And then there were six.

Posted on December 24, 2014 by My Dubai Online

And then there were six.

One of the things you need to get used to in this place is people leaving. Back in the real world people hardly ever move away, (which is sometimes good and sometimes bad), but here, it’s all part and parcel of the expat experience. At some point, either your mates are going to leave, or you’re going to leave, or both. This is a transient place, so the only real variable is how long you and your pals all be together in the same Dubai-universe. We’ve had a decent run, with our group having been in town and together for five years, so as time moved on it became more inevitable that someone was going to move out.

The smart money was on Kinski and Mrs Momma, so it was with some surprise, and not to mention huge sadness, when Father Ted and Mrs Doyle announced they were heading back to the Emerald Isle.

In line with their ethereal approach to life, they had no jobs, no schools for the kids and no concrete plans, just a small army of packers and five one way tickets. Absolute madness (at least from my perspective), but I’d have been disappointed with anything else.

The sad reality is that for all the good friends you make, and good times you share, life in Dubai always ends with a 40 foot trailer parked outside your house and feeling robbed after selling your car for a pittance the day before you’re due to fly out. Father Ted’s and Mrs Doyle’s departure was no different.

Father Ted’s extensive range of one liners (I’ll never look at Barney the same way) and Mrs Doyle’s transformation from sedentary 40 a day dragster to Boot Camp queen/10k runner, is the stuff of legends.

They have been, and are, truly missed.

IMG-20140613-000461

Will yer have a cup of tea Father? Ya will. ya will.

IPAD 14th August 2014 1120

Father Ted always went to places twice. The second time to apologise.

 

Twitt
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Mish Mushkila, yani.

Posted on October 21, 2014 by My Dubai Online

Work have saw fit to let me out of the office for a few days with an instruction to “get face time with key stakeholders and internal partners to ensure alignment and improve engagement”. I don’t know what that means either, but being ex-military, I know all about blindly obeying orders without actually understanding them.

So here I am, in Cairo, fourth visit, but first one since the Arab Spring. I’d forgotten how insane a place this is, big, dirty and congested, the relentless, mind-numbing tooting of horns ever present. It’s like Mumbai on a cocaine speedball, minus the wobbling heads of course. It does however give me the chance to say “Mish Mushkila” a lot, which is my favourite (and actually only) Arabic colloquialism.

On the way from the airport and with time to pass in the ever present traffic jams, I started thinking that Cairo might be able to challenge World-record-busting-Dubai with a few records of its own. Perhaps not the records you’d find in Guinness, but no less reasonable than ‘World’s Biggest Audi Showroom’ or ‘World’s only [self appointed] seven star hotel’.

So here we go, my nominations for Cairo’s list of world records;

– Most confusing airport arrivals area and redundant customs lane – World’s craziest drivers
– Most unfinished construction projects (yes, even more than Dubai) – Highest number of vehicles crammed into three lanes of highway – Most people wedged into a car
– Highest number of donkeys on the motorway
– Most dented cars (per square foot)
– Most unlikely place to have an Ikea store

And this morning, my hotel scooped ‘World’s worst hotel breakfast’, which
they serve in the atrium of an adjoining mall, charging $50 (not Egyptian pounds, I checked) for toast, luke warm coffee and cold pastries.

It’s good to be back, yani.

Extensive breakfast selection

Extensive breakfast selection

Twitt
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Vertigo inducing brunch at Prime 68

Posted on August 2, 2014 by My Dubai Online

Dodgy Excuses

They say there’s a first time for everything, so this year I got to choose where to do our traditional pre-summer brunch, though decided that actually booking it was way beneath my station and attempted to outsourced it. Of course there was a consequence to my admin avoidance, which was an email from Mrs Mamma claiming my preferred choice, Saffron, was fully booked when she tried to reserve it “three weeks earlier”. Why it took her three weeks to send this message is subject to some debate with a few folks going as far to claim that she forgotton to do it and was telling a little white lie.

