The Calm is nearly here

Just a few more days till the schools are out & Dubai shuts down.

Never thought much about it but, until fairly recently, the Life Punctuation Point known as:

"End of School / Summer Holidays" that dominated my world for so long, was dead to me.

But now, behold, the Resurrection!

I am a Phoenix, thrust back into the world which is dominated by the School Year.

*************************************

Since that heady Summer when:

the jeans were still 501s,









and tights were still 50 denier.




When our boots were Biker & the trainers, Adidas Gazelles or Sambas.

 AND ....... when that University coughed up that Degree so ferally clawed into existence laboriously achieved

....................................... the doors to 8-10 week holidays slammed SHUT!

For the next 15ish years, holidays were limited to 2-3 weeks A YEAR!!!

Pretty tough going when you live in a different country to your family, it has to be said.  My Dad put it into perspective though by reminding me that when he first went overseas, he didn't return home for 3 years!!!

Let us pause a moment and think about that.

Yeesh.

......................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................................
But, now I have a kid.  Things are different.

My life is back to being punctuated by School-Events (bloody Christmas concerts, sodding Dress-up Days, Leaving Presents for Teachers, school photos, holidays blah blah blah).

Especially the Summer Holidays.

Especially in Dubai.

It starts around April/May, people start announcing they will be leaving. Hate that.  See Goodbyes Suck

Also, every conversation seems to take a "So, what are your plans for the Summer?" turn.
It is just a given that you will be going away.

'Where' and 'How Long For' are the only variables.
Some people literally, are on their way to the airport as the school gates close & stay away for, like a bazillion weeks.

And this is what I have noticed, for those of us who largely spend the bulk of the Summer here in Dubai, when we find someone else doing the same, there is a Comrade In Arms air of mutual respect that blossoms. A nod of respect.
Nice one.
We are in this together.

During the non-parent years, I delighted in the quiet roads of the Summer & the general calm that settles over Dubai.
I still do.
50+ deg heat notwithstanding, I like Dubai in the Summer.

To punch a fly. In the face.

I am going to punch a fly in the face.

I am, y'know.  And I am not going to be sorry.

As a rule, I am not given to violence esp. physical, esp. against non-humans, but these guys are gettin' on my last nerve.

I don't know how this is going to go down but, if I end up in Court, I shall plead Provocation.

***************************

Yes. It is Fly Season in Dubai.

It might have escaped your notice - perfectly feasible, if you don't live in the middle of the desert, surrounded by goats and camels.  (Perhaps Flies don't commute to Suburbia?)

Ditto, if you are not a horse owner in this part of the world.

What this means is that, as it heats up, the Flies, that were either killed off or retreated to their Fly Wintering Retreat during the cooler months, are back.

And They want you to know.

When we get back up to the crazy 40+ temps again, they will, like so many other Dubai residents bugger off for the Summer.  The females ones anyway.

But, right now, They are back.

Invigorated  by their Sabbatical, with renewed vigour, they dance, nay shimmy mere centimetres from your eyes.
INSIDE MY HOUSE, RIGHT NOW, AS I SIT HERE AT THE COMPUTER!!! this is happening.

They play follow My Leader up my nose and, in some zzzzzzzzzzzzzty love-frenzy, tangle themselves in my hair.
Rolling around in there like that scene from From Here to Eternity.

But, not in black & white.  And with more buzzing.
And bigger eyes.

Bloody things.

Sometimes, and I have to say I find THIS particularly galling, (WARNING: look away now if of a sensitive disposition or easily shocked) ................................they land ............................. mid-coitus on the screen of my phone, on the keyboard on the desk, even on the chopping board (?????!!!!!), for crying out loud!!!!!!

Utterly ...... utterly ghastly.

When you woke up this morning,
you didn't think you would be looking
at pictures of bonking flies,
did you?
Be honest now.

See what I mean?

They ain't no Burt Lancaster & Deborah Kerr, are they?

errrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhh *shudder*







AND (and please forgive the vernacular but I am really quite irate now) ............ the Shitheads bite.

Yup.  Not content to just be Off-the-Scale Irritating with all the:

Buzzing,
Flying into your Eyes,
Copulating on Inappropriate Surfaces (NB in this country, humans go to jail for that kind of thing. I'm just sayin') &
Insisting on Landing on You Time & Time again (in the exact same spot that you flapped them away from)

....... they are, currently, biting.

