Lingering on...and on...and on...

This has not been a dazzling week in my personal history. As alluded to previously, the progeny of my employees is less enamoured with me than is usual in the under fives. So much so, that I've sort of been sacked. And when I say sort of, I mean my services- such as they were- are no longer required, and I am not getting paid. So, quite a classic sacking if you will.

 This scenario would be ok-for various reasons, I can't say it was a job I have really enjoyed (my fault not theirs)- but its all gone a bit unorthodox as I find myself lingering on, a week later.

They very kindly said I could stay on, until I fly to Mexico in June, I just have to keep cooking and helping out with peerie wan when she wants me to (snort). I've spent over $1000 tooing and froing, and because of their 3 week holiday I've only actually worked 5, so my savings have taken a bit of a battering. It's definitely financially prudent to stay until I leave for Mexico, but there is something pretty tragic about wafting about like a wet cabbage, in the home of the people who have just sacked you for being crap. I previously saw myself as a kind of Mary Poppins/Hagrid figure to children, but this has really made me reevaluate things. Also aren't bairns like animals? Don't they sense a bad egg? Animals frequently despise me, are children to join the ranks too? Will I soon be one of those people who makes kids cry on the tube when I try and smile at them through my broken teeth? 

I'm being slightly disingenuous as I'm pretty sure the problem in our relationship came down to an awkward start, and then too much pressure. I am rubbish under expectations, and got clammy handed and fake of smile, which she sussed out straight away. It's actually improved a bit since the sacking.  I think we are both relieved to have the necessity of us getting on lifted, and to be able let things happen naturally. Two rooms apart. 

In general the whole aupair experience has been pretty bonkers. Let me start with the disclaimer that they, as a family have been unfailingly kind and lovely. This makes the fact I'm writing about them on a blog really mean and sneaky, but I've got nothing else to write about due to currently leading a very insular life. And I am 99%sure they wont read it. If they do, I hope they take it in the spirit intended. Curiosity and gentle scepticism, with a hefty slug of admiration for their bold disregard for convention. 

First up, they and their pals are followers of some very alternative, alternative beliefs, including Ramtha which is an obscure and largely criticised (by Wikepedia at least) faith movement from America. I am sketchy on detail (god knows how), but basically a woman who has had an alarming amount of plastic surgery, channels an Indian man who tells everyone that if you wish hard enough, you can get whatever you want. They (the family) seem to take bits and bobs from lots of movements and faiths though, and are very keen to share those beliefs with those who are open to listening. I am one such open person, or at least my general expression seems to project an aura of bovine acceptance. 

I know people; I have christian pals and Muslim pals, catholic pals and a friend who's a vegan. I once worked at a British Fairy convention, where I watched fully grown, adult men practice a special dance with which to encourage sprites and elves. I have a relation, who "hoovers pain" using her hands when I have a headache, and I have a good pal who saw a unicorn. 

I am therefor not naive about the variety of beliefs and practices out there, but I must say, some of the ideas I've been subjected to since arriving have tested my British pretendnothinguntowardishappening face. For example; 

1.Nothing on this good earth, will ruin your life as much as caffeine, red meat or MILK. (Additive filled yoghurts, alcohol and E-numbers, or any other foods which by coincidence you might particularly enjoy, are fine.) Incidentally, being told about the dangers of caffeine whilst drinking a cup of itat six am, will incite mild but repressed hysteria, and impede your enjoyment of this terrible bean. 

2. The planet we live on, is run by giant lizard beings. They initially came to earth to find gold, with which to repair a hole in their ozone layer. They found us pliable and dim, so had us do loads of menial, unworthy stuff, using a micro chip in our spines. The overlords of the galaxy thought this was a bit rubbish, and made them stop enslaving us, but we still have the chips in our backs, which can be reactivated at any time. The lizards are still here too, and their numbers include the Queen, Tom Cruise, Rod Stewart and Hiliary Clinton (not Bill). They are in disguise. 

3. If you wrongly assume (as I did) that you are gluten intolerant, just have a shamen lady shake her arms over you whilst you lie on the ground. Using crystals and tea tree oil, she will find out that actually, you have a nasty green spirit in your colon and womb, which you got in Africa (curse). With the help of your mega-babe spiritual ancestors (her words, not mine) she will banish this beastie, mainly using the colour purple.

4. Children should be allowed more freedom to do what they instinctively want.  Behavioural practices, instead of being grindingly enforced during consciousness, should be alluded to when the child is asleep, whispered into their subconscious. Whilst whispering, you should encourage bambino to "bring their knowledge", more specifically, knowledge from their previous lives. 

If I sound mocking or superior, I don't really mean to. For a start, I spent more than one evening unable to sleep worrying about my green companion (what havoc is it wreaking in my womb?), and I'm sure they're right about the coffee. 

I like the way they don't have militant rules for their bairn, and I read an interesting article in the guardian (http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2013/may/04/leave-them-kids-alone-griffiths )which explored what happens when you loosen the boundaries placed on kids in western society (spoiler alert; mainly good stuff). 

Despite all that, I won't say it's not been an effort to dispel the look of incredulity that creeps over my face at times, and it is really, really to hard to look after a child who is clever and independent, when the infinitely preferable parents are around all the time.  I never thought I would be a militant parent, but it looks so much easier to have mindless drones who do what they're told like small, scheduled weevils.

 I am also self aware enough to know that every single current parent who reads this, will be excited at the prospect of seeing me produce my own, and make 927382638 mistakes a day like everyone else.

As I said, they have very kindly  invited me to stay on, but I am trying to think of alternatives (especially if I am going to publish this...) Cheap and interesting, but not TOO interesting. No land mines for example- the neurosis du jour at he moment.

