New Years Eve

 The New Year snuck up and hit us all with the usual surprise. Same as it does every year.  
 

My idea of a good New Year is to be at home with Fireworks. In previous years I have had fireworks from the balcony of our apartment. Bliss for me.  The problem  I have faced has always been  to convince those nearest and dearest to me that this was the place to be. Gently seeing in the New Year with a bottle of Champers and then climbing into bed as the smoke drifts  off after the last firework has done its thing. Who needs a "Knees Up Forget Your Name Party"? Apparently  everyone except me.  Every year I dread the "New Year’s Eve Conversation". Every year I feel like a complete witch because all I want to do is Stay At Home. Bryan wants to have a party. He is a sociable fellow. Me, eh, not so much. Here I will go off at a tangent.  There are people in the world who believe ,well it is a feeling really not so much a belief, that seeing a stunning sunset has no real value if you don’t have someone with you to share that stunning sunset and to feel all warm and fuzzy about it together. I am not like that. I am way too self-involved. Beautiful sunset – check cool. Someone to see it with  ah super cool. Not that sharing is not lovely but I can do all the beauty and awesome stuff on my own and not feel crushed that there was no one to share it with. I don’t do these things on my own because  I have a Man Being in my life who absolutely loves to do sharing things who ,even after all these years together, still forces me out of myself and into doing stuff, patiently. He never, ever refers to the fact that he has to do this every single time we go out. 

Anyhooo.
 

Each  year I land up negotiating with myself and then Bryan. This is now it goes....If I have been particularly hermit like the previous New Year’s Eve I feel honor bound to make an effort. If I went out  on the town the previous year I find it very difficult to give  up my stuck in the muddy rut  notion of staying in. I don’t even mind being left at home alone so that Bryan  (and whoever else is about) can go and have a party. But that is not how the world turns. The last thing any self-respecting person wants to say on arriving at a party to celebrate the year gone by and share a few moments of hope of what the new year will bring  is “My partner stayed at home.” It is like code for saying "My wife and I had a rip roaring fight and I left the house slamming the door behind me so I am here on my own." Defiantly.  So you see every year is a tightrope in our house over what we will do for New Year's Eve. Well it is inside my head. I am pretty sure Bryan is oblivious to my agonising until a day or so before when someone (me) has to say something about not wanting to go out for New Year's Eve.AGAIN.

 

As 2013 closed in around me I realised that it was my turn to be a good sport. Last year we watched the fireworks from our apartment balcony.

Younger son Cameron was home for New Year  and my nephew William was visiting Dubai for the first time and, as it happens, we no longer have a balcony to watch stunning fireworks from. All the signs were lining up to a Going Out type of New Year. Around the time that all these thoughts were whirling around my sad person brain getting me worked up about what to do and how to do it bla, bla, bla my friend Patricia said that she had found a brilliant venue for NYE and did we want to join their party? It was a sign.  The sign said “Say Yes”. So we were organised. New Year at a lovely venue with what promised to be great view of the upcoming world record breaking fireworks display. And great company. Perfect right? Well of course not. This is me we are talking about.
 

Now that the venue was arranged I was all over worrying about what the traffic would be like. I was worrying about what we were going to wear. Bryan, of course, was not worrying. He is incapable of worrying about what he is going to wear. My preferred outfit for New Year is jeans with a floppy top and no make-up. This evening clearly required more effort and it would be outdoors and high up on the 35^th floor, so as to get the best views, which is very important, but might be a bit chilly. So I was all set up for worrying about that too.
 

All this clothes worrying had me doing something I have never done before in my whole and entire life. With little time and the decision making skills of a squirrel faced with one too many nuts to carry I bought up the whole bloody shop and took everything home thinking that I would decide what I would wear in the comfort of my home and I would return the clothes that I did not wear to the store. I felt like a thief or as if I was bunking from school. It felt quite exhilarating walking out of the shop with a tonne of clothes that I had no intention of keeping. So that worry was sorted out. I should mention that I did not return any of the clothes..... Note to self  - do not do that again.  
 

Now the traffic worries. Obviously I have no control over the traffic but that did not stop me from  becoming almost hysterical. I had to find out what every other guest at the table would be doing to sort out their transport dilemmas at this most horrific of times of year for getting a taxi and getting in and out of congested areas. I agonised over booking a taxi. Who am I kidding on New Year’s Eve -  a taxi ??|#%#!$$ - imagine hysterical laughter. I even went and found a limo service that would be available for a pick up and drop off on NYE for the snip of a price of AED 999.00 if the pick-up and drop off happened over a three hour period. Imagine more hysterical laughter at:
 a. the price and
b. the time span allowed for PARTYING.  
After much investigating I announced to Bryan ( who was not worrying)  that we would leave our car  at the Ibn Batutta metro Station and take the metro from there and walk to the hotel from the nearest station to it. This required a quick change of plans from high heels to walking boots in the wardrobe department.   Alternatively, I suggested, we would drive to the other side of the highway nearest the hotel and walk from the metro station to the hotel having used the sky bridge over the highway to beat ( much evil laughter ) The Traffic. So much plotting to have a bit of fun.