Biting me.
Biting my horse.
Biting the dogs.

I ask you, is all of this really necessary??!

If they would just back off.  Get on with being Flies somewhere, ANYwhere else, I could be Me over here and everyone would be happy.

I want to be all groovy.
I DO.

I don't want to perform genocide.
I don't want to plot ways of catching and destroying and eradicating them from my world.

But I am.
and I do.


Provocation, m'lud.

I see Rude People.

Not much gets my goat more than people being rude to other (also, btw) PEOPLE, who work in shops, restaurants or other forms of the service industry.

You people makes me cringe.  You make my soul cringe.

And, just FYI, it is a deal-breaker as far as any kind of friendship might go.

If you are the sort of person who:

*  snaps superiorly, completely unnecessarily & disproportionately, at someone trying to help you or respond to your request,

*  speaks condescendingly or mockingly,
*  do either or both of the above, in a loud voice just because you have or, would like to ensure, an audience

then ... we are done.

( frankly, I am disappointed you broke through my usually very reliable screening process.  I will be reviewing my Insufferable Idiot FireWall)

********************

Dear Rude Person,
I would ask that you consider whether you would speak to that same person in the same way, in your home country, if they were the same nationality / race as you.

..........................................

No, I thought not.

You embarrass me.
I am embarrassed for you.
Because you are a Class A arse-hole.

There is no excuse for that kind of behaviour.  None.

Sometimes, VERY occasionally, frustration can take you places you, later, feel disappointed you had to go. However, you can always remain respectful and dignified.

Nothing wrong with complaining, if you are not satisfied but, sweetheart, you don't have to go nuclear, you don't have to be rude and you don't need an audience.

At the other end of the scale, I have seen people 'complain' with such class and dignity & ultimately, far more successfully than any of you squawking Jumped-up FishWives or brash puffed-up chests 'Big' Men,

And, you know what makes this already shameful scenario even more unforgivable?

Carrying out your ridiculous carry on in front of your children.

Way to parent.

Hang your head in shame.

And show a bit of class, would you?

The next day:

Spotted and sent to me by a (NICE) friend.

Word.

Sister got a Onesie

She resisted for the longest time.
She scorned.
She condescended "WHY would anyone want something like THAT?"


Then, ............. she got one.

And now, she is a Onesie-Junkie.




On the upside, seems She ain't alone.

Turns out loads of us got Onesies this Christmas - so Facebook informs me.

So?  What is it like Inside the Onesie?

It is like ..... getting an all-over, full body hug.  Is it a returning to the womb thing?  I dunno.  Don't care.


There are no words.  Truly, it rocks.

Which is ironic as it is, to the core, the single most UN-rock & roll thing. Ever.

Again, who cares.

So soft. So cozy. Nothing squeezes anything.  You don't need to suck anything in. There are no spaces for drafts to get in. And, no spaces for the warmth to get out.

To power up the Goo-Goo-Ga-Ga effect, go Hood.

TOP TIP:
avoid opening the door to unsuspecting visitors.  Wiping the WTF!?! of their face, is a Herculean task.  Be kind, don't make them work that hard.  It's Christmas.

How do I know I've got it bad for the Onesie?

Well, because, daily, I look at my watch and wonder "Is it too early to go Onesie?".

The answer, sadly, is usually 'yes'.

Because, sadly, it is usually around 3:30pm.

I have established that 3:30pm is too early to Onesie.

Once you have Gone Onesie, it is like you are calling time on the day.  It is like a fuzzy, snuggly full stop on your day.

'This is me, out', it says to the World.

Who loves Onesies?

Know who loves Onesies? EVERYONE. Everyone who has experienced a Onesie. If you are a girl (big or little).
Boys (big or little) do not love a Onesie.
How do I know?



Husbands look sad when the Onesies turn up.  Husbands and Onesies will never be friends.

Onesie Admin

As a new Onesie Wearer, I have some questions & observations.  I have discussed these matters with others but, it is always worth canvassing for more opinions.

*  Does One sleep in One's Onesie?

*  Unzipping One's Onesie to 'spend a penny' (as my Nanny used to refer to it) is deeply traumatising, yes?  All cold on the top half, right?
Which brings me to the question, what does One wear (if anything) under One's Onesie? Which brings me back, full circle, to the trauma of a chilly pee.

