Urmiri and Scottish nonsense.

Well well well. It's been a while, no? (We Spanish speakers say no at the end of everything, you'll have to forgive me). How are you? Oh, really? Hmm. You should probably see a doctor about that. It definitely shouldn't be that colour. Or that shape.

We've been having a jolly old time as usual. The weekend before last we were in Urmiri where they bring you hot thermal mineral spring waters and what have you, straight from the...ground into your giant private bath. And the various swimming pools. Hurrah. I think I may have overdosed somewhat on the minerals though as I felt distinctly wonky for a few days afterwards. Still it was all very relaxing and pleasant. About 2 and a half hours from La Paz, up on the altiplano, via a classically Bolivian road, in a little greenish nook. The room was a bit NHS hospital (giant bath apart) and the food was mediocre but we enjoyed ourselves because we are such resourceful funlovers.

This weekend just gone we bizarrely ended up going to the Bolivian Scottish Society event which involved lots of dancing and a spot of whiskey and haggis. All very Bolivianly incongruous, with a kilted Japanese bagpiper and so on (there were actually only 2 Scots there). Naturally Liz got pounced on immediately by sundry bearded, bouffanted and kilted Bolivian men who wanted to dance with a hot young blonde. And I must say, she was a natural. Well, more natural than me anyway, what with my unerring tendency to make exactly the wrong moves at exactly the wrong time. Anyway, as is well known, I'm more of a freestyler on the dancefloor and fortunately I was able to express myself in this manner later on in the evening at various other places (photos of the whole shebang coming).

So there you are, I continue to teach (although with Christmas approaching some of my classes have ended and in fact I now only have one class 3 times a week left) and Liz continues to attract open-mouthed gapes of reverence from small children who are awestruck by her shining golden hair. People also gaze at my hair but only because it is now capable of towering up into a spire nearly a foot high with giant wisps coming out of the side of my head. A haircut is high on the agenda. I have also found a worthy Scrabble partner (fear not Dominic, you will always be my number one) and we play twice a week on the Monticulo near our house - La Paz's finest bit of flowers and green, with a lovely view of the city. I am 4-2 up in the series thanks to some inspired 7-letter words (read more in my forthcoming "Great Scrabble Campaigns 2006") . We like to think of it as a rehearsal for retirement, although obviously I'll be working until I'm 90, should I live that long, and even then I'll be living off a shilling a week which won't even keep me in pints of mild and woodbines.

Lots more fun scheduled for this week. The Welsh pumpkin is leaving so we are having a Trivial Pursuit evening. Everyone is talking a very big game but I'm not sure they quite understand how I will wear them down and vanquish them with my well-documented obnoxiousness on the board. Heh heh. Then we are going to some student's house on Friday and then the Christmas Spaceship on Saturday. Larks aplenty. That's all from me...Elizabeth will be along to add her characteristic pizzazz to things in a bit.

Hello there. A note on the aforementioned haircut, I am slightly apprehensive about the idea to be honest. It seems there are only three acceptable styles for the Bolivian male and they are 1) Greasy Bouffant 2) Greasy Curtains and 3) Long and Greasy. Ridiculous though it is, I have become quite fond of the Eiffel Tower surrounded by jungle look. Mind you, give it a few more weeks and number three will probably emerge anyway.

So you have been told all about the Ceilidh (spelling?), which was enormous fun although I don´t think the haggis agreed with me as I have been rather unwell for the last couple of days. Maybe it was the haggis followed by vigorous jigging about at altitude with men in kilts. Or maybe it was the generous amount I consumed at the local chocolate festival earlier that day. There were lots of free samples and, after extensive research, I had to conclude that Bolivian chocolate is a bit strange. Fortunately there are lots of Germans here so I purchased a healthy supply of their stuff for Christmas. Grave doubts remain as to whether there will in fact be any of it left for our guests to eat on the 25th. It appears Sam and I both have precious little willpower. But you all knew that anyway. What will they want chocolate for anyway? Especially after they´ve eaten either scorched and dry or raw and bloody turkey(depending on how our ancient and temperamental oven decides to behave on the day).

Other plans include a party on Christmas Eve for the kids. Our friend Peter of the donkey head and violin has agreed to be Papa Noel, nominated mainly because he´s (ever so slightly) louder than Sam and does a good booming "ho ho ho". He will need to in order to be heard over 75 shrieking children. I´m not sure he quite realises what he´s letting himself in for. I think I had better stop as this is rather lengthy and you have probably nodded off by now. But never fear, we shall write more soon. Don´t bite your nails off before then.