Today marked the beginning of the pre-rainy season, which according to one of my teachers should last approximately three days. All I can say is that if this is the prelude, I don’t think that I can bear the main event, as within about 20 minutes of waking up I was left feeling as weak as a kitten’s paw, and certainly not anything like as strong as a cat’s forehead. Normally, in school, I manage to make it to at least 11 O’clock before I feel the urge to get up and throw myself out of the nearest window, but today I barely made it past half nine before I considered a failed flight of fancy.
This evening I had managed to procure a couple of free tickets to a play in a nearby theatre, and Richard was kind enough to accompany me. The play, which was entitled ‘The Yelta Conference’, started off promisingly enough: being billed as a 30 minute comedy, in English, about the meeting between Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin at the end of the Second World War. From the first 20 seconds, when Stalin sang ‘The Internationale’ in barely understandable ‘English’ (Richard thought it was being sung in Russian), to the quite abrasive anti-Semitism (which I am sure was a result of a dire script rather than anything more sinister), the whole thing was an utter sham. Aside from the Jews, it was Richard that I really felt sorry for, as that’s now two events that I’ve taken him to in the past week, and water torture would have been preferable to either of them.