Tidy Husband loves his job. He’s a mountaineer. He gets to go to exotic lands and pretend he doesn’t have any Wifi connection. Thankfully I’ve never been a jealous person.
Until now.
The opportunity recently arose for me to go on a trip with him. I dropped no hints whatsoever. There were no threats or tantrums. Well, maybe just one. Or two.
But the main thing is I was going to travel to exotic lands myself. I wasn’t fussed if Tidy Husband joined me or not.
We were doing an African safari (the Serengeti noch) and touring Zanzibar. It was made clear this was a Very Important Work Trip. I was to Behave Myself and not make any silly jokes or ask stupid questions like ’Why is that giraffe sticking his neck out?’, or ‘What do you call a dirty elephant?’ (A smellyphant).
Of course, the most important thing was to look the part. I became obsessed with buying appropriate safari kit spending a ridiculous amount of time online googling ‘best safari hat for people who have a lot of fuzzy hair that won’t fit under a safari hat’ and ‘clothes that make you look cool when you are overweight and middle-aged and never ever going to look cool.’
I pined hourly for Tesco and Primark. Tidy Husband cautioned me on buying too much safari kit, but I wouldn’t listen and ordered a whole host of khaki co-ordinates, heavy-duty trekking trousers, hiking boots, (we were traveling in a jeep), flowing maxi dresses for ambling along the white sandy beaches and an Australian safari hat with corks hanging down. I was going to fit in perfectly.
I eagerly awaited the arrival of my goodies to discover that nothing fit - and I ended up wearing the same black top and black trousers for 12 days in a row.
Our first stop was Kilimanjaro in Africa.
They speak Swahili. I don’t.
Everyone was very friendly and smiley but called me Jumbo. I found this rather rude. I didn’t appreciate them commenting on my size. There’s no doubt I’m a little on the large side (even wearing my ‘slimming’ black get-up) but I wasn’t expecting complete strangers to judge me.
‘Perhaps this is the local culture,’ I wondered to myself, ‘perhaps they’re all just extremely honest.’
I returned their smiles until Tidy Husband arrived to pick me up from the airport - he had flown out earlier to fit in another mountain climb. (As you do).
But I noticed he too was getting called Jumbo. This was not on.
He is far from Jumbo – he is positively microscopic (in a good way).
I started to explain to a friendly smiling African lady that Tidy Husband is not Jumbo – he’s up at 5am every day to work out for several hours and very rarely – if ever – eats cake.
She could call me Jumbo as I spend most of my time eating ice cream and watching Netflix, but she was going too far…..…..
.........when Tidy Husband explained that Jumbo in Swahili - means ‘hello’.
