Hold on to that feeling...

Since our return to France, life has consisted of trying to keep two woodstoves supplied with wood and dry four people's washing in the 90% humidity which passes for global warming in Brittany.

There has been a bit of paid work and a lot of cleaning, since teenage standards and my own are not the same...and even mine are quite low...

Drummerboy said that the vacuum cleaner had not worked in our absence but that was because it had not been plugged in and switched on.

Darling D delighted us with the roughmix of 4 tracks that she had recorded in a local studio. They are very good, and that is the singer rather than the mother speaking (although the mother is proud!) She suffers more from proud father syndrome, where Mysweet and a colleague of his at work have a tendency to outbid each other on their respective daughters' achievements. Mysweet played his hand, and the tracks, to his colleague, who enthused about them and then flung down his own ace, saying casually, "I dont know what we have done to deserve such talented daughters... M has just written a book..." Both girls are only 17.

As I finished the washing up, prepared to ferry teenagers here and there and mop the fevered brow of Mysweet, who has worked seven days non stop since our return with jet lag, I remembered that wonderfully relaxed feeling of swimming ...

Here in that giant empty swimming pool....

And thought I am going to hold on to that feeling as long as I can.

I never did get to Sainsbury's and ASDA though. Maybe next time.

The unhappy bananas and the boy with red hair

Hmm, our beach paradise was rudely awakened...well we were, in our beach cabana.

We were staying in a place called the Full Moon on Unawatuna beach. The manager was charming enough but did not mention something rather important.

Every Friday night, there is a rave disco next door at the "happy banana".

The night before I had been unable to sleep because of the noise of the pounding sea on the beach two metres from our door, and the rain pouring down our naturel wooden roof.

On Friday, this was no longer a problem. The only thing that I could hear was the insistent pounding beat of the bass. It was like lying on a disco floor with a thin sheet over me...

Luckily at 1.30 in the morning, there was a power cut and silence except for residual gnashing of teeth from an exasperated Mysweet. Perhaps he had bitten through the cable.

The next day, the Full Moon was less full as we moved to a wonderfully welcoming unpretentious, quiet place called Surfcity, where the cook excelled himself with a whole grilled fish for our last meal before leaving.

But enough of that delightful as it was.

Today I staggered in to meet my autistic musicians wondering if my jet lag would put us in the same sort of space musically speaking. And I found to my distress that it had all got too much for the boy with red hair. He was no longer there. He had been taken to hospital yet again soon after I last saw him just before I went on holiday. He had started out in an open ward, then had to be placed in a closed ward, and was spending considerable periods in the "chambre d'isolation" (a room on his own for his own protection and that of others).

The carer told me that he was more and more unable to control his actions, which had become very violent. That last time that I saw him left me with a strong impression of someone trying so very hard to control himself and his emotions. He wanted desperately to hear the music but swung dramatically between tears and extreme joy. He was very fragile and I am so sorry to hear that he seems to be losing the battle for the moment. He is in a hospital nearby. Perhaps I will contact them and see if they would like to be visited by a musician...

The Summer twinning association of sri lanka and Brittany

We arrived at Unawatoona, a tiny beach with a variety of romantic cabanas built nearly in the sea. We selected our romantic cabana and looked to the heavens to see masses of exciting black cloud boiling over the sea, which then released rain with tropical fierceness. This has been going on for about two days now and I am starting to get used to the pounding of water on the roof and the crash of waves a metre away from our window, nearly...
I am hoping to get some sleep tonight...
The manager of our cabana told us that it is officially the start of summer here, and the monsoons are over. Really?
As I looked out at the dark grey sky and murky sea, I was irresistably reminded of a Summer in Brittany.
We are here for another two nights before flying back. When I have built up my courage, I shall look at the weather forecast.

All human life is here

Today we went to the Rosie May foundation home, delivered our school books and Kool drum and heard many Tsunami tales of heroism and human greed. Where were you when the Tsunami hit seems to be something naturally enough deeply embedded in everyone's psyche.
Already we had heard tales from Edward at Tescos. Tescos roof ended up on the sand behind the buliding. It needed to be reconstructed. How the bodies kept on being washed up for weeks afterwards...two or three a day on his beach. He needed psychiatric help afterwards.

Tales of enormous generosity. Our Tuc Tuc driver had a new vehicle bought for him by some american visitors. The owners of a jewel store near Galle had their shop rebuilt and stocked by a generous gift, and then local jealous people broke in and stole the lot so they had to start again, again... Some people have worked the system exploited it and are now richer than they were before, others are completely destitute. Human nature is the same everywhere in all its rich diversity.
It was a great pleasure to hear 20 little boys and girls aged 6 and 7 say 'Good morning' to us in their classroom with bright pictures on the walls. And see the artwork done by a tall shy seventeen year old who hung back smiling shyly in the hallway.

Down South

After a 5.30 am start we very unwisely caught a packed commuter train to the city of Colombo with our luggage, and were lucky to emerge in one piece. Never again, shudder...
The train down South was very elderly but 2nd class was a bit more roomy. Mysweet found himself sitting next to a retired rail engineer who said that he remembered taking delivery of these trains thirty years ago from Romania, and they looked like it. The journey down South was long beautiful and thought provoking as we passed shanty town after shanty town with the tell tale official blue sign which saidTsunami damage zone. These areas are all the more startling since compared to India, for example, the streets and houses here are very well looked after and have an air, if not always exactly affluent, then at least comfortable.
We are staying in Beach View guesthouse, which is as far from the luxury hotel experience as I am prepared to go. It is in the centre of the old Dutch Fort in Galles, and is nice and clean and slightly reminiscent of Blackpool landladies and net curtains. We staggered out into the new town breathing in streets heavy with spices and the wave of sound broke over our heads. I think I am going to enjoy this....