Day 245

We have decided to put travelling on hold for a while and just stay put. We had booked to travel onwards and then cancelled. Rufus still not very well and quite frankly, I can't be arsed carting him around South East Asia anymore, and am sure he can't be arsed being carted. Vietnam will always be here, I guess it doesn't really matter if we don't see as much of it as we would like on this trip. So due to the incredible hospitality and kindness of Belgian Erik, we've planted ourselves firmly in his lovely house. He's moved us out of our incredible suite, understandably, and we're now in a nice but smaller room on the lower floor.

Walked out of a Russian pizza restaurant (what a misnomer) after the owner shouted at us to stop taking photos of his menu. It's his fault surely, for describing his ice-cream as 'all made with real fanny'. We're Scottish and immature, it made us laugh. And now we have photographic proof, more fool him. He shouted at us menacingly 'DO NOT PHOTOGRAPH MY MENU'. We asked why and he sinisterly screamed 'YOU KNOW WHY'. We really don't know why. He is obviously paranoid that we are going to open a rival pizzeria next door and steal his recipe for pizzas with potato and cabbage toppings.

The Russians sure can drink. Every day we walk past people's hotel rooms and their empties are quite astonishing - bottles of vodka chucked out like wine bottles. Groups of Russians having breakfast accompanied by beer and wine. A couple having a bottle of vodka in an ice bucket with their dinner - and drinking it neat. Honestly, they say the Scots have an alcohol problem, but we have nothing on the Russians. I have not seen a single Russian yet, of any age, at any time of the day, order a soft drink. Even the children.

Fern is now reading the Hobbit and learning to surf. Clover found a headless doll on the street and as usual, ended up carrying it around and periodically sucking on it. She spent the night being violently sick into a saucepan, onto the floor and over her bed. Ergo I spent the night like a Russian's drinking arm, constantly up and down. She's gonna quit chewing things she finds in the street she says, and I think lesson learned. You shouldn't suck grubby things you find on the street or it might end in vomit. Or resignation, in the case of former Secretary of State for Wales, Ron Davies. Obviously Rufus spent the whole night blissfully snoring so the minute he woke up I woefully lied to him about how many times I had been up during the night, thus making him feel guilty and ensuring he is extra nice to me all day.

Generally, we get up really early and get to the beach for about 7.30am when the waves are big but manageable so that Fern can take her board safely in the water. Most days Clover draws an elaborate blueprint of the Vietcong tunnels in the sand which go on for literally miles. The tunnels have hospitals, schools and even bamboo traps made out of shells 'to get the Americans'. A fruitseller or kitesurfer usually walks through them, accidentally kicking them to smithereens and Clover bursts into tears before starting again. It's wonderful watching the girls play and dance in the surf on an almost deserted beach. It's also wonderful watching them punch each other, throw sand and scream 'you stupid fat pig' at each other. Stupid fat pig! Is it 1983? I had hoped childhood insults had moved on somewhat. Rufus hates beaches he informs me, by complaining a lot, hopping about and shouting. He hates the hot sand, he hates the mess, he hates feeling sticky, he hates the lack of shade. 'I hate beaches' he yells. 'Don't be so stupid' I snapped back 'everyone knows it was Bette Midler's finest moment'.

My fears of snakes have not been assauged. Last night, Rufus went out for food and found a three foot long black snake being clubbed to death in the street. Conveniently he had forgotten to bring his camera so I can't be sure his story is true, but I'm pretty sure he would never want to torture me with the information otherwise. Apparently Vietnam is crawling with snakes, quite literally. And we have seen plenty of skinks - long snake like lizards but with tiny legs - they don't bother me so much. I generally trust things with legs. Except Michael Barrymore. And Nick Clegg.

PS. Just heard awful news of earthquake in Christchurch - I have a lovely ex-sister-in-law there and my girls have three gorgeous cousins - am feeling panicky I can't get on Facebook again and can't get in touch with her. Am sending loads of love and positive thoughts to her and her family and to her and Daddy's relatives in Dublin. Fingers crossed.