your girl in the gulf

Wish list

2008-02-26T16:03:00.004+04:00

Yes, standards have slipped and months have gone by without comment. I wish I had an excuse but I don’t and am currently feeling so ill that I can’t even create one. And before you jump to conclusions, it’s not a hangover. Last night was spent eating free sushi (is there anything better?) and gossiping, a few episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm then bed. Only to wake three hours later with the distinct sensation my throat was being pulled out of my nose. A few Wilco albums later and I was still awake. And now, 12 hours later, I’m on shite form.

To cheer myself up here is my birthday list. You have five months to save up.

1. Mr Frosty Snow Cone machine
2. Frank Gehry for Tiffany jewellery
3. Eyelash extensions
4. Guitar lessons - and indeed, a guitar
5. Leather-bound photo album
6. Louboutin slingbacks
7. 24 season six boxset
8. Edward Thomas poems
9. More vouchers for unlimited sushi at The Fairmont
10. A lovely bunch of peonies

Not much to ask for is it? I removed the puppy and car after putting them on my Christmas list and Babs hilariously giving me a miniature VW Beetle and plush basset hound. Probably for the best.

In other news, if all goes to plan I’ll have a new car in a few weeks – an oldish Pajero that I have been dreaming about for a while now. While I’m in the Middle East I might as well drive a white 4x4. And yes, I’m fully aware that ‘pajero’ means ‘wanker’ in Spanish but if I can get over it I’m sure you can too.

I hereby solemnly swear to write more (and in proper English like) when I can. Just feels a bit weird with work, Dubai and home friends all on Facebook. How can I possibly bitch about anyone?

h

My own Little Britain over here

2007-09-26T14:25:00.000+04:00

I have concluded that while I love many, many English things, the reality of living there is actually rather rubbish. I therefore propose to bring elements of the Motherland to Arabland. I could even create a small version of home in International City where the country already exists in the form of apartments OR on The World, where an England-shape island is waiting to be filled with authentic Anglo stuff.

Items to be imported include:

Warm socks
Autumn leaves
Pimms
Homemade strawberry jam
The 6 o’clock news
Steve Jones of T4 fame
Cold water from the bathroom tap
Little second-hand bookshops
Diet Coke NOT CocaCola Light
Deal or No Deal
Fern Britten
Daffodils and snow drops
Narcotics
Hollyoaks (only to be administered during hangovers and even then, purely for moral guidance)
Pubs not attached to hotels
Salt and vinegar Snack a Jacks
Non-commercial radio
Men wearing scarves
Conkers
Warm towels from the radiator after a bath
A hairdresser I can trust
Frosty mornings (the weather, not Sir David)
Weekend magazine from The Guardian on Saturday
People who use the indicator in their cars
Tesco
Location, Location, Location
Real Christmas trees
Nice dogs you meet in parks
The Tyneside cinema

I'm feeling a little homesick now and off to self-medicate with some ginger tea and a look at amusing graffiti on signage.

Dubai roads get even more dangerous.

2007-09-24T15:01:00.000+04:00

After much agonising and countless smelly, insane taxi journeys I have rented a car. It's white to reflect the sun but doesn't have a CD player, despite being made in 2006. The UAE time pocket strikes again. Actually, I suspect there is a CD player there but there's some ominous black plastic on the dashboard which suggests that Go Rent A Car are HIDING it from me which seems unnecessarily cruel. Well, screw you Go, I'm off to buy one of those cassette-adaptor things for my iPod. Although the volume will be low for the next few weeks for Ramadam because, as we all know by now, music leads to dancing and dancing leads to sex.

As an aside, did you know that Muslims who indulge in...well... self-love during daylight hours in Ramadan have to start the month of fasting all over again? What a gutter. How would you explain that to your mates when they're out at Starbucks during Eid and you have to stay at home? "Well guys, I just enjoyed not eating and reflecting on my life so much that I'm going to do it for another three weeks". What if you couldn't help yourself and had to start all over AGAIN? This could go on for years. Years of date eating, dehydration and no music on the radio. A lesson for us all I think...

Warning: these words might induce vomiting

2007-08-30T13:38:00.000+04:00

It’s official. I have the sense of humour of an 8 year old. This list has been going on for a while but I wanted to record it for prosperity and involve more people. Long gone are the days of Chris Holmes calling me at work with another addition, and I can no longer make Jonathon dry heave by showing him ‘lady products’ in Boots.

So here it is people, the list of disgusting words. It’s a work in progress and all contributions are welcome…

Moist (the classic)
Gusset
Used
Discharge
Fungus
Fluids
Intimate wipe
Feminine hygiene
Panties
Frottage
Gash
Rutting
Rooting
Sanitary
Insert
Roger
Pellet
Towelette
Gush
Probing
Afterbirth
Felch
Frock
Flange
Crusty
Secrete
Viscous

Over to you....

Good, Clean Fun. For Once...

2007-08-26T18:15:00.001+04:00

In my mind, a ladies-only night at a waterpark would involve no-one else; just me and my buddies running around in our togs. No queues and no pervy men. Sweet. So I was a little gutted to see how popular it is – until I recognised the people-watching potential of it all. Women wearing jeans in the wave pool? Check. A woman wearing a dress (that I can only assume was bought from Monsoon for her sister’s wedding) while trying to surf? Yup. Some people of very questionable gender kissing on sunloungers? Yes, they were present too. It was bloody brilliant.

Floating along the lazy river in a rubber tyre, looking up at the stars, it was hard to imagine I had been at my desk just a few hours before. Stranger still was the fact that usually at this time on a Thursday I would be in a bar somewhere making regrettable conversation with someone (usually male, usually an engineer…) that I wasn’t interested in seeing ever again. If only I’d known that Wild Wadi waterpark was also on offer!

By the light of the moon we slid, floated, got propelled uphill by jets, nearly drowned in the wave pool trying to swim away from an ever-present plaster that followed us around, just about shat ourselves going down a kamikaze-style ride at 80km/h but most of all giggled like schoolgirls. We sometimes giggled at ourselves, but mainly we were totally blown away by the sight of women swimming in saris (maximum garrotting potential) and trying to spot the elusive Burkini. Sadly, the tranny pictured above in her modest swimwear for the Amish wasn't there - maybe next time....

