So, I've been here a while... Here's what my room looks like now.
My Living Room... a bit lived in (messy)
You can see my Ghos hanging up on the wardrobe doors, a strategy I've employed to avoid the embarrassment of having to ask how you fold them yet again. I will soon cave in and ask somebody. Blue picture on the wall - thanks Deborah. Curtains and mat from Phuensaling. Table cloth - a bedsheet, but can't imagine ever using it for that purpose. Everything blue as you'd expect from me.
My Bedroom (you can see the living room on the right)
Photos of my family on the wall. Personalised calender hanging from the curtain rail - thanks Nicola. Kitchen not visible to the left. Or the toilet. Or the bathroom. Do you like my garden furniture? Of course you do!
I can report that since this picture was taken I've managed to feed the puppy up to a respectable size and he can almost hold his own against his brothers. Amazing what a diet of biscuits can do for a dog. He couldn't handle this much luxury though. It was cold, and I'd given him the manky towel as a bed, thrown him some scraps and had decided to let the little blighter crash for the night (praying for no 'accidents'). But then I took it too far and put the heater next to him. He was overwhelmed by all the attention and was soon tapping at the door for release. A few days later he returned and quietly sat on the towel and slept, waking me up at 4 to go have an 'accident' somewhere else, which I thought was very decent of him. Now I've stopped letting him in. Waking up at 4am is rubbish. And there's always the risk he'll go rabid and rip out my throat while I'm sleeping. Look at the savage little monkey! A ruthless killer in the making. I call him Jack.
My Yoga Instructions
These sketches were a gift from my friend in Rukubji, Iman. I'm doing my best to follow them, but as usual, it's hard to find the time. But I have a new impetus referred to in the title of this blog...
A member of staff here recently asked me how I was doing. It was one of those conversations where you should instantly recognise the heartfelt and intended quality in the question - this wasn't a careless 'how' are you doing' sort of thing, but I was tired and I failed to observe this. I casually replied 'fine'. He then asked me if my health was good - was I taking exercise. I said 'fine' again. A pause proceeded my reply, as the kind-hearted soul allowed sufficient space in time for the penny to drop, which it finally did. Then with candour...
'Well, to be honest, I think I'm losing all of my strength and getting a bit fat.'
His reply... 'Yes, I've noticed'. Ayeeesh. I sought out second opinions and everybody agreed that I came here strong and will leave weak and fat if I'm not careful!
Blogger is resolutely refusing to show this photo as it was saved, or perhaps it's the ineluctable bad-humour of gravity at work, but the belly is clearly further forward than the chest, a sure sign that a seachange is occurring my physiognomy, a change that must be arrested poste haste lest I find myself unable to haul myself up climbing walls or charge around the field of dreams with the gay abandon that has previously characterised my wingly endeavours. Action is most certainly required!
A member of staff here recently asked me how I was doing. It was one of those conversations where you should instantly recognise the heartfelt and intended quality in the question - this wasn't a careless 'how' are you doing' sort of thing, but I was tired and I failed to observe this. I casually replied 'fine'. He then asked me if my health was good - was I taking exercise. I said 'fine' again. A pause proceeded my reply, as the kind-hearted soul allowed sufficient space in time for the penny to drop, which it finally did. Then with candour...
'Well, to be honest, I think I'm losing all of my strength and getting a bit fat.'
His reply... 'Yes, I've noticed'. Ayeeesh. I sought out second opinions and everybody agreed that I came here strong and will leave weak and fat if I'm not careful!
Blogger is resolutely refusing to show this photo as it was saved, or perhaps it's the ineluctable bad-humour of gravity at work, but the belly is clearly further forward than the chest, a sure sign that a seachange is occurring my physiognomy, a change that must be arrested poste haste lest I find myself unable to haul myself up climbing walls or charge around the field of dreams with the gay abandon that has previously characterised my wingly endeavours. Action is most certainly required!
So I embarked on a regime of football every night, even if there was nobody else to play with! Star jumps and yoga in the morning. Press-ups before bed. I immediately felt much improved, if not a little bored by the regime. But I didn't need to concern myself quite so much, because just around the corner was the big inter-school staff football tournament, the scheduling of which had clearly been orchestrated with my burgeoning belly in mind. 4 games in 6 days. And the default strategy of our team - 4 strikers, 5 defenders and me in the midfield shouting a lot and running around like several headless chickens. I've never been so thoroughly knackered from football.
The next blog will definitely be about this tournament, for the unexpected opportunities it brought my way, for the surprise and most welcomed stats, for the rollercoaster ride of emotions it dragged us along, and for the outcome, which couldn't be more heroically and defeatingly English if I'd written the script myself. Who would have thought there'd be so much football going on? Not me.
The next blog will definitely be about this tournament, for the unexpected opportunities it brought my way, for the surprise and most welcomed stats, for the rollercoaster ride of emotions it dragged us along, and for the outcome, which couldn't be more heroically and defeatingly English if I'd written the script myself. Who would have thought there'd be so much football going on? Not me.
Here's a view from my school to finish up with...
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