 

I think I have set you up appropriately don’t you? Are you ready for what happened?
 

Firstly, to get into the spirit of jollification, I spoiled myself by booking an appointment to have my hair blow-dried. Another first time for me. No I lie. I had my hair done specially for one other event in my life, my wedding. The thing is that there is a hair salon around the corner from my office in the Hotel so really I would be stupid to not take advantage of the 50% staff discount right? Except that I messed up my appointment. There I was getting ready for a meeting at work when I got a call from the hairdresser saying “ Where are you? You had an appointment for 2 pm?" Oh my giddy aunt. What to do. I was supposed to be in a meeting. Bugger this, it was NYE. I got my poor colleague to cover for me in the meeting and I deserted my post to get my hair done saying “I will be half an hour late for the meeting...." as I rushed out of the office.

The lady who was doing my hair was taking forever. My hair is thick and holds moisture, I know this, but really I can do a crap job of drying my hair in 20 minutes. So surely the stylist should be able to do a good professional job in ½ an hour? Am I asking too much? Maybe. Anyway as the half hour ticked by I had to say “Stop sweetie I have to leg it back to a meeting. Finish up and I am out of here”. I tore back to the office and into the meeting room. It was dark and empty. You guessed it. The meeting was cancelled. I did however have half a hair doo done for NYE.

I got home  after work and lazed about because I was so super organised.  I chose what to wear from my Department Store contraband. Faffed about doing my nails and having a shower and chatting and being all calm and mellow. Then got into a last minute panic because it turns out I was not as super organised as I thought I was and landed up rushing myself to be ready in time to go. All  the male members ( did you notice that witticism?) of the household waiting for me downstairs. PATIENTLY. 

We did eventually make it out of the Villa and into the traffic. Which, as it turned out, there was not much of on our side of town. There was so little traffic that we drew near to the Marina Bryan announced that we were going in. Things were looking good. We were going to risk all and drive right up to the Hilton Hotel on The Walk. My heart was in my mouth. OOOOO the risks involved in getting caught up in traffic and sitting in it for hours while the year slipped past us. The gods looked kindly on us and we were at the hotel, valet parking the car, within five minutes. Anyone who knows The Walk on JBR in Dubai  knows that this is a rare occurrence in that part of town. Obviously everyone had made other plans knowing ( as I did ) that the traffic would be horrible. SUCKERS - oh and thank you.

So this is where we spent our new year. Pure. At the JBR Hilton. It was so pretty. Really we were in the best spot.

 

 

 

The fireworks were magnificent.  Click below for the full feature.

 

 

 

The Food was fantastic. Who would have thought that a catered event at New Year could be a mouthwatering treat. Rushed kitchens and so many people to feed usually mean that the food at big events is never anything to write home about.  But hats off to the Hilton. Each course was a surprising delight, a fusion of foods that was unexpected  and delicious. Without anything else in the evening  the food would have been a treat. But together with the company and the fireworks well it just made  the evening so special. The music was  hip hoppin' bobbin' and the company was fabulous.

 

As usual if I  get my arse into gear and actually do go out I have a brilliant time. I may have had an itsy bitsy teeny weeny bit too much to drink...  so I cannot accurately say much more as it all got terribly warm and fuzzy  and oh you know I was not paying attention to the fun I was too busy having it.  Especially after my son and nephew spiked a couple of my drinks and gave me doubles when I thought I was getting singles, but what the hell it was New Year.

 

 

 

 

The Peeps on our table with party hats and winning smiles.

 

We wound our way home in the early hours of the morning walking through the Jumeriah Beach Residences and Marina to the metro passing revelers sharing a bit of good New Year cheerfulness.

 

I woke up very, very, very, late on the 1st of January. Everyone should. I did spare a thought for parents of small children who cannot ease out of their New Year hangovers. That is if they are so lucky as to get one. I  thanked my lucky stars that I was so done and dusted with that business of looking after small people as I groaned and reach for the headache pills, tossed a handful ( or maybe more)  back with a glass of water and went back to sleep.

 

Next year I might not even need encouraging to get out and about at New Year. I am not making any promises but if there is transport and tipple  and Top Notch company I might just venture out two years in a row.

 

Talking Of Books on the 14th of December

 

I have had the great privilege of being a guest on Talking Books a couple of times now as a Book Champion and as a Book Reviewer. I have loved the opportunity to be a part of this endeavour. Well I would wouldn't I?

• I do rather like the sound of my own voice, 
• a lively discussion about anything energises me,
• and anything to do with books is right up my ally.

