyrics speak to me more than any others and make me a complete wreck within a few seconds. I've lost the friends I needed losing, I've kept on moving, blah blah When I get into that place, I automatically move onto Glasvegas and before I know it I can barely function. And its not even as if I have emigrated - I have only been away for 3 bloody months. I could never leave my country. Fern cottons on to what I am feeling and we are soon sharing a headphone each and sobbing. Geraldine or Flowers & Football Tops and we are both sick with emotion. I am so glad she is half Scottish and half Irish - I don't believe there are two nations on earth more sentimental. I can weep at any God's amount of folk songs of either country - I am patriotic and homesick in a way I never felt before. I love all that Scotland and Ireland represent and the battles they endured. I am very proud.

Melancholy, Kathmandu.