After lunch time Momos (we'd asked Pemba to let us have Nepali food as it already felt too much like a school trip) we lazed away in the girls' room playing, 'Would you rather', wrapped in blankets safe from the freezing rain outside. Sophia bought £5 Pringles and it was fun and cosy picking away at them in her room.
There was umming and aahing later whether to go to the one pub we'd come across so far. Everyone was tired but I assertively announced that I wanted to go just for one Sprite, so we layered up and set off. The bar was a large wooden room covered in signed charity tee shirts, and a dj playing cds from a one disc slot. Even CDisco didn't leave two minutes between songs!
Speaking of... both Li Qing and Wo Wang (?) have asked respectively if I have Asian genes. They can smell a fellow exotique a mile up a mountain.
It may have been this attractive mystique or my wiggling to the music (only dance move I know), or the amount of whisky that Pemba had consumed, but as the others sensibly trekked back the the house, we began some dancing. The other naughty kids staying out late kept buying me drinks as I was the most fun. Then they got out the shots. I threw mine under a bench behind me as I couldn't imagine trekking up a steep hill the next day is too fun after Tequila. Stupid old Nepali bar woman saw me and complained I ruined the floor, but better that than my liver. I obvs denied it anyway and distracted everyone with some hearty hip wiggling.
It got later and later and I kept trying to extract myself. But every time I made a move to the pile of down and fleece I'd shed all the better to show off my thermal onesy, they'd snatch them away and sit me right back at my Everest beer. I was getting a bit desperate and my head hurt so I consented to being popped down on a carpeted bench under some coats until they were ready to leave. Next thing I know our responsible Sherpa guide is pressing me down and not with the weight of gore-tex. Hmm. I tried some Bob style desperate eye wiggling to Sophia and Charlotte, whilst hastily reshuffling my most unusual places to be courted list. This can zoom right past Weezer tribute night, but battle for position with concentration camp.
Although I did come away blotted with a few wet kisses, I managed to refuse his offer to, 'Come to my room', slurred hotly into my ear. Unforch grew to regret refusing the latter when my partners in crime crammed into the next door bedroom at the guesthouse and proceeded to discuss loudly how much they'd drunk. For the rest of the night..
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