From the jaws of defeat

So, it’s Tuesday, and you’re trying to book Friday brunch in Dubai. Good luck with that matey.  That said, this situation could be fairly described as a ‘high quality problem’, in other words, your world has become so shrink wrapped that you actually give a shit where you go to binge-eat and get rat-arsed on a Friday afternoon. Anyway, that’s the world we’re in, so fine – accept it and begin the frantic dash to find a suitable alternative. Mrs H came to the rescue with a proposal to try out Prime 68 at the JW Marriott Marque. I wasn’t that enthusiastic, but given that a) she had a solution and b) I suspected she might have a voucher, I decided to keep my mouth shut and go with it.

Up in the great glass elevator

Prime 68 is located on the 68th floor  of the hotel (there’s a clue in the name), and after a white-knuckle-glass-fronted-elevator-ride that required fingers to be peeled off the handrails when we got the top, we were rearing to go.

jwmm_prime68_arrivalexperience

The minimalist interior of Prime 68.  Not a bread roll in sight.

The interior of Prime 68 is clean and minimalist, and felt like we’d gate-crashed someone’s pad just after the painters have just walked off the job and haven’t yet moved the furniture back or put up the pictures.  The views were impressive, and once we’d got our sea legs after the elevator ride, we went to squeeze our faces against the windows and try to spot our houses.

 

First observation was that there appeared to be no food.  Where was the rows and rows of silver buffet trays and mountains of salad? Nowhere to be seen, and already I’m starting to think this is going to be bobbins.

How many?

After sitting, the waiter came scuttling over and gave us the run down.  Thirty eight courses, yes I said thirty eight, i.e. thirty courses and then eight more, which will be served to us at the table. I speculated it was going to be thirty seven courses of food, followed by a waaafer thin mint so we could all spontaneously explode and complete the paint job.

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Tough call – Regular Joe or Champagne Charlie?

Packages pricing was fairly standard, 295 for the sharia complaint version, 495 for the Regular Joe alcohol and 595 for the Champagne Charlie package, i.e. Mrs Mamma and Perfect Wife.

Captain Pugwash immediately smelt a rat and suggested they were going to fill us with 14 course of bread so we couldn’t fit in the good stuff, and for a period I thought he may be right as inconsequential starter after inconsequential starter was brought out.

We needn’t have worried,  they eventually got onto the good stuff, and the variety and quality of food was top rate. After a slightly bumpy and slow start on the drinks, we soon got the team whipped into shape so the service was good and generally on the ball.

The occasion was also likely to be our last brunch as a complete posse, as Father Ted and Mrs Doyle had decided to sell us out and leave the Dubai bubble for the joys of the Emerald Isle. More of that story on another post.

Attendance was fairly compete, apart of course from Kinski, who has decided to cut down his carbon emissions by taking a job 3,250 miles away.

IMG-20140613-00057

The magician causes much amusement – or perhaps I’d cracked a joke. Hard to tell.

Where did the rabbit come from?

Highlight of the afternoon, and brilliantly timed so the reflexes were somewhat dulled, was a table magician who spirited wedding rings onto his shoelaces and ghosted photos of playing cards into our iphones. Awesome, and what a terrific way to wrap up the afternoon.  Father Ted’s was staring so hard to try and work out the tricks, I thought his eyes going to pop out of his skull.

Wigs & sticks

after brunch

Seemed like a good idea at the time

Another interesting twist, which we sneered at on entry was a dressing up box and background for photos.  Three hours later, and we couldn’t get those wigs on fast enough.  Results left, which are now framed, three of which are on various mantelpieces in Dubai, one is in a forty foot container somewhere on the Arabian Gulf. Inshallah.

Prime 68 brunch – excellent change of scenery, terrific views, decent value for money.  8/10

"I'm not your wife." "Doh!"

“I’m not your wife.” “Doh!”

And what did you do this afternoon Mummy?

And what did you do this afternoon Mummy?