*  One needs to be careful when performing the above-mentioned penny-spending to ensure all sleeves, dangly pompoms etc are accounted for ............. so as to ensure no inadvertent & accidental dipping of any of those things into the .......................... I give up ................ lavatory.

In short, DON'T PEE ON YOUR POMPOMS!!!!

And finally

*  Am I going to know when it is time to let the Onesie go?
I am at odd with the Non-Onesie-Friendly Climate here in Dubai.
I am now a font of information on the region's meteorological activity.
I watch for signs that might drive the Onesie away.

Stay, Onesie, stay.  Don't leave me.

Goodbyes suck. All of them

(an extract from a post back in October)

I've just done a Goodbye.
I didn't love it.

Goodbyes.

That is what I want to talk about.

Good byes are the hidden Expat Tax. And it weighs heavy on us all.

There are the most commonly thought of Goodbyes -
* the agonisingly sad driving away from home, airport-bound.

* the stomach-churning Let's All Be Brave & Practical Until the Very Last Second and Pretend This Isn't Really Happening.

OR the hideous farewells actually AT the airport.  The Stomach-Churn will follow you here.  You cannot escape the Stomach Churn.

Both scenarios.  Horrific.  The guilt.  The good ol' fashioned waaaaaa-hahhaahahaaaaaaaaa sadness.  The suppression of the I Wanna Drop Everything and Run All The Way Home reflex.


There is another kind of Expat Goodbye too.  Which also hurts.  And doesn't require you to go anywhere.

The one where people leave YOU.

No no no.  WE leave!  WE do the leaving! Goddammit. ..................................WE do NOT get left!

This Goodbye happens when other Expats leave, to either stop being Expats or, to go be Expats somewhere else.

Making strong connections with other people can be really hard anyway, but, when you are an Expat can be really extra-hard.
Our world is very transient.

When you live away from family & friends, people that have known you through the bad haircuts, teenage dramas or relationship euphoria and hiccups, when you DO make what feels like a real connection, it can be quite intense.

I've touched on this Friend thing before - in The Rugby Post & also, in The Happiness Vampires

Friends, the good 'uns, become an immediate practical source of support when you do not have your family immediately at hand.

Sometimes that support comes in the very simple form of just a Proper Belly Laugh.

Maybe handing you a cold one, that makes you contemplate a certain algebraic equation.  Remember what we were talking about earlier?

Or letting you roll in their Money-Pit.

Goodbyes suck. All of them.
Whether you are the Leaver or the Leave-ee.

Goodbyes - the hidden Expat Tax

Did you know?

Expats, certainly ones living here, are soulless, money-grabbing, selfish capitalists who only wish to accumulate more of the filthy lucre. At any cost.

We booze and swill hundreds of ££ or $$$'s down our ever-open, ever-stretched gullets like so many young magpies.

Gorging. Gorging. Gorging.

Having invaded, and driven out the smaller weaker of our kind, from their palm-tree shaped nests (swimming pool included), we roar with evil laughter whilst rolling naked in our money-pits (we all have them), twirling our evil moustaches.

Apparently.

All of us.

I don't think so.

Can I just say, before we move on, that I am not convinced that I drink/get drunk here, any more than I did in either of the other countries I have lived in.

In fact, I think there is a good chance I do it less.

Now, this is NOT because I am oppressed, by virtue of my weaker inferior sex nor in fact ... as everybody outside the MiddleEast seems to think* ... because I am not allowed to.
*Ditto driving.  Ditto eating pork.

Here, let me explain.

I like to call it:

The GeMTHH (GetMeTheHellHome) Quotient 

It looks like this:



Essentially, we need to establish if A is greater than the value of G

A = Amount of Alcohol-induced Fun likely OR Alcohol-Required to Induce Fun
G = Getting Home Afterwards Aggravation / Urgency

Thus, in Dubai, I often drive.

In HongKong, you step outside (unless it is raining), *BOOM* there's a cab & before you know it, you are getting yourself the Hell home.

It is less easy, in my experience, here in Dubai. Unless, I guess you are doing your Mr Creosote obscene amount of consumption in a hotel.

I just like to get home, when I want to go home.

