The last three days have been our biannual team conference. A chance to have an international speaker come and give some food for thought. All the expatriate staff from all over the country get together, to share stories and catch up. Some music and jamming, a chance to dust off my mandolin. Julie getting up on stage to sing. Pieta too. Good food, some fun evenings together, a Scottish Calley (sp? – the dance thing that Scots do..), a Russian circus, a movie of outtakes and bloopers, games for the kids.
But Rachel has been sick through the most of it. Day 2 Elijah started to get sick. And me. Day three Pieta joined in. As a result, most of the sessions we have only been present for a part of. Today, I was at home almost the whole day with Rachel who was alternately lovely and horrible, but mostly horrible, with a running nose, fever and pains. And at 3pm, our downstairs neighbour came up to say that he was taking his wife to hospital with tachycardia. Could I look after his son? Sick myself, with Rachel muttering obscenities from the floor, I gave a highly conditional assent. At 7.30, Julie, Elijah and Pieta arrived home – all of them clearly sick or getting increasingly so. A few minutes later, Downstairs Dave reappeared to advise that his wife was being admitted to the ISAF hospital. Could be be on hand to mind their kids? Julie offered to sleep downstairs. Dave left. We pushed our own kids into bed, snot-nosed and weepy eyed.
So that was the conference.