Twitt
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Death and no taxes

Posted on July 5, 2014 by My Dubai Online

There’s been quigrim-reaper-funny-pictureste a bit of death on the agenda recently; the sad and very untimely passing of my rock-star Uncle Jimmy, an acquaintance at my bi-annual lunch club and the anniversary of my Father’s death.

That got me thinking about the famous Marc Twain quote “There’s only two things certain in life, death and taxes.” Very clever Mr Twain, but what if you live in Dubai and don’t pay taxes? (Allegedly.) Does that mean that the only certain thing you’ve got in life is death? Not sure I like that concept.

 

Passing of a legend

Jimmy’s death, which was six weeks after he went to see his doctor with stomach pain, came as a huge shock given, 1. his age – mid 50’s, and 2. his indefatigable nature. This guy was running marathons and chucking himself out of perfectly serviceable aeroplanes mid-flight long before it became fashionable. He was the cool Uncle that actually made family get-togethers fun and something to look forward to.

In fact, such a shock was his passing that when Mrs H used it as the launch pad for her regular “you should go and get the annual health check you’re entitled to” speech, I actually booked it on the spot.

Take a deep breath

The process for booking the medical with Metlife was as farcical as you’d expect in this part of the world. Take a deep breath and… call Metlife, choose wrong option on IVR, speak to wrong person, who transfers you to the right person, though they don’t actually do anything except give you another number, which the first person could have done, and the number turns out to be a generic number, and they have to transfer you to the right branch and then the woman tries to put you through to a doctor for a reason you can’t work out, then you work out she thinks you’re buying insurance, which you’re not, and when you’ve told her you’re not (twice) she finally says “oh – you want the Metlife annual check-up?! I can help you with that” (Hurray!!) because a check-up, apparently, is totally different to a medical, though how are you supposed to know that and before you know it, and as easy and quick as you can say “There’s no place like Kansas.” your appointment is booked! Phew!!

Final comment from the receptionist; “Sir, fast for 10 – 12 hours, before you come ok?” me, “Fine.” “10 -12 hours sir, no eating, you need to fast.” “OK”. “So no eating sir.” “Er, yeah, ok. Think I’ve got it.”

This may feel like Groundhog day. Then again, it may feel like Groundhog day

So the morning of the medical arrived, and inevitably the first question at reception was …. “when was the last time you ate?” “10 -12 hours ago”. “Very good, please go and see my colleague.”

‘My colleague’ was a very brusque but highly efficient Indian nurse who, after asking if I’d fasted, told me to take off my shirt, lie on the bed and put my hands in my pockets. Okaaay. Seems that this is a pre-requisite for an ECG in these parts. Whether some chaps go for a cheeky feel when the nurse is leaning over to stick on the pads I’ll probably never know, but she looked in no mood to piss about, so deep into my pockets the hands went.

After the ECG, and with fewer chest hairs than I arrived with, I was sent for a cursory prod by the Doc and blood samples, Lab nurse – “Sir, have you fasted?” me, sighing, “Yes.” I was then told to go and get a good breakfast and come back in two hours. Breakfast as part of a medical – brilliant! No wonder people here are so fat.

Back after brfunny-grim-reaper-death-kenny-south-park-again-pics (2)ekky, receptionist – “Sir, have you had breakfast?”, “Yes”, go and see my colleague who will take more blood. Lab nurse – “Have you had breakfast?” “Yes.” “Good. Roll up your other sleeve.”

I was then despatched from the med centre and told to await the results the next day…

 

You’ll live son

Med centre called the next day. (Anyone who tells you there isn’t some apprehension when you get that call is a downright liar.) ‘Put your hands in your pockets’ nurse tells me all is OK and I’m fit to continue fighting the good fight for middle aged expats in Dubai. Cool. Let’s book a brunch – quick.

And what did you learn?

· Not the most comprehensive medical I’ve had, but worth doing and I commit to doing it on a more regular basis. 150 Dhs with a complimentary chest wax is a bargain.