It might sound a bit lame, but it truly was the most fun I have had in ages. Pure, laugh out loud I-can’t-believe-what-I-am-doing fun. To make it a truly juvenile evening we got milkshakes on the way home and cruised down Beach Road with the windows down and the system up. It appears I have a mental age of 16 and an untapped desire to have a boyfriend called Gary who drives a Nova. I fell into bed happy, knackered and stinking of chlorine - and woke up hangover-free.

If only I could say the same for Saturday morning… 14 hours drinking does no-one any favours. Luckily, a chilled pool, several beers and some good chat came to the rescue. Hair of the dog is not a myth – it is medicinal.

It's getting hot out there...

2007-08-26T17:29:00.000+04:00

Honestly, I don’t know what all this whinging about the heat is about. Admittedly, we went desert driving yesterday in 45 degrees and the sand was so hot it made the glue in our shoes melt but that’s about it. You might be able to fry an egg on the bonnet of your car but surely that’s quite a good trick to have up your sleeve when starving in the wilderness (with a carton of eggs)? And if you like slipping into a pool the same temperature of soup then you’d love Dubai in August. Want to get burnt in record time? Book your flight!

Aside from all that I don’t know what the complaining is about. Whiners are wieners. Barasti might be off limits for a while and The Lodge’s outdoor dance floor might not be used by roller skating djs or be-suited midgets for another month or so, but I really was expecting worse.

Truthfully, thanks to a hotel review I was able to escape Dubai this weekend and chill out (literally) by a temperature controlled pool. If I was in the city the options are a little limited: shopping or boozing. Or the combined sport of drunken shopping which inevitably results in some regrettable purchases. Of course, the DVD lady with her suitcase of dodgy goods offers some respite from the heat and my recent (and well over-due) discovery of Jack Bauer means I have several seasons of 24 to work my way through. Thank Allah for genuine fakes.

I had promised myself that these balmy days would be used for self-improvement. Learning to snowboard, reading something worthy, re-learning the clarinet after selling it aged 14 to have money for more clothes… but instead I’m planning brunches, beer festivals, shopping trip and weekends away. Much more fun. After a trip home to see everyone and a family holiday to Barcelona (which just about killed me – who knew we walked so little in Dubai? My legs nearly fell off on day two) I was truly happy to be back on the plane to my new home. Weird. It was strange to be a visitor to my own country and as much I loved seeing everyone it was difficult to imagine myself living there again. Or paying council tax. If I’m spending money on bills I’d much prefer it was going towards a maid. Rani is my heroine.

We've had some great weekends in the last month or so, from drinking games to dune bashing, house parties to haute cuisine and as the weather cools down things can only get better. In the meantime, which boozy brunch are we going to on Friday?

Expat Brat

2007-06-18T12:12:00.000+04:00

When we arrived in Bahrain last year Mum looked me in the eye and said “This is a small place. You should behave yourself and watch your reputation”. It has taken me nearly 25 years, countless scrapes, mishaps, upsets and hours – no, days – of emotional trauma to realise that she is always right. Always. I wish this wasn’t the case but it is.

So, as it happened I DID behave myself in Bahrain - for the most part anyway, with the exception of a few evenings with the hot Italian neighbour and several hours on New Year’s Eve that I have blocked out. And so to Dubai. Again, there have been some VERY messy nights out but probably not as many as would occur in the UK. For instance I have only suffered once from alcohol-induced muteness and no-one really knew me then so they just thought I was being coy.
Until this weekend. I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say that my already dubious reputation isn’t in great shape – and I’ll never be drinking white wine again. Especially with male friends (sorry Pringo – I’ll sit on my hands next time). I also will endeavour to lock the patio door so I’m not tempted to head to the shared pool when I get in after a few (read: many) drinks.

So this week will be pure. Utterly innocent. So far, I’m a paragon of virtue. Exceeding my ‘five a day’ fruit and veg quota, going to gym classes, drinking three litres of water a day, going to the movies (no films over a 15 rating though – there might be rude stuff or violence), getting 8 hours sleep a night, reading intelligent literature and so the list goes on. My only vices will be a mani-pedi and maybe the odd square of life-giving, organic, anti-oxidant dark chocolate. Red wine is ok though right? Practically medicinal apparently.

With the dreaded birthday approaching (5th July – if you send gifts to PO Box 34275, Dubai, by the weekend they’ll arrive in time) I’m determined to start my 25th year on good form. It’s a nice landmark – and yet utterly terrifying at the same time.

And on to better news; having a live-in maid is amazing. Yes, I admit I’m a horrible, spoilt expat brat but I don’t give a shit.
I LIKE opening my wardrobe to find someone has done my laundry, ironed everything and hung it up.
I LOVE having my sheets and towels washed and changed without me asking.
I RELISH coming home to a clean kitchen with the dishwasher unloaded and the bins emptied.
I ADORE not bickering with housemates about cleaning rotas or secretly resenting other’s sloppy habits.

However, someone putting your, ahem, undergarments away is a little odd and I’m actually finding myself being tidier (and making my bed very well, even though she will re-do it) because I don’t want her to think I’m a slovenly housemate or taking the piss. All in all, it’s all good. And yes, before you judge me, I know how lucky I am and whenever I see her small room at the back of the garage I feel appropriately guilty. I’m not a bad person – I just live in Dubai.

In other news, I went to BodyCombat last night and am now unable to straighten my left leg or raise my arms above shoulder height. The instructor was a sociopath, screaming "Finish him! Kill him!" as we bumbled through kickboxing moves - I lost a lot of dignity and a few pints of sweat.

Needless to say, we looked nothing like this:

It was a bit more like this:
This healthy living idea better improve.

h

Real Life Is Rubbish

2007-06-17T14:31:00.000+04:00

Just had to share this amazing photo - shadow art made from items that don't resemble the result. Ok, that was very badly explained (professional communicator? me?) but check out the link for something a little more coherent.

http://www.pantherhouse.com/newshelton/freeze-frame-screen-the-shadow-hot-heads-under-silent-wigs/

Back to work for now but in the next thrilling installment; the pleasures and pitfalls of a live-in maid, my new villa, several messy weekends (edited version) and plans for my return to the UK.

