Tonight, I hit that parallel universe that I always get to somehow when I am away from Hanan and the boys. It’s a world where anything can happen (and frequently does) and everything is slightly unreal and unhinged.
I am good at being alone. I am a loner. Sunday in Rochester, the rain pouring down in sheets outside my window was heaven for me. Finding a little movie theatre to hole up in. Eating a steak dinner on my own. Love it. Monday, Tuesday were more challenging. Spending time with people, meetings, work. It was strange. I saw a lot.
After a long and good interview with www.artistfirst.com I go down to the hotel bar – not as it sounds – it’s a cosy place with lamps on the tables and a good burger. It’s not the kind of place where a stranger sits next to you, but a woman does sit next to me and tells me about Jesus.
‘You from London? London, Texas?’
I ordered a glass of wine. I haven’t drunk much of anything for a few weeks, so one glass (a generous, American-size glass of a generous American Zinfandel) sent me spinning into maudlin uncertainty.
Meanwhile, back at Chateau Sarif-Kattan in Switzerland, the marvel of Skype video brought me with a thud back into the reality of life there. Which, frankly, is more than a little worrying. I called last night, and got a video picture of Hanan in bed at 11pm. So far, so good. But as we talked, there was a knock on the door. Not mine, hers.
‘Who’s knocking on your door at 11pm?’ I ask, trying to subdue my suspicious, hysterical wife voice. She shrugs and opens the door.
It was the au pair.
Oui, bien sur, the 24 year old Cindy Crawford lookalike au pair.
‘What does she want?’ I asked, between gritted teeth and narrowed eyes.
‘She just gave me a CD of songs,’ Hanan replied blithely.
Hmmm. My insane jealously left me just long enough for me to fall immediately asleep, but today, when I dialed in again, I was not much reassured. Afternoon in the SK household and the video call showed Hanan, trying to scan a document. Which meant she had recruited the French au pair to scan (since her usual tech support was busy working, having interviews, doing business plans and being hit on in bars by religious women). So my view was Hanan, with Cindy next to her, saying things like ‘you ‘ave to click ‘ere ‘Anan’ in the background, and then Leonie Casanova, fresh from London, shaking it in front of the Skype camera. It was like tuning into the Playboy mansion. Does Hugh Hefner solve his scanning issues like this? Can Indian tech support possible compete with a French accent?
Somewhere in the background I could hear the boys, misbehaving. Having already lined them up one by one for a video telling-off, I was chagrined (but not really surprised) to see that my inspirational pep talk had had no noticeable effect. I swear, if Robin Williams had dealt with these two in Dead Poets Society, no-one would have stood on a desk shouting ‘Captain, my captain!’ He’d have packed up and gone home by the end of week one. But Hanan seemed not to mind, now that she was surrounded by gyrating, scanning women.
I think it’s time to go home. I say farewell to NY state tomorrow, and start the long haul back to Geneva. I love many things about this country. The steaks and Zinfandel for one. But it’s time to head back and corral the insanity. Before I join their ranks, unhinged in a hotel room, alone.
Shamim tries in vain to audition for tech support at the Playboy Mansion...