· Get an exit plan should the worst happen to you over here – getting money released here is a nightmare, even worse than changing your autopay credit card at Etisalat. Mrs H was given a full debrief of what to do in the event of my unfortunate and untimely demise. Basically, where our meagre money stash is hidden and how to cash-out. She will of course forget and I will have the repeat the briefing on a regular basis.

· Always, always, always fast for 10-12 hours before going for a medical.

 

Twitt
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Window-Gate

Posted on May 3, 2014 by My Dubai Online

Hostilities Commence

“That’s the area I’ve been told I’m getting and I’m very happy with it”. In another time and another place this would be an innocuous statement, but it wasn’t. Ikohlberg-cigar-factory-1915t was a meeting to talk about our upcoming office reconfiguration and this, of course, was a declaration of war.

You can’t walk into an office-move discussion and tell people you are sorted. You just can’t. You need to go through the pretence that you don’t mind where you sit and that the entire subject is far too trivial for a Captain Of Industry like you to fret over. This, of course, is all bollocks and anyone who has spent any time working in an office knows it. You’ve got to do the dance. You need to go through the charade. It’s all part of the game, and everyone knows it.

The impact of my colleague’s assumptive statement, and the suggestion that the planning process was over before it even started, was only going to have one outcome. Civil war. It may not have made Sky News, or even 7 Days, but believe me, it was a bitter and bloody affair, in which there were no winners.

Three into Two won’t go

The crux of the issue came down to window seats. Pathetic really, but in these days of commune workplaces, with no walls, just flat open plan savannah-like plains of desks stretching as far as the eye can see, there is only one position that infers any kind of ascendancy in the pecking order. A window seat. They are few in number and consequently highly prized assets and a telling indictment of what corporate life has reduced us to. A window seat. Whose simple elegance bestows upon the owner a modicum of privacy and the opportunity to wistfully gaze, imagining what might have been if you’d never joined the company in the first place.

Our issue was that there was only two window seats, for three individuals. A desperate situation and one that required some strategic thinking.

Dodgy deals and dodgy arguments

First move was to make an alliance with one of my competing colleagues. Tough call, with him being a Man Utd supporter and all, but I figured that difficult situations require difficult choices. Second was to come up with some spurious business reasons why it was so important for us to get the window seats. Third was to discredit the opposition. Weeks watching House of Cards has proved invaluable, and Frank Underwood would be very proud of me.

Our boss had wisely delegated sorting the mess out to his second in command (2IC), who knew he was screwed as he has neither the authority nor the stupidity to try and impose a solution. Instead, all he could do was attempt to broker a deal and try to keep a straight face as the arguments got more heated and the rationale got more preposterous.

At our second meeting I openedlector-at-cigar-factory-1929 with a discourse on the symbiotic benefit of product teams sitting together and that a linear seating arrangement was less conducive to effective communication than a tight cluster. This may have been both pompous and weak, but it was certainly more robust than the pitch from our colleague, who needed the area as “I have a lot of boxes and my plant needs the sunlight”.

The “my plant needs the sunlight” line was met with my withering sarcasm and my partner’s disclosure that he has a vitamin D deficiency and a window seat was “doctor’s orders”. Brilliant. The introduction of a medical condition and an independent expert witness was a masterstroke and made our position look impregnable.

2IC offered a solution to break the deadlock. Using the acumen and insight that made him top of his MBA class he cut right to the heart of the issue. “Let’s draw straws.” I felt cornered by the naked logic, the random simplicity of the solution, and agreed. However, my Man Utd colleague again excelled himself, refusing to participate in a draw, which he stated was gambling and therefore Haram. First medical opinion, now religious grounds. Genius. (The fact that I know he’s prone to have a flutter on the football results at the weekend was, of course, not mentioned.)

After thirty minutes of circular discussion we adjourned, arguments made, agreement unlikely.

I went to the car park that evening anxious, expecting a blow to the head or my tyres slashed. Or both.