Talking of Books is a perfect joy fest for someone like me.

On the 14th December I trotted  off to the studios of Dubai Eye 103.8 for my first time at being a co-host. Woo Hoo.

I was a little more relaxed this time.  As it turns out rather foolishly. I felt that co-hosting would be a doddle compared to being a Reviewer or Champion because I would have the host and the aforementioned peeps  as "up-fronters" and I would be able to pipe up every now and then with a few pearls of wisdom. Hummmmm. With this in mind I read the adult books once through and made a few notes. The children's book proved to be hugely popular in the library which meant that I could not get it out for months and months. "No problem"  thought I. I would buy the book. I went to the book stores to get a copy. There was not one copy to be had. Anywhere. I could only get the audio book. Which I thoroughly enjoyed listening to but,well it is not quite the same as reading the book now is it?

I arrived at the studio and was met by Chrissie and Mustafa who said that the  show's host John MacDonald had been called away on business and Chrissie was stepping in at the last minute. "No worries" thinks I  in a blasé fashion, "we will have the Lead Reviewer and the Book Champion and things will be just peachy." 

And for the first hour of the show things were. We had a fabulous time with Frank Dullaghan doing a well thought out job of his review of  Ruth Ozeki’s “A Tale for the Time Being”. One of my best reads of 2013. It is a delicious, dense, daring, book and everyone must read it now! Below is the link to our discussion:-
Talking of Books Part 1 on 14th December 2013 - A Tale for the Time Being

and here is a review of the book from NPR

As our lovely time with Frank came to an end I could not help but notice that the Book champion was nowhere to be seen. Panic started to set in. Chrissie was stepping in at the last minute and I had not done nearly enough research on  the authoress Rewa Zeinati. I had only read her delightful collection of Facebook posts turned book once through. I was frightened and deeply ashamed of myself. How could I be so lackadaisical!!!!! Thank ye gods for Chrissie. I think we did a pretty bang up job under the circumstances. The  bold, brave Rewa joined the show for the last half an hour of the Book Champions session and we loved having her with us so much that we sort of encroached on the children's hour. You know how women talk..... For anyone living in Dubai do get a copy of Rewa's book - Nietzsche's Camel Must Die. It is a great dipping in and out of collection and you get a delightful intimate view of who she is and what she thinks. Here is the link to pod cast of this part of the programme: Talking of books part 2 on the 14th December 2013

Don't you just adore the creative, fantastical cover of the book? I want this piece of art hanging on my walls! The inside flap of the book opens out to give the full picture - sadly not shown here.

 

Rewa Zeinati will be speaking at the Emirates Literature Festival so book your tickets now HERE to get your copy of her book signed.

 

You can find out more about  Rewa on the following links:

 

goodreads.

 

sampsoniaway

 

You can read her blog: Rewas Page

 

And you can follow her on Twitter:

RewaZee

 

 

 

 

 

The final segment of the show is for the younger readers and that week the sassy young duo of Xavier and Ammelie had us entranced and delighted with their review of John Boyne’s “Noah Barleywater Runs Away”. There were some surprisingly mature observations from these two fine young people. You can listen to them here:Talking of books part 3 on the 14th December 2013

 If you enjoyed "The Boy In The Stripped Pyjamas" you will love this coming of age read. Not quite as harrowing as "The Boy in The Stripped Pyjamas" but still  a sensitive and well drawn-out tale of family sadness and hope.

Three hours of reader heaven. Tune into Dubai Eye at 10 every Saturday or log on to the Talking Of Books Podcasts  and listen at your leisure.

Finally.

At last  the real truth.

Visiting Gaborone for a Birthday Party

Welcome to Botswana

 

You might remember that a month ago I said I would write more about my recent lovely holiday to Gaborone and Harare.  I did a good job of that didn’t I?

 

Honestly where is the time going?  I mostly blame (because I can)  the fact that we  moved. Everything for the next  year or so that goes wrong or I don’t do will be blamed on The Move. In case you had not picked up on that already.....

In my last blog ( via my rather traumatic first sighting of the new airport) I mentioned that the Gaborone landscape had changed a bit. Well, the airport was just the beginning of the surprises. The day after I arrived I was driven about for a quick catch up on what the city had been up to in my absence. There, sat shimmering in the heat  of the CBD, was a clutch of tall buildings where previously there had been a sad, lonely, mocking ( or as it turned out rather promising) road network. Look at it now! All grown up and happening.

                               Nicked off the internet. Not my own footage by the way.

Office buildings. Hotels. Shopping centres full of coffee shops and other assorted opportunities for you to part with your hard earned cash. There are developments on the way to the airport, around the diamond sorting  business - I guess.  It was impressive to see so much growth. Generally, I love things that stay the same. I am not an early adopter of changes and ideas but I do understand that growth is important so I was heartened to see so many new shiny buildings. I felt that as long as the character of Gaborone remained intact (and there was water available) I could live with the new stuff. Especially as much of the new is better than what was there before and civically edifying to boot. But not too edifying as that would be very un-Gaborone like and make me nervous. Of course there  are places that remain unchanging. Comforting.