Architecture Porn

2007-06-04T17:45:00.000+04:00

Is it wrong that I want to lick this building? Don't answer that.

If you haven't seen the Frank Gehry documentary by Sidney Pollack I urge, no, I insist you do. Or forever be labelled a philistine.

For Mr Maskell

2007-06-03T15:55:00.000+04:00

Dear Thomas,

You sounded dangerously close to the edge so here’s some news via the blog, in the guise of an email, to bring you back from the brink – or make you jump straight off. Either/or. Which by the way, as an Elliot Smith fan I trust you own?

Anyway, just back from a wonderful trip to Bahrain. I never thought I’d type that. It had been a few months since I’d seen Babs and Big Dave so I was long overdue some family time – plus they owed me some money.

I also managed to incorporate a trip to this place http://banyantree.com/bahrain/ to review the spa and restaurant. Needless to say, both were stunning. Mum and I spent the afternoon getting massaged, enjoying private steam rooms, ‘experience’ showers (with lights, thunder sounds and the like) and had people looking after our every need. More grapes madam? More ginger tea? Would you prefer lemon grass? I’ve put your slippers by your lounger madam etc etc etc. The Bahraini royal family were using part of the spa so I didn’t get to try the ‘ice igloo’ ‘brine cavern’ or ‘grotto steam', HOWEVER I have been invited back to investigate them and stay at one of the villas.

Ahhh… the villas. Well, this resort is amazing. And so are the prices. And not in a good way. If you stay in the two bedroom villa (complete with private pool and Jacuzzi, personal chef and 24 hour butler, outdoor shower and countless plasma TVs) it costs 18,000 AED per night. I don’t have a pound sign on this computer but that’s roughly 2.5k. Per night – and it’s a four night minimum. And your food isn’t included. So yes, when the PR manager offered me a free stay and practically kissed her feet and offered to name my first born after her, regardless of the child’s gender. Katherine could be quite fetching for a boy.

(By the way, this is the place where The French Fucker used to work which was a little embarrassing when I saw some of his ex-colleagues. The executive chef came over after dinner to have a chat - I didn't have the heart or social graces to say that we'd met on my second date with TFF when he took me to the drag racing and I spent 3 hours with the chef's son scrambling all over me and getting chocolate on my white trousers... Maybe he was too embarrassed to mention it too.)

Aside from the VIP treatment, seeing the folks was great, lots of sleep, sun and getting looked after, which is exactly what I needed. I’m moving into the new villa this weekend and I’m trying to get organised. However, every time I think about the logistics of packing it gets too much and I vow to sort it out later in the week. Really looking forward to living there though – there is a cat (not ideal) but also a live-in maid so I guess you take the rough with the smooth.

To make you feel better about me having a maid (although Carol does a cracking job I'm sure) here are a few things that are bothering me at the moment:

- Why do people take photos of each other in the malls here? To show that they survived the taxi journey? To show off about apparent wealth? I really don’t understand.

- Getting somewhat fucked off about being made to feel like a prostitute every time I wait for a cab outside my building. Last week I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt and flip-flops and gross men STILL kept driving past slowly with their windows down – nearly shouted at one and gave them the finger but you can get arrested for that here.

- Nice fruit and vegetables are expensive. This just bothers me. As a result, I’m living off cereal and toast.

- However, yesterday despite money problems, I had no issue with buying myself a new mobile phone, Chanel make-up and the Kings of Leon CD. I think my values may be somewhat skewed.

- It’s 44 degrees. Need I say more? No humidity though – so we’ve got that sweaty fun to look forward to.

- Not having a laptop is driving me up the freaking wall, luckily I’ve managed to steal some tunes off colleagues – may I recommend Neko Case, Metric and Broken Social Scene?

- Remember those weird stomach cramps I was getting? No? Oh well, I was getting weird stomach cramps. Thankfully, no baby on the way, but mysteriously I have crystals in my kidneys from drinking certain types of bottled water. Just my sodding luck. I'm drinking water so I’m hydrated and glowing with health but being crippled with pain instead. And I didn’t even get good drugs! Christ!

In other news, nothing to report. You were, of course, correct about the Czech; hot but boring. Boo.

So, I’m back in the UK in a month. Only 30 more sleeps! Really need to get my birthday weekend sorted but I’m leaving it in Cheese’s capable hands (might be worth creating it as an event on Facebook though….?) so speak to her if you have any questions. Would it be ok to kip at Casa Del Masquella for a night or so? I’ll try to call in the next week to figure it all out – providing you haven’t been drafted into the army by then.

How was the Gladiator/Krypton Factor inititation weekend? Are you in? Are you being sent somewhere horribly dangerous? Or just Catterick?

Right, I have to go and finish this Bahrain miniguide and map. Maps. Me. She who gets lost and then just drives around hoping to stumble upon the destination. There could be a lot of lost people on the island.

Can’t wait to see you – and when I say that I mean that I can’t wait to see your new specs and witness you behind the wheel.

h x

Then and now

2007-04-19T12:08:00.000+04:00

I've been in the Middle East for six months (yikes) and the time has made some interesting changes...

I used to... think that “I live in Prudhoe” was a conversation stopper
Now I... realise the words “I’m an engineer” can end banter before it has begun

I used to... look forward to reading The Guardian Weekend magazine in the bath on a Saturday
Now I... read Time Out by the pool on a Saturday

I used to... know about music
Now I... know nothing

I used to... be fairly open-minded
Now I... am moderately racist (and not proud of this fact by the way)

I used to... enjoy driving
Now I... am shit-scared of getting behind the wheel

I used to... spend a fortune to watch new films at the cinema
Now I... pay a pound to watch them in bed – with Chinese subtitles (ditto whole TV series for a fiver)

I used to... think massages, manicures and pedicures were a luxury
Now I... understand that they are a necessity

I used to... tolerate cats
Now I... loathe them and everything associated with them

I used to... get that Friday feeling
Now I... get it on Thursday – along with the Saturday-night-homework-feeling which was previously on a Sunday

I used to... share an office with English colleagues
Now I... work alongside 12 different nationalities – but none of my new-found racism is directed at them I promise

I used to... come back from a holiday with a tan
Now I... come back from a weekend with a tan

I used to... drive 45 minutes to see my parents
Now I... fly 45 minutes

I used to... want a sporty Lexus convertible
Now I... fancy a beaten-up 4x4

I used to... get a substantial chunk of my wage stolen by the government and pay a fortune in council tax
Now I... don’t!

