It's half term and I have thankfully swapped the hubub of London for the ethnic delights of Morocco with my 4 demanding children (Herbert, Mathilda, Giselle and Siren), husband Nicholas and Magda, the lovely 19 year old Polish aupair.
Everything was going swimmingly well until we arrived last night in Marrakech to be greated by the world's most horrendous kerfuffle from the balcony of our exclusive riad:
Yes, grown men openly brawling in the street - how very North of England! These people are so aggressive and angry all the time and I think I know why... the traffic. It is so oppressive I cannnot breath somedays from all the exhaust fumes and smog-craziness.
I feel like I am taking my life into my own hands on every sightseeing trip I make (unlike the reassuring safety of driving my own 4x4 back in London, say). This afternoon I even refused to visit the valley of flushing water in Ourika, and instead spent some much needed time rehydrating my tired feet whilst Magda occupied the children.
I am more certain than I have ever felt before that this country desperately needs my help. As I write this, thank goodness my (soon-to-be) award winning congestion series is airing in the UK. Dear, dear, poor people of Morocco, I can help you stop your car related street violence!
For the next 3 months my plan is that everyone - even the tourists - must leave their cars at home and travel in one of these:
I have texted Arthur back in London to dig out his filofax and track down the owner of Radiodiffusion Television Marocaine, Morocco's state television network, and government minister in charge of public transport. This deal I can do on my own, without Ivan or Freemantle's meddling.Nicholas was furious when he caught wind over breakfast that I needed to "pop out for a quick meeting"
My top lip quivered vulnerably, and I flashed him a bit of cleavage:"But darling cheeks, the people of Morocco desperately need my help!"
He rolled over like a puppy.
Must dash dear reader- I have a special tummy tingle (no, it isn't excitement it must be the mutton and preserved lemon tagine we had for supper last night!)
Much love until next time,
TV's favourite Headmistress xxx
3 comments:
one 'e' in free,
you should know that.
Dear Headmistress,
We have solved most of our traffic congestion problems, here at Homeward, buy the use of switchback railways running from tower to tower. I heartily recommend this solution.
As a connoisseur of romantic poetry, and a follower of fashion, I thought you would enjoy this ode by Muncle, whose great love is shoes.
THE FOOT-LOVER or A Well-Spent Day
When in the morn he waketh
His shoes are all his care;
He heedeth not his jacket
on them he doth stare
Down the deep stairs he falleth;
For pain he does not care,
For on his back he landeth,
His shoes are in the air!
He hath a pleasant breakfast,
His well-brushed shoes are there;
His bacon tastes like nectar
As on them he doth stare.
At last he starts for business,
His eyes are on his feet,
Then the wrong bus he catcheth,
And reacheth the wrong street.
Yours Faithfully
Uncle
hope Moroccan traffic makes better TV than Marlow's
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