I am sitting in our secret room in Jardins de la Koutoubia, our friendly neighbourhood five star hotel with the free wifi, with my *own* computer! At last! The poor dear had to be left in Ireland for a repair which it only chose to demand the night before we came here so I had to leave it with my father, who had it fixed and Fedexed it to me. Even though it is a little older and smaller than my husband's mac, it is *mine* and I love it. I have just treated it to .mac to welcome it to its new life in Morocco.
Rather belatedly, John and I have also just discovered the joys of bluetooth and that our macs can talk to each other! This was a very exciting development in our marriage, and instigated by me, I might add.
Our Moroccan life has been a little quiet in the last 24 hours due to an earache on my part. A childish complaint, I know, but there you have it. It seems to be going away on its own though... because of this I was cranky and slow yesterday and spent most of the day curled up on the bed reading Greenery Street and occasionally looking blearily at the article I'm supposed to be writing. I know that many of my readers are lofty PhD holders already, so I must ask - is it acceptable to divulge the whole point of your PhD in an article complete with an illustration of said point, or are you supposed to coyly skirt around it, saving the big secret until after submission?
But back to Marrakech - we did venture out in the end yesterday, as John had formed an inexplicable desire to have dinner at the rooftop buffet of the Hotel Ali. I was somewhat less enthusiastic, but went, and then afterwards allowed John the disctinctly Marrakshi masculine experience of grumpily striding through the Djemma el Fna with a wife trotting alongside, eating an icecream from Patisserie des Princes (Marrakech's answer to Laduree) and grinning from ear to ear.