I used to... be able to see obscure, new live music whenever I wanted
Now I... look forward to Aerosmith

I used to... think brunch was good for hangovers
Now I... know they’re ideal for getting smashed

Oh yes, things have changed.

h

Your typical office party...

2007-04-15T10:10:00.000+04:00

We’ve all been to work bashes – the HR people hire a function room at the Copthorne, you drink too much red wine, mock a magician and take the Regional Manager home with you. Yes? No? Is that just me?

Well, anyway, last night was an office party with a difference. At 4pm the Explorer posse were herded onto a bus and driven into the desert. It sounds like the beginning of Casualty – you know something is going to go wrong but you’re not sure what yet.... As it turns out all that happened was a camel farmer crashing over the dunes in his truck to take us to our camp – which is when it got even weirder.

On the bus we had been given wonderfully unflattering T-shirts with one of five cities on them and split into teams. I was in London which prompted lots of “London baby!” cries after a few drinks. The Boss was on a mission to get everyone slaughtered so made us all a few half-pint Cosmopolitans. And then the games began... Painting, guiding a blindfolded colleague through a maze to buckets of eggs and shaving foam, football on an inflatable pitch, karaoke and drunken food fights – we really are true professionals. Having to go to the toilet in a kiddie tent wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs but that’s all part of the fun. Apparently.

Needless to say, Team London didn’t win (although I came first in karaoke – Abba’s Dancing Queen – not my finest moment) I think we were the true champions; our T-shirts were the dirtiest and I got a good war wound which looked pretty spectacular as blood poured down my cheeks Carrie-style.

Anyhoo, everyone is feeling a little sketchy this morning, especially me given that I turned up 9am despite the well-advertised later starting time of 11am. What a moron.

In other news we are testing authors at the moment and got an email this morning from Mr Jake Bumgardner. I also had a Pilates class with a lady called Poopak. It must be a week for unfortunate names.

Can't think of anything creative for here. Sorry.

2007-04-08T15:09:00.000+04:00

Argh. The inevitable post-session depression has hit – it was just a matter of time after such a messy weekend...

To make matters worse, it’s Easter Sunday and instead of being at home worshipping the Church Of Chocolate I’m at work. Goddamnit. This Easter bunny still amused me though.... Sorry to those easily offended.

I apologised ok? Don't give me a hard time. I know I'm burning in hell and I'll see you there. I know the bunny raised a smile so don't even try to deny it.

Actually, the last few weekends have been notable for the tiny amount of time spent at home. I would give you details but I really can’t be bothered – a true sign that I am one sleepy girl.

Here is the abridged version: impromptu drinks, mountains, horse races, massage (where she tried to crack my fingers and toes - not relaxing by the way), boozy noodles, cocktails with inappropriate conversation, unlimited champagne brunch, drink vouchers and dancing with boot camp boys, poolside, chill out with poseurs. Yikes.

Even typing that was a struggle.

I hope, with every fibre of my being, that this week with involve: swimming, sleeping, cooking, cinema, not drinking (apart from medicinal red wine of course...) tackling some new CDs and spending as little money as possible. I’m aiming for 9 hours sleep every night. A temporary life of purity is what I’m aiming for here. HOWEVER, knowing me, knowing you etc this won’t be the case.

We have a ‘mandatory’ work party on Wednesday which sounds pretty scary to me – even got an email this morning telling us to wear comfortable clothes and flip-flops because ‘the event is outdoors’ which is all very mysterious. If there is team-building involved there could be ructions...

Send me strength - and creme eggs of course,

Willpower of a toddler

2007-03-26T15:09:00.000+04:00

Kudos to anyone under 50 years old who lives in Bahrain. It is b.l.e.a.k. Bored. Nearly to death.

Just back from a week there (went for Big Dave’s 60th then stayed for work – updating the residents’ guidebook… which might not be hugely different from the first edition. Ahem)

Of course, I arrived full of good intentions; up for early morning run, writing all morning then exploring in the afternoon, evenings would be spent eating steamed vegetables, sipping hot water with lemon while reading something worthwhile and educational. Like the Bible or a medical encyclopaedia.

INSTEAD, I enjoyed lots of red wine, Thornton’s chocolates, sleepy mornings (after being woken throughout the night by the nearby mosque) then lounged in the garden with my book ‘Fake: forgery, lies and eBay – confessions of an internet con artist’. Quite educational though. I interspersed this shameless relaxation with writing the Exploring chapter of a book for holiday-makers in Bahrain. It is taking all my, albeit minimal, willpower not to say “Go home! Why are you here? Only stay if you like forts, shite beaches and Fashion TV on a loop!” I’m currently trying to work out a code to incorporate this advice into the text – maybe a letter on each page so when used as a flip-book readers will get the message.

So my parents have moved from a swanky apartment with disgusting lemon leather sofas to a lovely villa in a crumbling compound. Admittedly it is a lot more green and you can hear birds sing instead of sirens wail but the place is a little depressing; broken swings, a gym from 1983 (I know this because the safety notice is dated) and lots of men who spend their days knocking dust off the leaves of bushes with brooms. I spent the whole week singing ‘This Used To Be My Playground’.

On the upside, I saw old friends – it took the rest of my willpower not to tell them that leaving Bahrain was the best move I ever made – and seeing the folks was fun. And Dubai was very appealing after the trip. Maybe that can be the strap line on the book “Sick of having fun? Spend 3 hours in Manama and you’ll be running back!”

On another upside, those trainers with wheels are massively popular there and provided some much-needed amusement as I watched kids go arse over tit in the malls – saw one 8 year old fashion victim get his caught on the escalator which just about ended me.