Sitting on Sharon and Shaun’s veranda watching the bird life flit about the Phakalane Golf Estate was not only relaxing but oh so pretty. There are pockets of pretty in Gaborone. I forgot how much I love having bird life about. How can one forget that? My heart sang sitting there listening to the bush twitch and tweet in the buzzing, shimmering, warmth of the desert. I saw Egyptian Geese, Starlings, Francolins, Weavers, louwreis, mouse birds, guinea fowl, doves and a gazillion different LBJ’s. Heaven I tell you, Heaven.

The other thing I forgot was how ridiculous the traffic gets in Gaborone at "rush hour" it really is quiet astonishing when one considers how small Gabs is. It has no bloody right to traffic jams.

I loved visiting Gaborone and seeing all the lovely, special people that live in this grubby little town. The people really make it.

The bonus of it being Sharon’s Birthday (and let us not forget - the reason for me being in Gaborone) was that she had a Birthday Party and that meant that at her party I could catch up with many old friends. Not only from Gaborone but from Harare and father afield. Sharon  and Shaun really know how to put together a bunch of people for a good knees up.

It's my party and I will sing to a water bottle if I want to!



      

We can dance if we want to and thow our inhibitions away.

 

I was too busy quaffing drinks to take pictures myself so I have borrowed these from Sharon's face book and tweaked them a bit. I wish I could show you the divine Gloria (Maa) Jacques (true to her ageless form) with her outlandish new pink streaked silver fox hair doooooo and her timeless collection of bold and beautiful rings. Brian Jacques her adoring husband was in fine form and looking better than I have seen him in years, clearly his new responsibilities at the University are doing him the world of good.

I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with Wayne Osterberg who seems to flit between living in Australia and Botswana. I can see the benefits of being in both places but oh my goodness how do you choose one over the other.  From now on Mr Osterberg will be "Wayne the Boomerang".

A lovely man, that  I did not know from a bar of soap, cleaned my specs! He just took them off the end of my nose and cleaned them. Always an appreciated if rarely offered service to someone such as myself. Somehow my glasses always seem to be smudged. I do the same thing to drinking glasses. How is it that I can always identify my glass by the greasy fingerprints prints all over it?  But I digress back to the peeps.I am reliably told (by Ange Stevenson in case you were wondering) that the old timer friends from Harare were given a stern warning by Sharon that they were to "Behave Themselves". Really what was she thinking?

  

I met people that I have only known  by reputation  via their relationship with Sharon.  I met the delightful (yet shy in a surprising way) Aldo Brincatt. Aldo (with Others) is putting on what I am sure will be a festive show at the end of the month. So if you are in Gaborone. Get down to the Theatre on the 30th November. 

I met the Charming Mirabel and her singing economist husband Nick who everyone I know in Gaborone talks about as if I should know them. It was almost a relief to finally be able to put faces to the peeps.

Old Friends with new friend!

All this catching up was done in-between imbibing large amounts of vodka, dancing about in an ungainly manner and falling on my bum  - as you do. Oh and making a small speech. Which, as I am sure the whole world knows, one should never do on an empty stomach with a few vodkas down ones gullet. 

Sober as a judge.

Live music was provided by the gorgeous members of SMS - So Much Soul.  

S.M.S fronted on this occasion by the Nick



 

The food looked totally delicious but I was so busy being a social butterfly that for once in my food centred life I did not get to eat anything till the very end of the evening were I sampled ( well scoffed down like a piggy wiggy) the deserts. YUMMY.

The Party was a roaring success.

I love the small townness of Gaborone. I loved that I could have a good old chin wag with everyone that lives there and  catch up on what they were up to. I am without a doubt a small town gal. I really don't mind everyone knowing my business  - as long as I know theirs! By the by.... it is about bloody time you organised a wedding Partick Marsay... I love the instant warmth that comes from a small community. It was great to be picked up at the airport by Steve Pezarro and begin jabbering at the poor man as if I had seen him yesterday. I am sure he was relieved to be able to drop  me off at the Berringtons  (hosts extraordinaire) so that I could then continue to jabber up a storm  in a catch up session with Lindy. The next morning (still jabbering) I was able to walk a few house down the road and spend time chatting around the breakfast  table as people came and went in the busy Pezzaro household. Casual and friendly and the company just delightful.  I talked sooooo much.

And there is never enough time is there? Maybe if I had planned the trip a bit more in advance I could have seen a few more people and maybe I would have thought to take a drive out to Mokolodi but I did not and it is not a train smash. There will be another time. It might take as many years to get me there again ( I hope not) but it will happen.

