Of conferences and Mexican waves

Ok, so some people think I've been organising a conference. And I have. 94 punters in a great venue in the shadow of Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh, spectacular speakers from all over the UK, and stuff. And other people (like my editor and agent) think I've been writing a novel. My husband thinks I've been cooking his meals and ironing the occasional sock. But actually, folks, I've been dealing with a daughter lost in rural Mexico, a totally non-English-speaking bit, unable to speak any Spanish except what she valiantly taught herself from an ancient CD I found in a drawer, at the mercy of a guy called Ariel (which was hitherto a washing-powder or nippy Shakespearean fairy, as far as I was concerned, which wasn't far) and utterly frustrated at having spent 6 months full-time in Starbucks earning the money for her gap year trip of a life-time (I hope). She's supposed to be somewhere else entirely but somehow got put on a bus for a trip which was supposed, according to "Kevin", to take two hours but which she said was in fact eight hours. (Kevin had a very wonderful explanation for this discrepancy: "Oh, hey, yeah - sorry for the dodgy info - I think I was asleep when I made that journey so time seemed to pass really quickly."

So, anyway, she's more than a tad pissed off. Cos things don't turn out how they're described on t'internet, do they? And she thinks she and another girl are probably literally the only non-Mexicans in a city which seems to hate anyone who's non-Mexican.

Yes, and of course she's going to have a great experience, eventually, once she gets Ariel to understand about today meaning today. And she's going to set herself up nicely creating a website telling the truth about gap year promises, (in a positive caring sharing way) but meanwhile yours truly gets to be a mother with the mother of all stresses - kid on other side of the world and I'm supposed to organise a conference / write a novel /iron socks as though nothing else mattered.

Which of course is fine because the daughter is fab and can deal with this stuff. And she sends me more kisses on her emails than she ever gave me when she was only upstairs. And actually at a few thousand miles what can I do?

Organise another conference? I'm tempted.

But not much.