A low point was a big meal at some friends’ villa where I met the most objectionable woman I have ever been unfortunate enough to encounter. Just the perfect nightmare example of an expat wench. Rich husband, braying about how she’s a lady of leisure but said “WE’RE retiring in June to the English countryside”. No love, your poor bastard husband who has been working his bollocks off to keep you in ugly Victoria Beckham jeans and obvious highlights is retiring. There was bragging about her hideous children, bitching about new arrivals and the instructor at the Brit Club, awful awful awful. Anyway, I have made mum promise to never give up her job and I have vowed to never buy VB jeans. Rant over.

To counteract this hideous bitch comes a tale about a little expat. Mum is working with 5 year olds and they all sound like characters. This week they were playing a game where they went around in a circle and said where they were from. Of course, some were a bit confused – being half Irish, half Palestinian but raised in South Africa could do that to anyone – and when one little boy (called Basil – legend) said that he didn’t know where he was from, some bright spark said “Oh come on Basil, where you go on holiday, THAT’S where you’re from!”. Classic.

So I’m back in the action and the bootcamp has begun. Went to the supermarket last night which is called Sunrise City and is a cultural experience in itself – I could have bought a ‘banana stump’ and a sack of rice if I so desired – and bought all manner of healthy things. On a fitness mission. This could be difficult given we finish some books tomorrow and will be enjoying a work-related piss up at the fake Irish Village then it’s the Dubai World Cup on Saturday. A day at the races only means one thing – getting smashed in a pretty dress and high heels. Work on Sunday morning won’t be a pleasure.

No photos I’m afraid so I’ve stolen some from the net about five minutes ago. Lame I know. The panda above is to further prove my theory that they aren't real animals. That's clearly a man in a suit. The first one is a doorbell by the way....

h

Sights and sites

2007-03-05T17:51:00.000+04:00

So, I survived camping and actually had a great laugh despite going to the toilet behind a sand dune for two days and embarrassing myself in a bizarre balance-related drinking game faux pas. I’m not known for my ability to stay upright at the best of times but I think this particular problem was related to altitude and not alcohol. Probably.

We did lots of dune bashing, saw some camels, ate dubious barbecue food and successfully ruined a cool box with feta cheese and wetwipes, which resulted in the smell of nappies spreading across the campsite like something from 28 Days Later.

It seems we were in ‘the largest sand desert in the world’ – what other kind of deserts are there?

On the way back we stopped off at a car museum owned by an eccentric sheikh who has, not only Mercedes in every colour, but also the world’s largest car which is shaped like a globe and featured on Top Gear about 10 years ago. Needless to say, exhaustion made this a truly trippy experience, not helped by a GIANT Dodge truck the size of a house. Side effects from the cool box may well have resulted in hallucinating – but no, the photos are here to prove it.

That is a big car, big goat (there is a technical name I'm sure) and a normal sized man. You can imagine my confusion.

After such a budget weekend (always a refreshing change but not to be repeated for a few months) I was in need of some good nights out which this weekend promptly delivered. A cracking rooftop BBQ apartment warming – a ‘party-cue’ if you will – kicked it off and I was duly punished the next day for mixing wine, vodka and rum. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: never again.

After a trip to the souk, a trip on an abra and some abuse of the Visa Electron in Topshop (oh yes - the flexible friend for 15 year olds is widespread in Arabland), the bright lights of Dubai beckoned that evening so we hit some bars, met some vile men with god-awful chat up lines (eg “let’s play a game – I bet I can guess which of you have known each other the longest” Umm... WHAT?), had a laugh at their expense and ended up eating shwarma until 4.30am. Shwarma is not a euphemism, it is a snack.

Confession time: I appear to have booked tickets for a music filled weekend. Innocent on the surface until you understand who I will be seeing. Iron Maiden and Jamie Cullum. Not performing together – although that would be legendary – but at two separate festivals. I plan to numb the pain with over-priced beer and hope I go mute so to avoiding heckling the oversized toddler. Frankly, the audio rape that he committed on Jeff Buckley’s ‘Lover You Should Have Come Over’ means he is burning in hell already, so nothing I can do to him here on Earth can compare. As for Iron Maiden, it’s not my thing at all but The Prodigy are on afterwards. Woop.

As redemption for these soon-to-be-sins, I am providing you with a list of my current favourite websites:

www.neatorama.com - a collection of some of the most interesting and visually entertaining stuff from the internet

www.timesonline.com – even though I DESPISE the new format because it makes it so hard to find Style magazine and Cassandra. Which brings me to...

www.ariel-leve.com – girl genius. Nothing more to say on the subject

http://postsecret.blogspot.com – the blog that followed the art project and book of the same name. The artist asked people to anonymously send artwork secrets to him on postcards. Contains such gems as “I gave up Jesus for lent” and “Attn parents: when you are rude to us we dislike your children. We can’t help it. We’re human. From your kid’s daycare providers.”

www.facebook.com – if you’re not signed up just give into the peer pressure ok? It makes staying in touch so much easier

www.popbitch.com – because I’m a step above Heat ok?

http://girlwithaonetrackmind.blogspot.com – but Dubai won’t let me read it anymore because it's dirty stuff

www.last.fm – it’s a music revolution

www.imdb.com – crap design but it saves my sanity when I’ve seen a film and can’t remember where else I have seen the girl who played Christian Bale’s wife in The Prestige (advert for Starter For Ten)

www.nixonnow.com - even after all these years, I think Nixon watches are the coolest ever. If you find yourself with some extra cash please buy me The Chalet in white snake. Ta

h

Arab chivalry is wearing thin

2007-02-19T14:01:00.000+04:00

I suspect that the little idiosyncrasies that I find endearing at the moment will soon grate. Classic example; my horoscope today said “You will have a meaningful connection with a Pisces that will be even better if you stay sober.” Ummm…what? Promoting an alcohol-free lifestyle through emotional blackmail? I’ll die alone and pickled in gin – is that what they’re trying to tell me?