It was so special to see that people do not change. There may be the odd new wrinkle, or kilo lost or found. There were lovely children all grown up, but other than that people stay the same. It’s a good thing.

I felt loved and welcome and my  heart opened up and did a little happy dance. I drank too much, ate too much, and loved seeing special friends. I loved catching up with Gennai and Fred and dropping in unannounced on the Bay's family with poor Nick suffering a concussion and seeing their lovely girls so composed and just delightful.

I felt like I was given a little bit of a life rejuvenating elixir by just being there with special people. How many time can you say "Special People" before it gets tired? I got much needed advise from  a trusted wise friend -  thanks Nicola.  I was energised by the whole trip and had very mixed feelings getting on the plane to go to Harare. I was leaving Gaborone reluctantly, wanting more time there, but also excited about going home for the first time since Dad died.

 

Suddenly Travelling to Botswana And Zimbabwe



View from my seat.





Before I start let me tell you that this is the second time I have written this post. I worked on it for a few days. Saving it each time. A few days ago I published it and looked at it on line and linked it and sent it off to all of you.  A few of you actually got to read it. Then it disappeared. POOF. Just like that.  I could try and explain the sheer frustration of it all but that would take too long. I will say I was CRUSHED. I worked doubly hard on this one to get it just right. I don't know if I have the spirit to do it all again but I will try. Bryan said it was a good thing as one should always scrap the first draft. First bloody @@#%^&^&**  draft?????? after days of work?????? The man is a tower of insensitivity. CRUSHED . I tell you CRUSHED.

 

Having gotten that off my chest and reverted to my cheerful demeanour (no snickering here peeps) I will start again and tell you the lovely story about how and why I came to be suddenly and unexpectedly and delightfully travelling to the southern climes of Africa - my beloved home land.

 

I am a very bad friend and daughter. Do you want to know why? As usual with me this involves a long and winding story. The list of whys is long and mundane. Lists tend to be, so I won't put you through that, but I can give you an example that highlights my failing and what I did to redeem myself a bit.
 

Earlier this year Bryan and I prevaricated about two things. The Reps Reunion in England and my dear friend Nicola's wedding to a lovely special man called Paul in Australia. We dithered, as we do, and in the end we did not get to either event, which I regret. Living life once bla, bla, bla. Seizing the moment bla, bla, bla. Don't have a life of regrets bla, bla, bitter bla.
 

My friend Sharon has a birthday in September. My Mother in early October. Birthdays happen but milestone birthdays you know 21st's, turning 30, 40, 50, 60, 70 etc those count. And I have missed a lot of these over the years.  A few weeks ago I noticed a post on Sharon's face book that alerted me to the fact that this birthday was a biggie. A half century biggie. And I thought that was happening next year! Obviously I thought this because of Sharon's  youthful appearance and demeanour ....... Not convincing is it?  I can't even get a birthday right....... My blood ran a bit cool because I know that if Sharon was turning the "Big Five Ohhhh My Giddy Aunt" then my mother was turning "Finally Free From Remembering Everything Seventy". And I had not remembered either milestone Birthday. So you see that is why I am a terrible friend and daughter.
 

I had to fix this double whammy faux pas.
 

I had only a few days till Sharon's birthday. I told my boss that I might need to desert my post for a couple of weeks within the next couple of days. HE WAS FANTASTIC about it. Bryan was in Egypt. I messaged him with my dilemma. What should I do? I want to see my Friend on her special birthday. I want to see my Mum on hers. How do I do this? Visit them both but miss the actual day for one of them? ARRRGHHH the timing of it all. Agony. Bryan sent me a one line message. "You have to do both." Got to love that man.
 

So with days to spare I contacted Sharon's husband Shaun and desperately asked if he could sort out accommodation and airport pick ups etc. for me if I came  to Gaborone for Sharon's Birthday. Clearly I could not do these things for myself with only two days and work and oh a million things to get into a panic about. And anyway Shaun is always calm and calming and I needed that. Another reason for calling Shaun and not Sharon was that  I did not want to let Sharon down if something had gone wrong with me trying to get flights so late bla, bla, bla, anyway Shaun said to me "That will be a lovely surprise for Sharon." and a light bulb moment happened. YES. A surprise visit for both of them was the way to go. How Cool. How unlike me. How clever of Shaun.