I don't wish to order a taxi at a specified time BEFORE I've even begun to have all the Fun .......... nor do I wish to, when I have decided to call 'time' on the Fun to wait for what could be anything from
"10 minutes away" to
"30 minutes coming" to after all that,
"not coming now. No taxis."
(assuming they even answer the phone at that point).

I digress.  Yet again.

I have a habit of doing that.

See? I did it again.

Taxis and drunkedness is not what I want to talk about here.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Goodbyes.

That is what I want to talk about.

Good byes are the hidden Expat Tax. And it weighs heavy on us all.

There are the most commonly thought of Goodbyes -
* the agonisingly sad driving away from home, airport-bound.

* the stomach-churning Let's All Be Brave & Practical Until the Very Last Second and Pretend This Isn't Really Happening.

OR the hideous farewells actually AT the airport.  The Stomach-Churn will follow you here.  You cannot escape the Stomach Churn.

Both scenarios.  Horrific.  The guilt.  The good ol' fashioned waaaaaa-hahhaahahaaaaaaaaa sadness.  The suppression of the I Wanna Drop Everything and Run All The Way Home reflex.


There is another kind of Expat Goodbye too.  Which also hurts.  And doesn't require you to go anywhere.

The one where people leave YOU.

No no no.  WE leave!  WE do the leaving! Goddammit. ..................................WE do NOT get left!

This Goodbye happens when other Expats leave, to either stop being Expats or, to go be Expats somewhere else.

Making strong connections with other people can be really hard anyway, but, when you are an Expat can be really extra-hard.
Our world is very transient.

When you live away from family & friends, people that have known you through the bad haircuts, teenage dramas or relationship euphoria and hiccups, when you DO make what feels like a real connection, it can be quite intense.

I've touched on this Friend thing before - in The Rugby Post & also, in The Happiness Vampires

Friends, the good 'uns, become an immediate practical source of support when you do not have your family immediately at hand.

Sometimes that support comes in the very simple form of just a Proper Belly Laugh.

Maybe handing you a cold one, that makes you contemplate a certain algebraic equation.  Remember what we were talking about earlier?

Or letting you roll in their Money-Pit.

Goodbyes suck. All of them.
Whether you are the Leaver or the Leave-ee.

"We all share the same Moon" - the Chinese Moon Festival

I do love a festival.

And my 2nd favourite Chinese Festival approaches:

The Moon Festival 

See, this is what I mean about digging the Eurasian thing - I get to do alllllll the festivals.

* Halloween

* Christmas

* Chinese New Year (my #1 Chinese festival), 

* even Tihar (Nepalese festival, that on one of the days celebrates the Dog - what's NOT to love about THAT one???!!! for crying out loud, just look at these Nepali police dogs)

.......I am all over ALL of them.

The Legend

There are a few variations on the legends surrounding the Moon Fairy.  You should know that there is also a rabbit, on the moon but I don't know really how the rabbit fits with it all.

Doesn't matter.  I'm happy to accept the rabbit. And am not one to get hung up on semantics.  Just as well considering  what we are talking about here.

So, here is the Moon Fairy:

Moon Fairy, Chang'e

 Her name is Chang'e.

And here's the story that my Mum told me.

A long time ago, in China, a strange thing happened one morning.

Instead of one sun coming up, suddenly......
... there were ten.

As you can imagine, this was exceedingly problematic.  

It was too hot, the crops wouldn't grow, they were all being burnt up.  The ground was scorched and there was not enough water.  

The people and the animals started to die.

Hou'Yi was a very skillful archer.  The best in all the land and he had an idea to save China.

He would shoot down nine of the 10 suns.

Which he did.

And everyone was greatly relieved and relievedly grateful - which, I guess, not being scorched up by 10 suns will do.

As a reward for his great service, the Heavenly Queen gave Hou'Yi a magic pill (some people say that it was an elixir but my Mum told me a pill so I am going with pill).

This pill was a Pill of Immortality.

Thing is Hou'Yi had his head turned by all the fame and gratitude and, as it happens, was not such a nice guy.

I don't have the details 'Not Very Nice Person' is enough I feel.

So much so that his Wife felt that it would NOT be a good idea that this guy lived forever.  So she went to find where he had hidden the Pill.

She found it but, almost instantly Hou'Yi discovered her.  She quickly hid it in her mouth but was so frightened by him shouting and questioning her, that she accidentally swallowed it!