Have faith – and friends in high places

Perhaps eliciting ‘Higher Powers’ had helped, as arriving next morning I was told a win-win-win solution had magically been brokered to everyone’s satisfaction. Out of desperation, 2IC had managed to get the Facilities department (who are of course, Higher Powers) to rejig the entire floor-plan to create a third window seat. Hurray! Ceasefire agreed and normal relations returned. Why this wasn’t done in the first place is a mystery, but hey, large corporations do work in mysterious ways.

What did I learn from Window-Gate? The power of alliances? That will-power can bend reality to your desired outcome?  That religion, medical opinion and business bullshit can co-exist in the same sentence? Yes, all of that, but above all else I learned to never, never, never be an office move co-ordinator.

Twitt
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Running thing update

Posted on January 9, 2014 by My Dubai Online

Here’s the list of the Km I’ve covered so far and the times where I’ve been injured. The big block of red in August & September is where I took some time off in an attempt to recuperate before the programme officially commenced in October. Once it was clear that wasn’t working, I learned how to strap myself up and hobbled on from there!

Picture11

Week 6 and 10 was where I had half marathons booked, one in Abu Dhabi, the other on Dubai creek. As you can see, being injured for 4 days prior to Abu Dhabi was hardly ideal preparation, but damn it, I’d paid 150 dhs, so I was going to run that race no matter what. I did however decide that I wouldn’t monitor my time during the race as my goal of finishing under 2 hours was unachievable due to my injuries.

Abu Dhabi

Man it was hot. That’s all I remember. It was hot. Oh, and I totally got my pacing wrong and nearly died with about 6km to go. What a laugh that was. Did I mention it was hot? Man that last 6k was hot, with no shade.

Anyway, despite, the heat, the lack of shade, the inadequate training and totally blowing my beads from a timing point of view, I surprised myself to come in at 2 hours 2 mins. My GPS watch reckoned the course was 300m short, but who trusts those things anyway?

 

Majestically crossing the finishing line in Abu Dhabi

Majestically crossing the finishing line in Abu Dhabi
(The yellow ladies behind me are finishing the 10k. Honest!)

Twitt
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The running thing. An update.

Posted on January 6, 2014 by My Dubai Online

The running thing has been progressing reasonably well, all things considered. The “all things considered” is of course that I’m too old, too short and too knackered to be on the road in the first place. The main issue this year has been injuries, nothing major, but plenty of disruption and I guess a strong indication that I’m soon destined for the rigours of crown green bowling.

The injury problems started back in summer, with ligament damage to an ankle sustained during my annual game of suicide squash with Kinski. Not a big deal I thought at the time, but in the end it’s taken months to get it back to something resembling normal. The dodgy ankle was followed by a small calf tear, then a strained hamstring and finally ‘runners knee’. I could mention the massive bruise on the thigh after a collision with a concrete plant pot, but that was so stupid and self inflicted I can’t bring myself to include it. I’m a total wreck.

However, help has been at hand in the form of ‘Thor’, my physio from the excellent Ortho Sports Clinic on Jumeirah Beach road. Thor has pushed, pulled, stuck needles and strapped up all the bits that have been on the point of falling off, and somehow kept me on the road. A gentleman, a legend and a viking warrior practicing physiotherapy in Dubai. Who’d have thought?

Big, blond and carrying a device to hurt people. Yup, that's my physio.

Big, blond and carrying a device to hurt people. Yup, that’s my physio.

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Twitt
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Perfect Wife’s birthday brunch at Le Traiteur.

Posted on November 23, 2013 by My Dubai Online

Apart from having one of the more unpronounceable names amongst its peer group, Le Traiteur also has the distinction of being a Time Out ‘Best Brunch’ multiple winner. High praise indeed, or as the French may say “Formidable!’

Armed with this intel and motivated by an invitation from Captain Pugwash’s other half, (AKA Perfect Wife) which said something like, “it’s my birthday, we’re going to Le Traiteur, do not disobey”, off we set with high hopes and, as the French may say, “anticipation”.