 The problem with jaunting off is I hate hostels. I can happily hold court (whether invited to or not) at a party full of strangers on my own turf, but seem to become a quivering wreck in foreign lands. I'm not sure why, but I don't think I have ever managed to strike up a good conversation when abroad and by myself.  I usually scuttle off to my room at the first opportunity, and build a tent/shroud out of cheap scarves so people can't peep at me whilst I sleep. I feel it's one of those things I should really push myself to do though, and there are loads of places in Colombia I want to see before I go. I also think at the age of 27, I should be less scared of things like this, no? 

The most recommended place to visit is Cartagena, but me and Angela already went there when we came here in January. It's reputation is completely justified; a truly beautiful town. It's a real mishmash of cultures, with a lot of Afro Caribbeans, young rich Colombians on holiday and western ex-pats and tourists. The black neighbourhoods are visibly poor and scruffy but really pretty. They look a lot more fun too. Funny little wiggly houses, painted in pastel colours with bright pink and yellow begonias tumbling down the walls. There seemed to always be screeds of bairns playing football in the street, and old men drinking beer, and having games of chess on the pavements. 

The "old town" of Cartagena is classic colonial, really beautiful sun bleached buildings, fat Botero statues everywhere, and columned walkways where all the teenagers park their mopeds and eat gelato. The city is surrounded by a massive defensive sea wall, lined with palm trees and full of holidaymakers, buskers, street performers and boys selling beers from coolers.

 There were loads of cobbled plazas filled with old fashioned sweetie stalls, and juice stands, and every corner had beautiful, fat, Caribbean women wearing every colour imaginable, bowls of pineapples perched on their heads. 

One night me and Angela bought a bottle of wine ($4!!!) and took it to a little pier, where we watched a peerie old man fishing with a bit of string.  We got mildly squiffy as the sun set over the water, illuminating all the elegant yachts gliding past. We strolled (rolled) back to the hostel, through plazas where there were families sitting out watching their kids play, and lots of handsome boys selling rosemary and basil "organic" empanadas. The whole thing was pretty Kodac momenty. Until we got offered crack by a 9 year old that is. Prior to that though, it was like Love in the Time of Cholera. 

  

Anyway, the point is, I've already been to Cartagena, so need to think of somewhere else to go. I've been reading lots about the El Ciudad Perdida or The Lost City, and it sounds incredible. A site which was only discovered in the 1979s, and which they think is over a thousand years old, you can only get there on foot. It's supposedly a spectacular view en route, maybe even more worthwhile than the final destination. However, it's a 6 day difficult trek, infested with mosquitoes and comparatively " high risk"... For what I'm not sure. (Land mines?) Mam suggested I buy a paper body suit (?!?) to avoid beasties, though what purpose this would serve in a humid jungle with frequent river crossings I'm not sure. I said it would be roasting hot, and she replied that I could just not wear anything underneath. I'm aware of my own propensity for bad luck well enough to know that would be asking for a FARC nabbing. I'd be plastered all over the national news, with a clammy sunburnt face, no makeup and wearing a weird see through, paper onesie. No thanks. So, that's one option I've talked myself out of. The other one is to just go and see what happens. Maybe to Medellin, city of Pablo Escobar fame, which now has a reputation as one of Colombian most modern, vibrant places. It just won a prize (I forget from whom but read it on the BBC website, so must be true) for the worlds most innovative city. It's also the place to go for night life and bars etc. Normally I would be all for that, but the nae pals thing sort of makes you lose interest. 

Perhaps the most chilling indication that its time to go, came just now, when I spent several minutes looking for "the mug I like" for my tea. I have also become aware that more people than my mum are reading this, which is nice in one way, but in another way merely brings home the reality of my non adventure, and makes me feel a little bit pressured into doing something exciting. I'm vaguely embarrassed to imagine non-family members reading about my jam making, or bus tantrums.  It's all a bit tragic isn't it, and not necessarily how I would want to present myself to a stranger.

There was this stupid story that I used to tell, about how I was out one night in Glasgow, and this Czech boy, who didn't speak much English was trying to winch me. He was going on incoherently about my "strong face" and how everything was "big in these face" 

"The eyeses, the nosey the eyebrowzers.... Prettys yes, but....is something strange" 

He broke off, frowning, before exclaiming cheerfully

"I know! You is being like the man! the mans when he is so sad as the man so he want to bes the woman! Oh, the ah, the ah....I forgetting...." 

"Do you mean a transsexual?" I shrilled (growled)

"Yes!" He high fived, "this is the word for which I search! Thanks you!" 

No. Thanks YOU. Anyway, the point is, racist impressions aside, I used to tell this story because I thought it was funny and my pals would be amused. However, once I was telling it in front of a new boyfriend. I saw him chortle along with everyone else, but THEN I saw him glance sidelong at me and I knew he was thinking, "her jaw is quite strong now you mention it". It was an error of self PR. This blog is the same kind of thing. I'm not presenting my best side, more the side you show to people who already know you're an unfortunate.  But I can change. No more jam making, or wailing on the phone to people back home.  No more Greys Anatomy (in English) or more paying $25 for a copy of Bleak House, so you can lose yourself in lovely, familiar, Dickensian Britain. No. Onward. Onward to thrilling jungle adventures, with new found Spanish speaking friends, attractive (and uncharacteristically tall) nomads called Miguel, and exciting and perilous escapades involving wild human pyramids, shamans, tequila and panther sanctuaries. Yes. 

Next week. For sure. This week, I still have some ginger marmalade to attend to, paper mâché piñatas and glittery Aztec masks to make, and Game of Thrones; Season 1. Goodbye.