Hou'Yi was furious & started to chase her.  Chang'e was terrified and ran away as fast as she could.  She ran and ran and ran ............................................ and ran and ran.  

She was so terrified that, when she got trapped, she jumped out the window ....................................................................................

..................................................................................................

...........................................................................................but instead of falling to the ground, she started to float. 

Up, Up Up Up Up she floated, with Hou'Yi still on the ground trying to shoot her down with arrows.

She floated all the way to the Moon & that is where she lives now, still.  With a rabbit.

How we celebrate Moon Festival

Well, if we were at home in Hong Kong, we'd go out with our Moon Festival Lanterns and look at the moon, with our family and friends.

Last night, my Dad messaged me that he and Mum were going to my PorPor's (maternal grandmother) for Moon Festival dinner, because Moon Festival is about gathering with family & those that we love.

There are some traditional things that get eaten at this time & the most well known would be the 

Moon Cake.

The egg yolk inside is
supposed to represent the Moon

Between you & me .... YUCK!

I am not into Moon Cake but, both The Trousers and The Boy love them!!

My favorite thing, hands down are the LANTERNS

Some of last year's lanterns

Our garden, last Moon Festival

Moon Festival is a time for gathering, as I say, with family & loved ones.  For those that cannot be with family, we can all look at the beautiful moon and think of them.

Short video about Mid-Autumn Festival (makes me cry a little but, look out for the rabbit!!!)

We are all under the same moon.

Ancient Chinese Poem: 

"The Moon was rising from the sea & 

all the people were sharing this moment"

This year, we will be meet with good friends & take the kids down to a beach here in Dubai in the evening.

We will have a picnic, enjoy a few homemade lanterns & looking at the Moon at her most beautiful.

As expats, there seems to be an extra-poignant aspect to it, being away from those we love, we will look at the Moon and think of those far away, that we miss at these times.

Happy Moon Festival, everyone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

HA!!
You didn't believe me about the Rabbit, did you!?

He is the Jade Rabbit & HE is the one that makes the Immortality Potion/Pills.  On the Moon.

Courage, dear sweaty friends! (a rallying cry)

September =  high humidity.  In Dubai.

This will be my 9th September & frankly, familiarity is definitely breeding contempt.

As the years pass, the contempt rages out of control.  It mounts, it builds.  A forest fire of red-faced, ill-tempered sweatiness.

I hate you, September.  You and your 85% humid conditions.

Perhaps the answer is to spend September lying flat on One's stomach, on the tiles.  The dogs have got the right idea. School run & going outside, be damned, say I.

I wish.

Well........... unless anyone has a better idea, join me on the (9th) Annual Perspiration-athon, which is September in Dubai.

Standard Sweat Schedule (SSS)

HOUSE TO CAR
status: Sweaty

CAR JOURNEY
status: for 1st 5 mins, too hot to be sweaty. The sweat rivers accrued from House to Car evaporate off you, thanks to the oven hot temps inside that tin box.  You are, for now, dry as a bone.

Key in ignition - instant facial desiccation by initial blast of hot dry air, direct from the centre of the earth, as you whack the AC up to MAX.

Steering - there may be some variation on this but anything up to the 1st 6 kms of your journey will be steered by your fingertips.

As the white hot heat of your steering wheel eases, now you are freezing from the sweat-sodden clothes sticking to you in the chilly interior of your car.

CAR TO HOUSE/WORK/SUPERMARKET
status: Immediately Sweaty, again.

And, now, your glasses (sun or seeing) have fogged over the millisecond as you opened the door.

You will now drop your phone, iPod, keys, everything, as you can see nothing.

TOP TIP: just take the glasses off & squint, the fog never clears as fast as you think it might.

Squinting as you dash indoors is not going to make much difference to those crows' feet, sweetie.

After all, you already have Face of a Mummy (see earlier facial desiccation) so, what the hell, in for a penny.



WORK/HOUSE
status - here you reach a comfortable equilibrium thanks to the earth-destroying AC that is, ironically, keeping you alive.
(we can talk about the panic that a malfunctioning AC causes later.  People come together to help in a similar vein to Blitz-time London.  But we haven't got any good songs.  We should get some good 'Together We Stand When Your AC Fails' songs)

Not a patch (sorry) on the clammy heights
One's pits are capable of reaching

But, my Glowing Brothers & Sisters, screw your deodorant to its sticking place & take heart, for together, we head into the final push of the Dubai Summer.