The travel office at work very kindly took pity on my panic and booked all my flights. Bryan came home in time to watch  in amusement while I did not pack. Imagine if you can. Suitcase open on bed. Clothing and toiletries and hairdryers strewn all about. ARRRGHHH. Having just recently moved  house and not being terribly unpacked yet meant that I could not find my toiletry bag. MY ESSENTIAL SECURITY BLANKET TRAVELLING TOILETRY BAG. I could not find the box with all my travelling essentials. International adaptor. Travel pack deodorant, toothpaste, ear buds, small nail clippers - well you never know. Silly small keys to lock my suitcase with. You know how easy it is to open a locked suitcase don't you? Well I do. But, I still must lock my suitcase with more than one lock. It was all too much for me. I ignored my  gaping open empty suitcase and sat in front of the TV pretending that I was not catching a plane in the morning. Bryan started to say "Don't you think you should be pack..." I gave him a look that would have wilted steel. Needless to say I did eventually find my security blanket and I did finish packing and I did catch a plane to Gaborone via Joburg.

For reasons that I do not need to go into but include the effects of the above  I was feeling more than my usual unhappiness about travelling away from my nest. I had a long wait in Joburg as my flight was delayed so by the time I flew into Sir Seretse Khama airport it was dark. I looked out the window expecting to see the familiar airport building welcoming me back. What I saw in no way resembled Gaborone's old fashioned cosy airport. W.T.F???????? I was in the wrong city. Clearly. I gave myself a talking to and reasoned that this could not happen. I can't tell you how relieved I was to see designated airport pick up man Steve outside the arrivals gate.

What I was expecting to see when I landed in Gaborne

 

What I saw - at night with imposing bright lights.

Steve  dropped me off at "last minute hostess with the mostest" "Lindy B's house and I settled in. The next morning Lindy and I spent many hours nattering and catching up and making plans to ensure that I did not bump into The Birthday Person on my travels during the day  so that in the evening when we were to gather for dinner and I would pop up as the surprise guest. HUMPH. Gaborone is not a big town. HUMPH. Well you can imagine the lack of success we had. Firstly whilst being driven into town by Lindy as we were nattering up a storm in her car we notice someone hooting at us. We turn and look and in the lane beside us is Sharon waving like mad trying to get her attention. I sigh - turn my head in the opposite direction - and thought "Oh well there goes that surprise." Lindy waved back and the two of them gesticulated a bit in the traffic while I studiously stared out of the passenger window. Then Sharon drove off. Lindy turned to me and said "I don't think she saw you." Yeah right. I was deposited at Airport Junction (one of the several new shopping malls that has sprung up since my last visit to that sunny city) to have a day of meet and greet old friends. All the while expecting a call from someone to say that the cat was out of the bag. No call came. Lindy arrived in the late afternoon to pick me up  to go back to her home and prepare for our not surprise, surprise dinner. As we walked about the mall, once again talking up a veritable storm, I paused  for breath, looked up and not more than three meters in front of us bearing down on us with purpose came Sharon. I did an about turn, leaving Lindy in mid fascinating sentence, and slipped into the nearest shop to hide and spy. Lindy greeting Sharon in a flurry of nervous laughter and chatted on about how lovely Sharon's bag was and how was she (?) and, and, etc, etc. with Sharon all the while looking over Lindy's shoulder. I thought Sharon was being a very good sport. She is a quick thinker so I knew she had caught on. "Ha." I thought "Let the baggage sweat it out a bit. I can play this game". When Lindy and I had finished our spot of Must Be Done Shopping and were leaving the mall who  should I notice walking behind us? Yup you guessed it. Sharon. Turning up like a bad smell again and again all day long. Let me tell you that 25 odd years of friendship was in serious jeopardy that afternoon. I mean how much skulking about can one do?

 

That evening as we arrived at the dinner venue once again there was Sharon parking right where we were. The woman has a scarily unerring ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Lindy said "Quick let's go and get her now." "Like a kidnapping," I thought vaguely as we scuttled under the cover of semi darkness to Sharon's now parked car. Lindy posted her self in front of Sharon, greeted her gaily with a hug and stepped aside. So there I was stood right in front of Sharon. She looked at me like I was a complete stranger. I stepped up almost nose to nose and said (slightly exasperated by now) "Sharon!". Well Sharon set up a squawking and a shrieking  that would have had anyone within a half a kilometre radius convinced a mugging was taking place. There was much hand flapping of totally shocked shaky paws. There was a lot of ooo's, aaarrrghh's, ohhhhh's and other unintelligible gibberish while her brain processed who was in front of her. I WAS A COMPLETE SURPRISE to my dear friend. Her wonderful reaction was so worth the trip. It was just utterly fabulous.

Pontificating Birthday Girl #1

There will be more about my holiday and Sharon's birthday in my next blog post but now for my Mother's surprise. 

 

My mother looks at her computer as a mortal enemy that needs to be approached with a support team. I knew that the likelihood of her discovering about my trip to Botswana from any social media stream (which would place me one international border away from her) was slim to nothing. So on that score I felt safe from the cat being let out of the proverbial bag.