With its marina position, elegant clientele and ample supply of Veuve Clicquot, La Trait commands a premium, with a variety of packages on offer;

· Non-alcoholic Package: AED 450 per person, including food and non-alcoholic beverages. The Halal option.

· Sparkling Wine Package: AED 550 per person, including food, beer, wine and sparkling wine. The regular package.

· Champagne Package: AED 670 per person, including food, beer, wine and Veuve Clicquot champagne. The Banker/Consultant option.

· Dom Perignon Package: AED 2,998 per person, including pick-up and drop-off in a hotel limousine, food, Dom Perignon champagne, and premium selected spirits, beer and wine, as well as a gift from Pistache, Park Hyatt Dubai’s chic boutique patisserie. Also known as the Investment Banker package.

Decision, decisions…. Halal package – clearly not an option. Investment Banker package? Ha! – in another life, maybe. Some quick mental arithmetic led me to conclude that I could easily drink significantly more than 120 worth of champers, so with that demented justification in mind, the Banker/Consultant package it was. Was it worth it? In a word, no, but you live and learn.

The scran

The food was great, but the selection was pretty limited. I like to show my worldly ways at brunch. Appetiser – Arabic. Starter- Japanese. Main courses – Indian, Chinese. Dessert – British. Cheese – French. This free and easy culinary attitude isn’t really possible at Le Trait. When I asked where the sushi was, I was greeted with a stereo-typical French “pah!” I guess I should have expected that in a French restaurant, the remarkable thing was the sneer was delivered by a chap who looked and sounded like a Filipino. The cultural training is clearly working at Le Trait. It was also slightly strange having to venture into the kitchen for much of the food, trying to squeeze past the customers and chefs in a co-existence that seems like a health and safety law-suit in the making.

Lovely dovey and not an oyster in sight.

Lovely dovey and not an oyster in sight.

Not my cup of tea, but I’m reliably informed by Kinski and Captain Pugwash that the oysters were fantastic, their approval demonstrated by the vast quantities consumed. As the oyster feeding frenzy went on, Mrs Mama and Perfect Wife looked more and more nervous, concerned about the likely consequences that evening, with Kinski and Captain Pugwash keen to demonstrate how ‘strong like bull’ the oysters had made them.

The drink

Fair play to Le Trait, decent champers and excellent Pimms and Mojitos, so no complaints in this department.

The service

Not too bad, albeit a bit slow at times. This usually doesn’t bother me, but my 120 AED break-even model was contingent on lightning fast top-ups, which didn’t really materialise and left me feeling I did not choose wisely. Naïve? Optimistic? Dumb? Yes, all of the above, but what can I say. I’m one of life’s eternal dreamers.

The other thing that irritated was the refusal to honour the 15% discount courtesy of the Time Out card and/or Infinite Visa card. Apparently, the discounts promoted by both the cards and restaurant aren’t applicable on ‘special occasions’, a category in which brunch is deemed to sit. Voucher Man attempted to negotiate this point vigorously, but to no avail, so forlornly we handed over our generic credit cards and felt the full force of the bill. What happens when it really is a special occasion, i.e. an anniversary or birthday, rather than 52-weeks-a-year-brunch, remains a mystery. Perhaps you have to pay more.

Overall

Merde? Non. Formidable? Non. More accurate would be, as the French may say, “Acceptable!”.

Twitt
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Keep On Runnin’

Posted on November 9, 2013 by My Dubai Online

Long term readers (often called sufferers) of this blog, will know that I’m a runner. I started running many years ago when I was in the military, (motivated/pursued by a rather large training sergeant), and sort of stuck with it ever since.

Those that know me will confirm that I’m not one of those tall, sleek gazelles you see gliding round Safa Park. No, I’m another type. The short, middle-aged plodder whose legs and arms are swinging furiously but doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. At least anywhere fast. Probably won’t be at the back of the field, but certainly nowhere near the front. A walking testament that a bit of training, a tube of Deep Heat and a lot of elasticated bandage, can go a long way.