Ahead lies the idyllic season known as ........*cue: choirs of cherubim & seraphim* ............. Winter in Dubai.

This.
(apart from the windmill & acres of green meadow)

The jolly months of blue jeans & blue skies (if I was going to be a complete bitch about it I MIGHT moan about there not being enough clouds. I do love a fluffy white cloud.), sunshine and glorious temperatures hovering around the 20 - 28 degrees C mark.

26 degs Celsius, now there is a magic number.

When the mercury drops to 26, it is .............. Boot Time!!!!





Yaaaaaaaaaaay, permission to bust out the Uggs/Emus/or whatever floats your booty boat & get All. Over. The Boots Time.

Last winter I was booted from November till early May.  True story.




I'm keeping my eye on you, September. Your days are numbered.

Don't let me down, Winter.

Bring on the boots.

I am the Elephant (wo)Man

Perhaps the lady in the pharmacy would approve?
(I was being a lady ninja, fyi)

Off we went, all together, to see Monsters University.
To celebrate the End (of the School Year).
It was sold out.

(none of this is relevant but I thought I'd set the scene)

*****************************************************************************
On the way back to the car, we pop into a pharmacy for travel staples before our holiday. Paracetemol, that kind of thing.

A member of staff gave me a good look when we came in &, is now following me around the shop trying to attract my attention.

"Excuse me, madam."

"Yes?"

"I want to show you our products. To help you.  You know, with your face. *points at my face*"

Tone was:

a) I'm so sorry for all that you have had to endure. This terrible affliction you have borne. Y'know, with your face & everything.
b) But it's all going to ok now, sweetie, 'cos I got a cream to sort it all out.  You need be a monster no more.

I have freckles.  Sun freckles. Some patches of hyper-pigmentation.  Some.

I don't love it & it has come with age (& not helped by 9 years of living in the desert) but, meh.

Slap a bit of BB Cream on it, feel a bit less self-conscious about it & off we go for some fun.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, Lady, if I wanted your opinion I would have asked for it. 
AND however, brave I may be sounding you are making feel like shite & really rather self-conscious. 

I mean, do my nearest & dearest have to fight waves of revulsion & nausea when I turn up?

Anyway,
she's STILL standing in front of me. 
Maybe she's waiting for me to collapse with relief that someone is able to relieve me of this freckly nightmare?

This lady knows the secret escape from the freckly 10th Circle of Dante's Inferno.

I respond  "Wow. How rude."

Trousers is sniggering cos I've told him this sort of thing happens.  He thought I was exaggerating. He can see the ridiculousness of the situation.  He thinks it is ludicrous, cos I'm gorgeous (blahblahblah)


"Yes," she says "very sorry.  It's over here."

"No thanks. I'm good."

"We have many things to help you, madam. Peels, masks, creams, face-lift products."

*OMFG, Lady, please. Stop.*

No.
THANK.

YOU.

Should have asked her why she hadn't availed herself of those 'Make You 2 Feet Taller & Not So Fat' pills over there.

An Unmade Bed at the Food Court United Nations

Yesterday, I dropped the Kid at his SOUTH AFRICAN school-buddy's birthday party.

Tried to be brave about the fact that I was in a mall & the 1st (BRITISH & IRISH) Lions test against AUSTRALIA was taking place.

BUT, it wasn't a dead loss.  I WAS in a mall during the DUBAI Summer Surprise Sales so, silver lining & all that.

Spent from a mere smidge of pre-holiday shopping, I rewarded myself with a monster skinny cappu (from Gloria Jean's, incidentally.  AUSTRALIAN.  Hoped that it wasn't a sign.  Remember, I knew nothing of the outcome of the afore-mentioned rugby match at the time) & some chips from McDs, for a spot of SRM (see Spontaneous Reading Moments post).

Sitting there, in my SRM bubble, with caffeine & carbs, I became aware of the family to my left.

A lone man, with 4 abaya'd ladies.  A baby in a buggy, 2 girl children (un-abaya'd) and an older boy child (playing on some handheld electronic device). 
I don't know but I guess it is possible that more than one of these ladies were his wives.  It's a thing that is part of life here.  I don't judge & anyway, they are all having a nice time sharing their mega Mac Attack meal.  THIS I get.