Being stared at was pretty bad in Bahrain and it’s no better here. At least they don’t make the “HMMMMM” noise in Dubai (not dissimilar to Homer’s “HMMMMM…donuts” but more likely to be “HMMMMM….titties”). Men will stop their cars on busy roads to let you cross. This isn’t an act of chivalry – they just want to look at your bum. The funny thing is, I’m under no illusion that it is due to levels of personal attractiveness – I honestly believe that if you’re 45 stone, covered in scales with a body odour problem, as long as you are white, you’ll get stared at.

Dubai, like Bahrain, does have sinfully cheap treatments. Had a 30 minute massage yesterday in my lunchbreak – getting topless during work hours was a strange concept I can assure you – and it cost a fiver. As a self-confessed tightwad when it comes to these things (eg getting my hair cut about twice a year) this is great news. Men can get a trim for about 70p which also includes a mini-massage with a vibrating glove… but a colleague had one recently and the barber ended by hitting him around the head for a few minutes.

Other cheap treats include anything from the shop downstairs - everything costs either DHS1 or DHS1.50 (between 15p and 20p). Soap, bread, drinks, even Kinder eggs and bags of Skittles fall into this price bracket. Fantastic.

The weekend went far too quickly, spent Thursday night at a speakeasy effort with live music from such well-known acts as ‘Trevor and The Mongols’. It was a little surreal. Hit the beach and the gym on Friday (I can see into the gym from my bedroom so when I’m reclining, indulging in the complete Seinfeld boxset I am guilted into getting the trainers on) then undid all my good work with a boozy night out.

We went to some swanky places (including a bar in the sea that you have to get a golf cart along a causeway to - see pic) and I behaved myself. Big pat on the back and mini-Mexican wave for me. An obese Jordanian ensured I had a drink in my hand at all times then I skipped off into the night to an outdoor club to meet people more from work.

So this weekend brings two nights in the desert. Not dessert sadly – I could cope with that. There are about 20 people who will be unfortunate enough to see me without make-up. Poor bastards. I’m telling you now, you won’t be seeing any photos.

h

This week I have mostly been:

2007-02-08T10:35:00.000+04:00

· Realising that I have a problem with exceptionally tall people as well as the dwarf phobia. (See photo. It made me throw up in my mouth a little bit.)
· Doubting my sanity – I have just booked a mini-break. In Beirut.
· Listening to ‘Poster of a Girl’ by Metric. Any song with the lyrics ‘…coming in my pants…’ is alright with me.
· Loving my new TV. My Fascist Mother (intentional caps) never allowed me to have one in my bedroom. But I’m a grown up now - which is why I have been watching cartoons in bed. The main reason for the purchase is to escape the cats in my new apartment. And the fact that my flatmate watches ‘the soaps’. Jesus wept.
· Trying to keep cats out of my room so they don't claw the shit out of my new furniture/get their hair on my things/spread evil. Delete as appropriate.
· Discovering just how many things go with Arabic bread. Jam? Check. Branston pickle? Check. Mango chutney, hummous, salad? Check check check!
· Getting used to the fact the every taxi driver asks if I'm married and telling me I'm beautiful when I say no. You're not getting a better tip mate. And I'm answering a resounding YES! next time.
· Trying (and failing) to have a night in.
· Enjoying my new single status by sleeping diagonally, making eye contact with other men, watching films without French subtitles and not listening to R&B.
· Feeling smug about the snow/slush in the UK.
· Shopping. It’s like a sport here.
· Finding UPWs from the weekend. That’s ‘Unidentified Party Wounds’ by the way. Five bruises and counting…
· Attempting to ask people in subtle ways what the hell I will need for this impending camping weekend so I don’t sound like a total townie. Sturdy shoes? A flask? It’s becoming less and less appealing.
· Re-reading The Secret History by Donna Tartt for the third time. When are you going to write another book Donna? You lazy, scarily intelligent bint.
· Looking forward to the weekend - and it's here!

h

Quarter Life Crisis

2007-01-29T12:14:00.000+04:00

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS CANNY DEPRESSING

The Quarter Life Crisis that hits in the mid-twenties is surprisingly common I reckon. Think about it: You’re likely to be at the bottom of the career ladder yet the very target audience for a wave of fashion, technology, property, gym memberships and holidays that you can’t afford. You still don’t understand the opposite sex. You’re nostalgic for old friends from school and university – and the lifestyle that you’ll probably never have again. You might be doubting life choices. (Broadcast Journalism? What the hell was I thinking?) You see the same faces in the same places with the same banter.

You have a nagging feeling that everyone else is more financially successful, having amazing sex, on the cutting edge of all that is hip, about to be discovered and hit the big time, marry an oil billionaire or mixing with future Andy Warhols, Jeff Buckleys and Oscar Wildes and you’re not at the party because you dismissed them as ego-centric dickheads. You start finding yourself being attracted to much older people – just because you want them to coo over your tender years.

Oh, and you’re not getting any younger; articles on botox are no longer skipped past, the babies in the street seem to be getting cuter, people you know from middle school are getting married and you can’t summon up the courage to give someone your phone number. You start to resent young celebrities – knowing in your heart of hearts that you’ve missed the boat to have a number one single/win an Oscar/be a FHM High Street Honey.

Depressing indeed. Here are the options people:
* Move to a faraway land and make up a whole new identity – and birth date
* Move back in with the folks and relish being a child again (you know who you are…)
* Get a therapist
* Indulge in drink, drugs, sex and song – fuck the pain away as Peaches wisely instructs
* Get married or knocked up, therefore becoming an official adult
* Develop a stiff upper lip British style and get over it

h

p.s. Would just like to add that I'm not suffering from the above - I have moved thousands of miles away and my new friends think I'm 19 years old. Happy days.

Thank Allah It’s Thursday

2007-01-25T11:06:00.000+04:00

It’s that fake Friday feeling again! And every Thursday morning, four enormous boxes full of Dunkin Donuts arrive at the office – then at lunchtime we go out for Thali, a vegetarian curry feast that costs 80p. Most activities appear to be based around food. In the last few days I have eaten: sushi, arabian, italian, thai (twice), pakistani, chinese and many bowls of Frosties. Not having a cooker means we’re forced to eat out. Shame.

So the weekend beckons and the sun is shining. Beach BBQ tomorrow then big night out at a place playing Stone Love type tunes which will be a welcome change from RnB.