The highlight of my running calendar is the Dubai Marathon. No, my friend, not the 10k, (for that is NOT a marathon, it IS a 10k), I train for what is often called in these parts ‘the full 42′. It’s a major commitment, it probably makes no sense, but running half and/or full marathons is actually quite addictive.

So, to prove to other middle-aged plodders out there, be they male or female, that long distance running is not only achievable, it’s also really rewarding, I’m going to post some info about my programme, my progress and a few words of wisdom on the subject.

Training Programme.

If you’re training for an event you need a programme, and the programme must be obeyed. Stick to this mantra and you’ll not go far wrong.

I say this as someone who hates routine and recognises that for some people, the idea of committing to a programme makes their naughty rebellious side come out. The side of them that sticks two fingers up at anything that looks like authority. If this sounds familiar and you’d prefer something a bit more freestyle, that’s fine too, though you’re at greater risk of failing on race-day because you didn’t prepare properly.

For me, a programme sets a weekly goal which is aligned to my race objective and keeps me motivated when I’m totally pissed off and want to jack it in. It all comes down to breaking a big scary objective into small bite size chunks.

Structure.

The structure of my typical programme keeps a few principles in mind:

1. Run four times a week. I’ve seen programmes for beginners that mandate training six times a week. I think this is absolute nonsense. You will get bored, you are far more likely to get injured and where the hell are you going to find the time? For beginners and intermediate runners, four days a week is fine.

2. A hard session is followed by a day off.

3. Mix shorter intervals and longer interval sessions with steady runs and longer endurance building runs.

4. Weekly distance and long runs increase gradually, with a few ‘step back’ weeks to motivate and help recuperation.

5. 50% of weekly distance covered in the long weekend run.

Programme Adherence.

Sticking to a schedule as closely as you can is important, but it’s also pretty important to have a life as well. There will be weeks where you just can’t squeeze your sessions in; don’t sweat it too much, the most important thing is to hit the long weekend runs and at least one session during the week.

If you miss a couple of weeks training because you’re ill or injured, no worries, you can always catch up. If you miss two weeks because you can’t be bothered, honestly, you may as well jack it in now – it’s probably not for you.

Here’s one I prepared earlier.

Here’s my schedule for the marathon which is at the end of January. As you can (hopefully) see, it contains all the elements described above. I’ve also adjusted it a little to do a couple of half marathons on the way, one in Abu Dhabi and one in Al Ain.

Spreadsheet geek? Guilty!

Spreadsheet geek? Guilty!

 

Twitt
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Summer 2013 synopsis

Posted on September 21, 2013 by My Dubai Online

Summer Synopsis

Now summer is just about over and we’re back to the joys of life in Dubai, I thought it might be good to reflect on the last couple of months.

In the Middle East, from mid-June onwards it’s stupid hot all the time.  So how do you know that summer has well and truly arrived?  Well, I’m sure you’re all familiar with the one about the cold tap delivering hot water and vice versa?  True of course, but a bit unimaginative.

So, here’s my thoughts on the topic, based entirely on that special time of the year when the schools are closed and your wife and kids are several thousand miles away.

Nine signs that it’s summer in Dubai

1. You can get a parking space at the big Spinney’s on Al Wasl Road. Even on a Friday.

2. Your commute to work is reduced by 90%.

3. Finding and eating the stuff in the back of the freezer marked “Best before August 2011″.

4. Alphabetising your DVD collection is your main plan for the weekend.

5. Weekend socialising with your work colleagues seems like a good idea.

6. You make a big list of all the DIY jobs you’ve managed to avoid for the preceding 11 months.

7. You actually complete some of the jobs on the list.

8. You get through an entire season of ‘24 hours’, in 24 hours

9. Every time you walk into a restaurant you’re greeted with ‘Table for one Sir?’

Summer in Dubai can be fun – yay!