I glance around.  A positively psychedelic plethora of racial & cultural representatives are sharing the Food Court experience with me, on a weekend, one of the last before Ramadan.

There was a mainland CHINESE, maybe TAIWANESE, family, INDIAN families, LEBANESE families, families with their SOMALI, ETHIOPIAN, SUDANESE (I am toooooootally hazarding a guess here, you understand) helpers & FILIPINO families.

Just from where I am sitting I can see full abayas with burkas & hijabs all the colours of the rainbow http://www.hijab-styles.com/.

Hands up if you've ever spotted skintight trousers, gigantic boofy hair, killer heels & unnaturally inflated lips (& the rest!) in a mall in Dubai.  Honest to goodness, there is a whole table of them over there. 
Their children & maids are at the next table.

Maxi dresses, shorts & sleeveless tops are here too, alongside plenty of salwar kameez(s), men & women.  Is that the correct plural? 

Here too, in the KFC queue, the 'long shorts with flipflop' combo.  The weekend uniform of the standard male Western expat.

The crisp, utterly uncrumpled kandoras are modeled perfectly by a host of fathers, husbands & teenage boys.  HOW is that possible?

In 9 years I have never seen a dishdash in any form of disarray, whereas, whatever I do, I always look like an unmade bed.

Everyone is just doing their thing, not paying attention to anyone, except for the lady with a froffy coffee & a bag o'frites, scribbling on a napkin.

OK, need to stop staring.

Back to book.  Book about the fall of the BRITISH Raj in INDIA.

If I don't press on, I'll never find out how it ends & these chips aren't going scoff themselves.

 

Greetings from the Future

Interesting phenomenon this - every watch (digital or ....... whatever-you-call-not-digital) I've ever had, gains time.

Currently I am running at 20 minutes fast.

Mate (or we can go with 'Dude' for those across the water), I am, like, IN THE FUTURE!!

By 20 minutes.

********************************

Not sure when it crept up on me but, it appears that I have developed the eensiest whiff of an OCD thing.

I have, largely, taken myself in hand &, folks, please be assured that the whole New Newspaper/Magazine thing is over now.

More or less.  But, listen, that's another story.  Should you be desperate to know more....... Here. But remember, you asked!.

This Time Travel thing, though, is brilliant.

Whenever I think I am late, I'm not!
In fact, even better, I've got time to spare.
It deliciously liberating.

Hate being late.
Hate it.

NOW, I am revoltingly, sanctimoniously early.
Relaxed. 
Glowing with the (misleading) aura of efficiency & organisation that, on the surface, seems to accompany excellent time-keepery

My system puts me ahead of the rest of you lot by a whole 20 minutes.  It is joke in our house that everywhere in Dubai is 20 minutes away from wherever you are. 

This, then, puts me at my destination before I've even left.  Y'get me?

Oh, & in case you were wondering, I can report that the Future is reassuringly, same-same-not-much-different.

Except for that annoying Smug Girl sitting in the car, waiting for everyone else to arrive. 

The Rugby Post

Rugby can be a Friends for Life maker.
Ask any old rugby war horse, they'll tell you. 

Some of the  most enduring friendships ever made were made on the pitch. 
Well, actually off the pitch .............  I don't need to paint you a picture, do I?

Go to any rugby tournament, spot someone else wearing a jersey you recognise (club or country) - there's that imperceptible nod, a thread of connection.  And then you carry on, to the beer tent. Not always. But, let's face it, Usually.


Trousers said to me once, "Wherever you go.  If there is a rugby club, you'll find a mate. Well, at least someone to have a beer with."
He was actually lamenting how hard it can be, for men in particular, to make friends when you move country.  Unless you play rugby.

He has given up playing (see above 'Old Rugby War Horse' reference) & misses it hugely. 
His body doesn't though. 

His body has been yelling at the top of its voice "for Christ's sake!!!! Just LEAVE ME ALONE would you???

Me, I've alllllllways loved rugby.  Started at school, watching our school team (incidentally the same team that the Old Rugby War Horse started his campaign - although, back then, he was a fair-haired, mullet-sporting, think Crockett from Miami Vice, lanky thing).



Just thought you should see of the wavy hair I was referring to!

I think it is fair to say, we are a Rugby Household

So, it seemed logical that we should see whether The Boy would show any interest in it.

