Henocide

It feels like my brain is overwhelmed with stuff to write about, but tiredness, wall-to-wall childcare and a slow internet connection is getting the better of me. Still, the fact I can blog under my mozzie net in the middle of Africa, when from Dorset we had to wander from house to house to get a decent connection - there's some irony there.

The tiredness. The cockerels. 4.30am they start, and it's not even remotely light, and won't be for another hour at least. (Perhaps global warming has interferred with their Circadian rhythms? Not that I'm in the mood for finding excuses for them. I spent hours having bloodthirsty, murderous fantasies about what I would do with the next cockerel to cross my path.) Anyway, it starts with one lusty, enthusiastic fella, and before you know it, the whole of Kampala's poultry join in the singsong. And they don't give up. They even drown out the imam when he starts at 5.30 - needless to say I thought some very un-PC things about him too - and carry on until 7 when they get a bit hoarse. Then it's time to get up. Emma clambered into my bed at 4.30 having also been woken by our feathered friends, at which point she started reciting random numbers like Rain Man. At 6 or so she launched into a detailed description of what kind of cake she'd like for her next birthday. (Pink and purple, ballerina and smarties on top, 4 candles.) You can imagine the atmosphere at the breakfast table.

Things are looking up for tomorrow. I've got hold of a babysitter to look after the kids every morning for a week, so I get a chance to do something else, like get a phone/ find a bank etc, and generally scrape the tip of a very large admin iceberg. The girls continue to amaze me with how well they're doing in their new home: they have settled in better than either of us so far, but it'll all come in time.

I might try and take some photos tomorrow too. Dinner time.