In other news:
* A can of Diet Coke costs 15p here. Great for the bank balance, not so good for the teeth
* You can get £75 notes which makes you feel like a proper gangsta – until no one can change it for you and taxi drivers look at you with pleading, poverty-stricken eyes when it’s all you can offer and you feel like a spoilt, western stereotype
* I have made the somewhat dangerous error of getting involved in Facebook. Given the fact I have the willpower of a toddler this does not bode well....
* Miss Nicola Bayly is coming to Dubai next week! Can’t wait to see her and make some trouble
* There was an article in the news this week about workers at a labour camp being so hungry and poorly treated that they resorted to eating cats
* And there’s an urban myth going around about Filipina prostitutes being so badly paid that they killed and ate the watchman in their apartment building.

On that note, wishing you all a wonderful weekend,

h

New year, new country

2007-01-22T10:46:00.000+04:00

It seems I am living in Dubai, although now is the first time I have had the chance to sit down and actually think about it. Busy, frantic, manic, hectic and all other synonymous words found on my PC’s thesaurus apply here. But in a good way.

I arrived 10 days ago and haven’t stopped; from dune bashing and a barbecue in the desert on the first day (see pic), then full-on flat hunting interspersed with meeting about a million people, exploring the nightlife, getting back together with The Date (willpower? What willpower?), going to the beach and on top of this – doing what I’m here to do – working, I’m a pretty sleepy girl. Beach tired, if you know what I mean.

Arriving was a bit of a rude awakening, 6am flight, met my newlywed housemates (who are lovely) and then we went to our new home for the next few weeks. Imagine the crappiest ski hostel having a baby with a shitty student flat and you might be somewhere close to the standard of accommodation we’re living in. Cooker? You have to hook it up to the gas tank. And we’re too scared. Beds? Single. 3” foam mattress. Bathroom? Zero water pressure and an unattached toilet seat. But it’s a five minute walk from work and in this short time it really does feel like home. Strange how quickly you get used to things. Amusingly, the flat is normally used by a party planning company and the residents are musicians, illusionists and circus folk (carnies?) from all over the world so there are maps directing us to local magic shops and loads of juggling DVDs lying around.

Of course this meant that standards were at an all-time low when it came to finding my own place. After hearing serious horror stories (eg looking for six months) I appear to have found a great place after just a week. I’ll be living with two girls, one British (with a mum living in Whitley Bay) and one Spanish who both seem great banter and we had a hilarious night out exploiting ‘ladies nights’ across the city, the flat is lovely, big balconies, pool on the roof, gym, walking distance to work, maid service, own bathrooms - with fully attached toilets seats and water that travels with some sense of purpose - and in a great neighbourhood with lots nearby. I am, of course, within a few strides of a mall but then – I am in Dubai.

Work is going good – we joined at a pretty (very) busy time so I’m working on the end of guides for Hong Kong, Singapore and London but will be the deputy editor for the Amsterdam book which we start in March. Good job I’ve been a few times, bad luck that I can’t remember most of it.

The people are great – 45 in the company and 18 nationalities. The editorial team is mainly British and everyone is really enthusiastic and great at planning things – weekends away in Abu Dhabi, camping trips and your usual boozy nights out which is great when you’re in a new country. I fear I may become outdoorsy. Send DVDs immediately or I’ll be forced to buy hiking boots.

We watched the football the other night and all the players were wearing gloves which was somewhat satisfying after spending the afternoon watching beach volleyball in 24 degree heat. OK, enough bragging. You’ll be the ones pissing your pants when it’s 50 degrees here and I can’t leave the flat to buy water.

Apologies for the lack of emails everyone, no excuse other than being utterly crap at time management and focused on ensuring I’m not homeless after the Fire-eater’s Flat is taken away from me.

Really hope everyone is well and happy – and the January blues haven’t hit too hard.

h

The good news and the bads news....

2007-01-10T19:57:00.001+04:00

Greetings to you in 2007. I've got a good feeling about this one folks....

So, new year's resolutions:
*Pull my socks up and work hard in my new job
*Get proper skinny (while retaining some T&A)
*Read some real books. The ones you get free on the front of magazines apparently don't count
*Stop being such a baby about my finances and making educated guesses about my bank balance instead of knowing the hard truth: I have no money
*Work on the 'self-destruct' element to drinking. I have heard that there are people out there who can have JUST ONE DRINK and then stop. Akin to unicorns and rocking horse poo in my alcohol-sodden opinion
*Delete all the numbers in my mobile for people I don't know. Mainly boys I 'met' in World HQ I suspect...
*Limit myself to pressing SNOOZE a maximum of two times per morning and generally stop prioritising sleep above everything else
*Stop buying sexy foods like salmon and strawberries that look great in the basket but don't add up to real meals then creating dinners from pasta, ketchup and Philadelphia

h

"Sucky sucky with Mrs Santa?"

2006-12-29T14:45:00.000+04:00

Flying to Bangkok via Muscat after daytime drinking and trying to figure out new electronics was something of a challenge. There were a few hiccups along the way (mainly legging it through the airport, high heels in hand and sitting next to drunken idiots on the plane) but the overriding problem was the plague I had caught; some horrible virus that lasted the duration of the trip. Of course I self-medicated with red bull, spicy food, local beer and twice the recommended daily dose of anything I could get my hands on. Needless to say I look like shit in all the photos with a pale face and eyes like piss-holes in the snow.

Spending Christmas night at Patpong Market where prostitutes were dressed like sexy Santas was a little surreal. Not as bad as seeing said Santas proposition my dad and little brother though. And then being questioned by the parents on the various shows and what they involve. Yikes.

Versace's flagship store in Bangkok

I won't bore you with the tourist details but a good time was had by all, the weather was great (I think the sun was shining but couldn't really see through the smog) and the food was amazing - although I don't think I'll be eating noodles anytime soon.

Me looking ill and dad looking bored at the Grand Palace - but it was very impressive!

