Wednesday, 20th November

I went to school with C. today, having vaguely recovered from my bug and I dragged myself to Schwartz and St. Andrew's last night, a chance to see how C. shapes up as a teacher. I'm sure he must have been born to it, he has done the same lesson about ten times and still manages to keep it interesting. There wasn't really anything I could do, so I just sat watching and looking silly. I don't mind though, I'm terrified of teaching! I'm fine with Schwartz and St. Andrew's because we're cultivating informality there. The Headmaster at Schwartz said: Just be with my boys. Talk to them, be their friend. That is enough. He still thinks that it's utterly preposterous that we are expected to teach classes at Schwartz Matriculation.

Today however, we decided to be assertive, went to Schwartz Matriculation and put our collective feet down. We laid down our demands and I think she got the message. We're going to teach in January, we said, and you can't make us change our minds. So she didn't try. C. has got a book with him called The Practice Of English Language Teaching and it's a regular fountain of ideas. We've bought ourselves some time, as everyone has exams in December. We can actually try to prepare! We've written a letter to M. detailing everything that has happened so far, with all our gripes hidden behind carefully worded sarcasm and innuendo. I hope he doesn't take it too personally...

Kumar is presenting us with some problems. He doesn't understand that we're not fat like most Indians and don't therefore eat much (that old chestnut). This morning I didn't want any breakfast so he brought me a jam sandwich. I didn't want any coffee so he brought me some. We asked for just burri, no dosai¹ for dinner last night and guess what? He brought us both! Now far be it for me to suggest that anyone is at fault here, but as we have joked, our slave is slacking. In some respects. He doesn't tidy up, sweep the floor or anything that we pay him to do. But if we try and do anything he will insist on taking over and doing it for us. He is trying to force us to eat and his attempted motherliness only makes us angry. No means fucking no, all right?

When I was ill he tried to stop me drinking water and make me drink the O.R. salts the doctor gave me. I tried to explain about only taking the salts after I'd thrown up or diarrhoea but didn't get anywhere. Doctor drink. Doctor eat. It made me want to scream. Our floor is filthy with spilt food that's just been left to stain and mank it up. We need to wash it.²

The food situation... At last Kumar has brought us the menu from the hotel he is getting our food from, the Hotel Surya. Now we can avoid crap and at least try to eat properly. They do Chinese food! It's good to know that we have more avenues for escapism. I really am getting quite sick of being served my food though. The novelty has worn off and we need our independence, not to mention the eccentric Englishman's personal space. He has started buying our water in packets, which tastes awful, but is a lot cheaper. They must be making a healthy profit off our budget. He's been washing our food in tap water! I rest my case.