Leaving Blues

After all the hype, all the excitement and the build up it's almost over. I hate this bit. Tomorrow will be a day of last minute shopping, no doubt a trip or two to Odel, to Barefoot, to the jewellery place in Crescat that has the moonstone earrings the girls were asked to buy for their Mother.

Then there'll be some trying of suitcases and a bit of panic about whether we can fit everything in. We will.

Today was the first really nice day of sunshine this week, the girls spent most of it laying by the pool and swimming, splashing and jumping around on their Dad. It was very lovely. I knew the week would be about bonding and redefining our relationships but I didn't know exactly how it would pan out. I suppose the best way to describe it is to say that we got to the planned destination but took an alternative route. Perhaps it was the only route that would have got us here, but I hadn't planned on going this way.

I've bought a few things. I couldn't resist those Paul Smith shirts at House Of Fashion, you know, the ones in the stripey boxes. I'm sure they're genuine and they're knocking them out for about 1500 Rs a piece. Now, in London these very same shirts, in different boxes I'll grant you, are kicked out at about a ton. That's one hundred of her majesty's pounds, about 20,000 Rs.

So you can understand why I bought two more here to add to my collection of three at home. That's three that I haven't worn yet. That'll be a collection of five. All unworn but who can resist that sort of bargain?

The pants collection has been refilled as well. The girls think that pants with flowers on them are gay, or at least made for girls and so does Darwin. But I'm a fellow who's in touch with my feminine side. And these flowered pants have got holes to put your willy through so they must be for men.

Sunday morning will see me and my girls heading to the airport, doing the drive that makes me sad. I'll be watching Sri Lanka as I leave and I'll know it's been good. Then we'll be back home. I'm so dreading leaving the girls. I'm sure their mother will be pleased to see them and they'll be pleased to see her. But I'll make a hasty exit, leaving them to their summer holiday and maybe, just maybe they'll tell their mother of the great week they had with Dad.

And a few hours later I'll be sitting at my desk.

I must admit that it seems quite poetic that, as I write this, I'm watching two blokes setting up a drumkit in the lobby of my hotel.

London, Lanka and Drums.

The love affair with Colombo continues to burn brightly.