Martin and Hazel Frost Our Life in Argentina

Oh the sweet sweet sound of the washing machine spinning, newly returned and functioning from its nine-day sojourn to the workshop.

Feelings more mixed about the thunderstorms raging around us for much of the last couple of days. Normally I love a big storm, but that washing isn't going to be dry any time soon.

Ker-slap ker-slap; the sound of my sandals finally falling apart completely in the middle of the town centre this morning. Yes, the very same sandals that I spent three days trying to buy, and half a mortgage on, not very long ago; they’d already been superglued several times before they died today. Cue swift entry into nearby shoe shop and exit with cheapest available sandal-like flip-flop type affairs. I calculate that if the flip-flop-like things hold together for ten days then they will have cost less per day’s use than the aforementioned ridiculously expensive sub-standard-sandals (try saying that after a beer).

The rustle and whisper of half a dozen children trying to pretend they aren’t there. I nipped out of my room in Quebracho Herrado this afternoon to speak to the lady round the corner. Shortly afterwards a neighbour came to ask if I knew there was a bunch of kids in my room. I didn’t, so I went back and found them. They weren’t doing any harm, sheltering from the rain mostly. They stayed for a bit of a chat and when the rain had subsided, they were off to hunt frogs.

Silence; the sound of another day over. Kid’s in bed, Martin’s gone to give the babysitter a lift home, the dogs are occupied with a bone each, and I’m about to shut down this humming thing and head for bed myself.