Highlights included:
* Mum calling tuk-tuks the increasingly annoying name of put-puts. It was funny the FIRST time ok?
* Saying everything in a Thai accent which made the most innocent of phrases sound downright dirty. And Mike exclaiming "Ah SO!" a little too often.
* Seriously not understanding the attraction to 90% of Thai women. I know there are exceptions but really - is it the submissive thing? or maybe the bodies like that of an 8 year old boy? Answers on a postcard please
* Watertaxis were great. The indignity of getting in and out was not so fun.
* Trying to find a suitable tramp in order to lick his feet and get dystentry therefore losing 2 stone in a week. Didn't find one that fitted the bill (I was going for someone who had no pets and didn't look like they had Hep C to throw into the disease package).
* The stray dogs in t-shirts everywhere. I don't care what PETA say - animals dressed in human clothes are funny.
* Not being able to tell the dfference between boys and girls. Not in a ladyboy sense - no problems there (gold sequinned dresses tend to give the game away lads. No woman dresses like that unless she's in a Tina Turner lookalike competition) but I'm talking about the hoardes of androgynous club kids with stupid hair that walk around holding hands. Designed to make me feel old I think.
* Getting an amazing traditional massage at a training school at the back of a temple in a room filled with beds. The mood was somewhat ruined when I heard my dad giggling a few metres away.
* Buying some serious fakes to further fund the Thai mafia no doubt - Mulberry bag, Tod's purse and Oakley shades. I managed to resist the McShit t-shirts although it was a decision I may live to regret - would have made a lasting impression on my first day in the new job...
* The realisation that it is definitely time to move out of the parents' apartment. Family overload. Just for the record in case they're reading this - I don't care about construction of sewerage works. And if you have something to say - jsut say it instead of clearing your throat ok? And thanks for a lovely holiday xx

The obligatory tourist photos folks

Well, we're back home and I'm still in the post-Christmas mood which means wearing new pajamas while watching new DVDs and eating old shortbread. We have the whole series of Planet Earth to enjoy so I'm off.

h

Merry Christmas you filthy animals

2006-12-23T23:44:00.000+04:00

Just a little note to wish everyone the very best for Christmas. We're off to Thailand tomorrow to find Mike a bride and obtain appetite suppressants for myself so wish us all luck.

Have a wonderful, very merry and messy time.

All my love as always,

h

"It's weird that you actually LIVE here"

2006-12-20T11:17:00.000+04:00

Ah, the encouraging words of my darling little brother. He arrived at the weekend and was greeted by flooded roads and freezing temperatures (well, freezing might be a slight exaggeration but there's a definate chill in the air) so all dreams of a winter tan went swiftly out of the window.

The Junior Spearmen being both cold and Arabic

I had spent the weekend in Dubai and had a fantastic time; nice weather, shopping with other people's money, amazing bars, champagne and sushi by the ocean, cosy nights in with The Date and good chats with old friends.

Sho Cho at the Dubai Marine Club - possibly my spiritual home

There was also the reason for going - an interview at the publishing company - and yesterday I was offered the job of Deputy Editor!!!!!! The people were great and Dubai is, I guess, my equivalent of going to London - only a hell of a lot hotter. Pretty much the same religious contingents though... There's just the small issue of accommodation. I'm sure that will sort itself out. Ahem.

So things are moving pretty quickly and the parents had some more surprises in store. The other night we went to a stunning Asian restaurant (with a disconcerting moat around the dining area that I nearly tottered into a couple of time). I had suspected Dad had organised something for Christmas after the Golden Tulip Hotel Disaster when we arrived - you don't want to know - so I was kind of prepared for a short stay at the Ritz during the festive season which would have been fab. Well, they managed to shock and suprise in the best possible way - we're going to Thailand for five days!

I have been pretty much mute with shock and smugness for the last few days - just can't believe we're going! So Mike's dream of returning to Leeds with some colour in his cheeks will be a reality and in my mind I have already spent some serious cash on appalling fakes.

On the downside I'm not feeling festive at all; the tree is up, presents are bought, an obscene number of mince pies have been eaten and I'm acquiring a taste for port (not easy after a vomiting incident at a certain New Year's Eve party in 1998ish. Gravesy you bastard) but no matter how many times I hear Jingle Bell Rock or cry "Merry Christmas!" with a false smile, I'm just not there yet. Only late night shopping in Corbridge or seeing the tree lights on the Sele could save me now.

Don't worry, I'm sure Thailand will cheer me up.

Helen Spearman - Deputy Editor

All change on the Middle Eastern front

2006-12-10T15:46:00.000+04:00

I had refrained from full-blown whinging about my job on the geek-blog so it might sound a little out of the blue to say that I have resigned. Free as a bird! It was starting to make me really miserable and the feeling of utter relief when I spoke to my (ex) boss just confirmed that I made the right decision. I'm waiting for the flood of regret to wash over me when the money runs out though.

So I'm unemployed but keeping busy. My minimal domestic skills are being exploited by the parents and some friends who moved here from Dubai at the weekend have asked for my help in supervising the workmen. This involves lots of shouting so unsurprisingly I have excelled in my new role.

In addition to ironing and shouting I have been looking after baby George, the two year old son of an Australian family who live in our building. He calls me 'Hen' and he has stolen my heart. I would post a picture but a reliable source informs me it might be illegal. Needless to say, he's mint.

So I have been doing some (light) job hunting and have an interivew for a Deputy Editor position in Dubai on Thursday. Worst case scenario is that I'll see The Date and go shopping. Bahrain is treating me well so I'd like to stay if the right job comes along.

The Italian TV producer cooked me (an amazing) dinner the other night but instead of discussing work we drank red wine, had a smoke and criticised each other's CD collections. My kind of interview! Sadly I got a hangover instead of a start date. Damn it.

Off Christmas shopping now. This place is Bad Taste Capital Of The World so I'm interested to see what decorations are on offer. I'm particularly looking for something Arabic to put at the top of the tree. An angel in an abaya might do the trick.

Speaking of which, some bright spark has designed the Burkini. Swimwear for Muslims. We found the island's only beach the other day. It was filthy. And not in a good way. Mum sat in the car, dad inspected the water quality and I played on the swings. Much to the amusement of local gangs who were cooking on open fires and possibly drug dealing.

Happy days.

h