KL - City of Gin, Nudity & Old Handbags.

Kuala Lumpur. After a 13 hour overnight train journey which largely involved no sleep and the rest of our cohort taking photos/m-pegs of my attempts to gain access to my bunk bed, we arrived in the Malaysian capital. (Can I just say that I only got into a situation requiring assisstance from a train man once - the rest of the time I was adequately nimble.) I'm only glad the whole carriage found it so amusing. Further hilarity ensued as Andy offered his Nips around. Looking a little jaded on arrival, Em & I went off in search of luxury accommodation, leaving the boys with a PSP & a latte apiece. Following much searching of the mid-range hotels which all either looked like Pauline Fowler's living room (circa Arthur's decline) or smelled of pepper, we cut to the chase. Before we could work out if we could afford it or not, we took rooms at the Istana Hotel, a grand 5-star sky-scraper in the middle of the Golden Triangle, overlooking the Petronas Towers. Check out the crystal in the lobby! Wondering how I was to justify this extravangance to Andy, I remembered I had the perfect excuse - the boys needed a decent T.V. for the World Cup!! For the first time ever, football is my friend.

The Petronas Towers, now stand as the tallest twin towers in the world (451.9 metres) and the second tallest building worldwide. They do seem to capitalise on this fact a bit too much for comfort, given that the NY ones formerly held the title. In order to gain access to the viewing platform situated part-way between the two towers (only 146 metres above the ground), you have to get there early for tickets and endure an exceeding boring video detailing the building of the thing. The only bit I heard was that "in case of fire, one has to evacuate to the safer of the two towers." How settling - they don't even tell you which is the crap one. Following our cable-car adventures, the boys were feling a bit apprehensive and Andrew's palms were very clammy. Thank God Em was on hand to reassure Andy that she "had a bad feeling about this" immediately prior to boarding the lift. The views were nice, amidst the smog, but it was actually rather uninspiring in the end. The eight-sided star used in thr floor-plan is typical of Islamic art, and by night is does offer quite a majestic sight.

Over the past four days, we've bored Andy rigid with our shopping antics, had massages and eaten lots of great food. Alternating between Chinese and Indian for each meal, our figures are coming on nicely. Chinatown does this amazing thing with bits of pork by curing it in some treacle-MSG compound. Andrew developed a bit of a habit and worked his way through half a kilo (with minimal assisstance).

We've had to have a few drinks to keep everything in equilibrium and rinse through our coronary arteries. Indeed, our quest for booze, even in the capital of a Muslim country, is quite a challenge. On the first night, the girls headed out to Chinatown as we figured there's be some kind of liquor-store there. As we weaved through the night-market amidst shouts of "Hello handbag?" (really must moisturise this tan more intensively), the place we found was an hilarious hole filled with old soaks. Clearly unused to female customers, we caused quite a stir, especially when we asked if they sold champagne. Content with 2 (small) bottles of local gin, we scurried back like George Best home from The Priory.

In desperate need of a spot of pampering after a gin-fuelled evening, we booked ourselves an appointment with the hotel spa. Em suggested we go for a Mococa package, which sounded very exotic and I went for the same. The Mococa proved to be quite an experience and basically involved being rubbed and scrubbed with various ingredients more commonly found in coffee shop. First I was washed, then scrubbed with coffee, then washed, then scrubbed with bits of chocolate and crushed nuts (possibly, I was blind-folded so I'm not sure). This debacle went on for an hour and was basically like an elaborate bed-bath. It was far from enjoyable as the room was freezing, despite three requests for warmth. The language-barrier didn't help. As I pointed at the A/C controls, she took this as a signal to turn up the volume on the "relaxing" music. I'd really like to meet the person who chose the CD which was on a loop for 5 hours. I don't know many people who would find Enigma doing cover versions of The Flying Pickets soporific. I was about to sneak off to the sauna when I was allowed to shower off my ingredients. Resembling a Feast in a shower-cap, I peeled off my chocolate-streaked disposable pants and as I luxuriated in the warmth of the shower, I began to feel more like a patient than an Asian beauty. Sadly there are no photos to highlight the extent of my anguish at the time.

The highlight was waiting for the bath to fill. This took 30 minutes and in the end had to be supplemented by bucketfuls of hotwater. By now I was getting a bit twitchy - I'd been "done to" for 2 hours and I was more tense than when I went in. Would this happen at the Treatment Rooms? I think not. Sensing discontent, the woman with painted-on eyebrows chucked so much lavender oil and orchids into my bath that I almost had a respiratory arrest. Then followed a great massage and a pedicure, so all was redeemed at the last moment. The whole procedure took 5 hours, longer in fact, than most operations. By the time it was all over with, it was 11pm and we'd missed dinner. Still, I smelled like a Starbuck's and my skin felt baby-soft...Goodbye Handbag! My quest for the ultimate massage will continue however. The gold standard is set... Big Rajasthani woman with hands like kebabs, boiling up a dirty pan of ghee, lying me on a filthy towel and kneeding me like a roti...

There's been some half-hearted attempts to visit temples, but mosques just don't do it for me really. We visited Masjid Jamek, which is supposed to be the most beautiful in KL but it wasn't so we headed for the Central Market for a spot of hard-bargaining instead. The main Hindu temple, Sri Mahamariamman, was quite nice but I disgraced myself by failing to remove my shoes (it wasn't obvious). At least the colours of Little India light up the smoggy air, while the smell of Sandalwood and incense finish off your respiratory system. KL's an interesting mix of cultures and examples of old and new are juxtaposed at every corner. Ladies in Muslim dress eating a KFC, monks shopping for computer games, and old Chinese, Indian and Muslim temples lying side by side in apparent harmony with sky-scrapers seemingly poking from their rooftops.

Despite my informative wafflings, I'm feeling very hungover today. This is a direct result of Andrew & Em's farewell evening and polishing off the gin. The shock of finding Andy naked in the hotel corridor at 5am this morning is still lingering. I doubt I shall recover. I truly expect to find that our belongings have been evicted and the police waiting for us when we return to The Istana tonight. It was a fraught few mintes as I scanned the local vacinity for wet patches this morning. We've had a really great time with the kids and will miss them terribly. I now only have Andy to talk to, and I don't have reinforcements when justifying spending more than a fiver on something. It's back to budget for Samson. As if this isn't enough of a burden, I have the additional embarrassment of a boyfriend who sleepwalks. What if it continues? I might have to make him a little sign to wear round his neck, lest he be found in a naked in a public fountain, surrounded by ladies in pink headscarves. Even worse, what if the next person to rescue him is my Mum? I'm off to M&S to purchase him some paisley pajamas.

The kids holiday slideshow