Summer this year had all the potential to be devastatingly dull, with Ramadan and the infamous WANKER period neatly overlapping. Showing the kind of thought leadership that is usually the preserve of Mrs H, I decided it would be a good time to complete my PADI Advanced Scuba diving course. An inspired idea as it turned out, with the long dreary weekends filled with trips to the bottom of the Indian Ocean off Fujairah. Wonderful, and if you were ever thinking of taking up scuba, both Pavilion Dive Centre and Al Boom Diving Club are great places to learn.

Jelly Fish Alert – Killer Jellyfish off Jumeirah

First Friday into the course, my fellow divers and I had an encounter with a flock/spawn/bloom/collective noun of jellyfish off Russian Beach. Five out six of us were stung, of course mine was by far the worst, even (I think) topping the guy that got a face full of tentacles.

DPP_3001

Don’t pee here.

Looking for sympathy I posted a picture of the aforementioned sting to Facebook, only to learn that my FB buddies are all obsessed with wee. Did I wee on the sting? Did I ask anyone else to wee on it? Numerous discussions about whether people would or wouldn’t wee on it. Every weeing combination was debated at length on the World Wide Web.

 

 

All slightly British and bonkers, but sympathy? No chance. Not a sausage. For the record, let me tell you three things about being on the wrong end of an encounter with a jellyfish;

1. It bloody hurts.

2. Nobody takes it seriously.

3. Weeing on it does not help.

Cats and poo.

Unfortunately, for me at least, whilst I was Home Alone, Shobna had returned to Sri Lanka on vacation, leaving me with the daily task of feeding and poop scooping for our two cats, Fat Bob and Tommy Reid.  During week 2, as if to exact revenge for my no-nonsense approach to animal husbandry, 0ne or both of them got diarrhoea.  It was messy and usually wide of the litter tray. Pretty gross, but at least the ants were loving it.

Desperately trying to avoid a kings ransom/vets bill, I took to Google, the fountain of all wisdom and found an article that suggested a change of food can help.  To the delight of the cats, Frisky Biscuits were out, Whiskers Tuna in.  Big mistake.

The next day there was poo. Man oh man, there was poo. A. Lot. Of. Poo. After a bit of CSI work, I decided the problem was mainly with Tommy Reid, so off to the vet we went. After some rather intrusive testing, the vet announced Tommy had some kind of bug before presenting me with a big bag of meds and an even bigger bill.

The next six days was spent wresting medicine down the throat of an angry and flexible cat, who, despite being held by the scruff of the neck, can simultaneously bite, scratch and spit out meds.  Still got the physical and emotional scars from that week.

 Guest Blog;  Tommy Reid – letter to Mrs H.

Dear Mrs H, and boy and girl

Help!

This morning the Shouty Man who feeds me and Bob put me into a cage!!  He then took me in a loud metal box with wheels to a house.  Inside the house was a TORTURE CHAMBER! Inside the TORTURE CHAMBER a strange European man with a funny shaped furry thing above his lip was mean to me.

He stuck a plastic thing up my ‘you know what’.  I was struggling and struggling.  He then went and got his friend who called the Shouty Man ‘Hello Mam Sir”.  The second man then helped the strange European Man put the plastic thingy back up my ‘you know what’. I was just getting over that when they put a wooden thingy called a swab up my ‘you know what’.  Those men have got a problem – and I’m the one the Shouty Man said was sick!

The strange European Man said I had a nasty bug living in my tummy making my poo squidgy. Then he and the ‘Hello Mam Sir’ man grabbed me again and tried to make me eat a yucky white tablet and some disgusting cream out of a tube.  I spat it right out on the table! YUK!!

The Shouty Man then put me back in my nice, safe cage, and took me to a nice lady. I heard him shout ‘it’s how much?!!!’at the nice lady.  He then brought me back home in the loud metal box with wheels. Phew!

I think he felt that he’d been mean to me, cos he bought me a fabby new toy to play with, which is now stuck under the sofa.

Purrs and meows

Tommy Reid (your kitten)

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Twitt
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