Snooty British cow

Donatus and I are on the balcony - he has come round to check on our plants. Donatus is a gardener and a lovely human being. Growing and nurturing tropical plants is his life and his spirit.

The other side of our yard in the Spanish embassy, the new ambassador (I refuse to give him a capital letter) and his wife are walking towards their pool. He waves. I wave back.

"Do you need a gardener?" I ask. I'm always on Donatus' side.
"No, we have one already. Where are you from?" Spanish dignatory asks.
"UK"
"Ah. My wife is from Britain."
"Hi." wife says, "Sorry there's going to be some noise tonight. It's Spain's national day."
"Oh ok." I remembered the last two year's parties. "Can I come?" I've always been a bit of a chancer.

Ambassadore says nothing. She pipes up, "No. We're full already."

I'm sorry but sometimes I just feel like shooting some of my people. Snooty British Cow. Isn't there an unwritten global law of humanity that if you're going to make noise and have a party, you invite the neighbours? She's probably from Surbiton, where such communal spirit long ago expired.

All throughout Bibi's yoga class, I dream of Teju Cole and I fashioning pea shooters and peppering the guests with lentil bullets. We'd have a competition to see who could ping her skimpy butt. What fun we would have, and they wouldn't be able to suss us, giggling and firing from the darkness of the balcony..

It will not go well with them. And I wish Teju and I lived closer together.