 

I had to arrange my arrival. I did not want my mother to be off gadding when I arrived and I wanted a bed to be ready and made up in my room - yes my room, really, after all these years. To achieve this I contacted my cousin Serena and asked if she would phone my mum and spin a bit of a yarn to act as a cover story for my arrival. I asked Serena to pretend that she had a friend that was coming through Harare who would need a bed for the night of my arrival. Serena did a sterling job. My mother was expecting an Australian house guest complete with a name, age (60?) and  a warm personality.

 

A mutual friend of ours (Sharon and me), Ange, picked me up from the airport and drove me to my Mum's home. We had a lovely drive into town catching up and getting glimpses of my home town. Each mile warming my heart. We arrived and Ange took control. I hid behind a wall near the front door. Ange went inside the house calling "Cooee, helllooooo?" My mum found Ange in her lounge and asked if she was the Australian visitor. Ange explained that she was not but that she had come from the airport to deliver a parcel to her and that it was too heavy for her to carry, so could Mum come outside to the car and help? I just want to say here  "too heavy? thanks Ange". All the while chivvying my mum outside. Once my mum was near the car I stepped out from behind the corner. Her reaction? NONE at all. My mum looked at me as if she was trying to place me. She said "You're not, you're not......"I said "MUM!!!!!" and it suddenly dawned on her who I was. Honestly it was bad enough that my dear friend did not recognise me (and I have not aged that much in less than a year) but my own mother? It was beyond the pale.

 

In the time it took my mum to get us indoors and make  us a cup of tea she had the jungle drums going and very soon there was welcoming committee. Beautiful flowers arrived from her friend Fiona and over several rounds of tea and various pastries for various guests my life was arranged for the next few days while my mum recovered from her lovely shocking surprise. Just thinking about it all has me feeling all warm and fuzzy and tearful. I wish I had recorded my mum recounting the delightful story of the "Australian Visitor". She tells the tale of my arrival and her preparing for her visitor with flair and panache.

 



Strelitzias for "The Australia visitor"



 

Pontificating Birthday Girl #2

I will post another blog about the Birthdays and my holiday soon. Just as soon, that is, as I have unpacked a few more boxes and pictures and hung them in my new home. So much to do. So little time. AAARRRGGHHH.

 

Moving to Jebel Ali. Al Muntazah here we come.

Sadly (because I like to have a moan) I cannot really give you a great big honestly miserable account of our move because it went off so much better than I thought it would. You see there is an upside to being negative.

But that won’t stop me from making a meal of the move now will it?  “No.” I answer myself gaily. “It won’t.”

Bryan and I spent a great deal of time thinking that we should move. Not because we did not love our apartment on the Palm but because every year we would have to run the gauntlet of the negotiations with the landlady where we would refuse to pay the increases she was asking for. It just got tiresome. Our Palm landlady is a feisty octogenarian who is frail of body and more sound of mind that she would have you believe. She had Bryan hook line and sinker. Bryan will tell you that he did all the things that he did for her because if she got an estate agent to do it somehow we would land up the worse for it. Well there is a great deal of truth in that, but, those of you who know Bryan will know that old ladies and babies can wind Bryan around their little fingers.  This year she did get herself an estate agent and of course the estate agent agreed with her that she could get a better rental. Presumably knowing full well she can’t. Of course the agent gets no real income from the apartment unless a new tenant takes over. We managed, yet again, to convince her that we would not pay more but she insisted that we pay a years’ rent in advance. Now before you are utterly horrified at that statement bear in mind that this is not unusual in Dubai. Not unusual at all. However what was a bit beyond the pale was her wanting to retain the right to give us one months’ notice in case she found a tenant willing to pay more. Well you know enough is enough. You can’t have it both ways.

After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, discussions, lists of pros and cons,  boring everyone we know with talk of should we or shouldn’t we and where should we and putting our names on lists we got a call to say there was a villa available in the Complex of Bryan's choice. Yip-a –dee doo-da the move was underway and not a moment too soon as we were about to sign a year’s lease in the absence of a preferred alternative coming up. WHEW.

And then naturally (with me) panic set in. And really? What for? People move all the time.

I went on line and logged on the Dubai ladies go to for anything site - Expat Women - Dubai . 

 

I did a search for conversations relating to removal companies. You know the sort of thing - who recommended who, who was best avoided, and who should be run away from screaming. I found 4 respectable operators. Thank heavens for the comfort and sense of security that comes with a bunch of housewives swapping tips on line. Somehow I landed up with five companies coming to quote on the back of my four phone calls …… go figure. Let’s just say that the stroppy door stopper interloper was given a set down and sent on his way.

