It would seem we've settled back in and some people at least are pleased to see us. Yesterday, the monkey in the Bird Park started running up and down his cage, jumping up and down and squeaking with excitement when he saw the Lozenge and Rashimi pass by. It's been a couple of months since they've been there, feeding him bananas. The Lozenge said he wanted to go and sleep in his cage with him. The monkey's welcome was amazingly human, it was really quite moving. And his reaction perked up the Lozenge who is suffering from extraordinary numbers of mosquito bites on his arms. 'I think I taste thweet like pancaketh to the mosquito,' he said.
I visited the expensive doctor who assured me that the genetically modified freckle on my face which seems to grow larger each summer, was cute, and what's more could serve as an 'evil eye' to ward off bad things; and issued me with two wrist braces in Granny knicker beige which the boys are fascinated by and spend much time ripping off and sticking back the velcro as we watch television. When I explained to the doc that my wrists hurt because my little boys always want lifting and cuddling, and he told me not to forget about cuddling my husband too. So I definitely got my money's worth from my consultation at any rate. J was delighted but asked nervously what age the doctor was. (At least 55 I'd say and definitely a bon viveur.)
The wrist braces were well timed, as tomorrow I've been booked to go both filming and taking photographs in Za'atari refugee camp and three of the host communities: Mafraq, Irbid and Azraq. I've got all my kit together - film camera, stills camera, tripod and the rest and have that frisson of nervous energy in my stomach which being a one woman band instills. And I'm also wondering if the doctor should have also issued me with a couple of spare arms for this job too. I need to edit everything by next Wednesday when the terrible news will break, that there are now 1 million Syrian refugee children in this region.
I visited the expensive doctor who assured me that the genetically modified freckle on my face which seems to grow larger each summer, was cute, and what's more could serve as an 'evil eye' to ward off bad things; and issued me with two wrist braces in Granny knicker beige which the boys are fascinated by and spend much time ripping off and sticking back the velcro as we watch television. When I explained to the doc that my wrists hurt because my little boys always want lifting and cuddling, and he told me not to forget about cuddling my husband too. So I definitely got my money's worth from my consultation at any rate. J was delighted but asked nervously what age the doctor was. (At least 55 I'd say and definitely a bon viveur.)
The wrist braces were well timed, as tomorrow I've been booked to go both filming and taking photographs in Za'atari refugee camp and three of the host communities: Mafraq, Irbid and Azraq. I've got all my kit together - film camera, stills camera, tripod and the rest and have that frisson of nervous energy in my stomach which being a one woman band instills. And I'm also wondering if the doctor should have also issued me with a couple of spare arms for this job too. I need to edit everything by next Wednesday when the terrible news will break, that there are now 1 million Syrian refugee children in this region.
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