He had shown some vague interest when we had it on telly. 

Last October we were told of a club, Christina Noble Children Foundation's Arabian Knights, that had an Under 6 team.

First of all, & this will be the least 'rugby' thing you will ever hear me say ...... "SWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET"!!!!  Teeny weeny 5 year olds doing rugby. Gorgeous.

So, off we go to see what he thought of it all.  There was lots of  "well, if He doesn't like it, that's fine.  He doesn't have to like rugby".  We were adamant, there was to be nooooooo pressure.  None.  None at all.
Nope.  None.

In fact, we convinced ourselves it wasn't for him before he even got in the car. 

Turns out, it is.

Picking up an award at the end of his 1st ever rugby season

He loves it.  Whether he actually loves rugby or he loves playing with his rugby mates, remains to be seen.





But, he DOES love hanging out with the other teeny weeny rugby ponies (early rugby equestrian campaigners).








And here's the thing - a thing we did not expect ..... WE found ourselves in a team TOO!!!!?

Honest to goodness, without even setting foot on the pitch, the grown ups have seemingly formed a team of our own.
The kids are a great set of kids, by & large.  The parents, ditto.

It struck me when I mentioned to someone how late & strongly 'beveraged' our nights out with the other 'grown-ups'  have been.  "Yeah, well," was the response "Not surprising I guess, rugby people n'all that".

Funny how it hadn't really occurred to me but, yes, there WAS a high probability that people who would feel positive enough about the sport to encourage their children to do it WERE likely to have similar mindsets.

Expat Life CAN make it hard to make friends.  Sometimes the transient nature of expatdom makes it hard to form strong genuine bonds.  After a while, you kind of stop bothering.  The turnover of good friends made is unpleasantly high.  It is easy & often necessary to make lots of acquaintances but I suspect everyone recognises those connections for what they are.

But, good friendships with people who you are confident you'd be friends with, whatever country, whatever circumstance. Those can be hard to find, anywhere.

And so, it looks like rugby has done it again for us. 

It has brought us good people. Funny people. Fun people. Real people. Friend people.
The rugby season is over here in Dubai (40+ degrees C does tend to stop most things) but we are already looking forward to the start of the Arabian Knights' (now) Under 7s season.

Is it wrong that we are pondering the opportunity for a tour??????

Perhaps you'd like to meet Us?

Thought you might like to have an idea as to who we are - what better than to provide a visual? (please stop watching so much Star Trek, Pants)

TaaaaaaDaaaaaaa, here we are......

 

 

To clarify, Daddy (Trousers) is not YouKnowWho.

(calm down, Conspiracy Theorists. THAT guy def did come to a sticky end with Eva Braun in that bunker. Or DID he?).

 

Hair depiction of the 3 humans fairly accurate - ranging from 'Long' to 'Some' to, well, 'No Hair'.

Also featured are most, but not all, of our animal family members.  He was keen to include them.  Even the dead ones.

 

Yeah, the dead ones.  Last year was a tough year, we lost 4 of our family last year.

*  STANLEY, Greyhound, old old old age.  He came with us from the UK to Dubai & had a wonderful 8 years here.

 

*  GLORIA, Great Dane. Sadly, she was only about 3 yrs old, max. She was really sick when she came to live with us & we knew we'd only have a few months but we were determined for her to have a real home & know nice things like grass & love & cuddles before she left this earth.

*  IVY (not pictured), cat, 4 years old , handreared by Me since 1 hr old.  Presumed killed, shot.  Can't talk about it really.  Will do sometime. Not now.

 

*  TONY, Pekinese (Peke), 4 yrs old. Accident, hit by a car when he escaped from the house.  Despite weighing no more than about 3 kgs (when wet), he was a shocking car-chaser.  He also Esteem Issues (as in EXTREMELY high estimation of himself & DID believe he was indestructible.  Sadly, he was wrong.)

 

Survivors:
PAT is the African Grey Parrot.

OLLIE, the brindle Lurcher
BLANCHE, Harlequin Great Dane
Chopsticks, a TOY rat.

Not appearing due to lack of space:
MING, the black Devon Rex (cat)
LEAH (DIAMONDS MISS SNIPPET), my horse

 

BTW, this is also Us.
The resemblance is uncanny, I feel