Monsoon season is leech season in Nepal and anyone who goes trekking into the mountains is a legitimate target for hordes of the things. But the less brave, like me, who stay at home are still vulnerable because they can also lurk the garden. Sometimes they come into my house on the dogs, great bloated things, replete on blood, sensing their way blindly around the hallway. This morning, horror of horrors in a Psycho-esque scene I found one of them in the upstairs bathroom as I was having my (cold) shower. It came second in the encounter. On the plus side the weather has suddenly felt much pleasanter within the last couple of days, the humidity is dropping and leeches will soon be consigned to memory once again for another season.
Yesterday I called down to see Bev working with the kids at the refuge. They were all knitting furiously, boys included, and it was such a lovely relaxed atmosphere to wallow in. I bumped into the visitors' favourite, tiny Santosh, a sibling of a girl that we rescued from a circus whom we are looking after for his own safety. Trafficking runs in families. Santosh is the only Arsenal football club supporter that this avowed Manchester United supporter is prepared to embrace.