I downloaded pages of hints on what to do when you move. I printed them out. I printed out lists with boxes to tick. I printed out a 6 page check off list for snags. HA bloody HA. What a waste of paper that was. I was full of good intentions. Frankly just the process calmed me down which is really the point -right? What I did not do was check much off of the many pieces of paper I had on my clip board. Yes, I had a clip board. I went and bought coloured markers and coloured stickers. I printed out floor plans of the villa and colour-coded the rooms. I absolutely was going to label each box with the corresponding colour room that the box was to be delivered to. I would have bought a lot more coloured markers and stickers but fortunately I had the  House Guest Extraordinaire visiting (yes in the middle of the move poor brave soul) and she managed to stop me from emptying my savings into a felt-tip pen purchasing frenzy. When the movers arrived they summarily rejected my brilliant plan and did what they do and know best, very efficiently and very quickly. They packed up my home and moved my stuff.  





House Guest Extraordinaire keeping out of the way of the efficient movers. In the bath tub.... as you do......









We did have a bit of a drama before we moved. I went down to the building lobby security to let them know that we would be moving and that they should put up those things that protect the sides of elevators from people moving big stuff. The security man said “NO” . Apparently we cannot leave the building without an  NOC ( No Objection Certificate) from the developers of the Palm. W.T.F. I have absolutely no relationship with bloody Nakheel so why do I need their permission to leave the building? Apparently this is them looking out for the interests of the owners. Well that was news to the owner.  What followed was a frenzied rush of me gadding about trying to find out what was required to get this N.O.C. Mixed messages are what I got. Now I know that when The Little Man say “no” you know that  he will not move until The Big Man says he can, so I could not possibly move without something from Management to The Worker Ant telling him I could leave the building. Many emails later and Bryan making phone calls and still we had nothing. It took Bryan hunting down some man in an office and checking said man’s junk mail for us to finally get what we needed.  Bryan needed a session of calming therapy after that. What he got was time to work out how his apple lap top worked with a bit of help from Frances  -remember  I mentioned the house guest extraordinaire?



Bryan calming himself after his run in with Nakheel by working from home and getting to grips with his new computer.

The actual packing and moving and unpacking of the furniture was a complete breeze. Mainly because I did not do it. Yawningly boring for me - YAY.

moving out of Apt. 503. the last few items.....

The unpacking of my kitchen, crockery and linen is another matter altogether. I now realise that our apartment was very well designed in terms of storage. My new huge kitchen (and laundry) has the same amount of storage space one would expect to find in a bedsit. It is a HUGE problem for me. I look in despair at my space and think WHY MEEEEEEEEEE in the most pathetic way. Honestly you would think I was dealing with solving the problem of World Poverty. And of course I have my PICTURES. Where oh where am I going to hang them all?  So many walls. So many rooms. So many choices. I want to put them all in the best spot. But there can only be one best spot. What do I do with the rest of my art? Oh the delicious agony of it all.

I will bore you all with the details in a few weeks time.

Right now I must dash. I cannot for the life of me find the kettle. And I personally packed that because I had this list of handy hints. You know the sort:- Pack a box of essential supplies,  the kettle, a loo roll, bla, bla, bla. Fat lot of good that was. I do know were the Nespresso machine is because house guest extraordinaire was in charge of that. It was the only really essential item and it is unpacked and much used already.

Wish me luck unpacking.

A visit to the dentist.

Last week Bryan started talking about the dentist. He said something like "I need to go to the dentist. My filling fell out a squillion years ago and I have not had it fixed. My tooth is breaking were the filling fell out" At this point I tuned out. What I took from this was Bryan is talking about going to the dentist. I know that at some point he may have asked me if I needed to go to the dentist. Now I am a semi-hypochondriac so of course I KNOW that I need to go to the dentist but that does not mean that I am planning to go just that I know that maybe I should go and get a check-up or get my teeth cleaned and in the process find out that I have to have all my teeth removed and get dentures or screw ins or something and it is all just too horrible to think about. So I may have said something like "Yeah, I probably need to go to the dentist" and then moved on with my life. Fast.

Over the weekend Bryan told me that he had booked an appointment on line. I made interested noises, I assumed he was thrilled at the fact that he could book an appointment on line. Because, snakes alive, not even Bryan could think that booking a dentist’s appointment is news for anyone other than the person going to the dentist. Which was not me. 

On Saturday night as I was nodding off to sleep Bryan said "Now remember you will be going to work late on Monday because of the Dentist” I thought he was rubbing it in a bit much on his whole dentist malarkey. In all the years we have been together he has never shared so much bloody information about any bloody appointment and how did him going to the dentist affect me getting to work late. I would take a taxi. Job done. Anyway it was very late and I thought "oh I am too tired to actually transfer my going to bed mode brain to engage my faculties and talk mode brain" so I muttered snuffley noises (to indicate that I heard him) and went to sleep.

On Sunday night at around the same time (i.e. just before I dropped off to the land of Nod) Bryan said "Don't forget WE have the dentist tomorrow". My whole body was awake in nanoseconds. "We?????? What is this 'we' Pale Face?" I asked incredulously.  Bryan sighed. You know the kind of sigh. The patient sigh. And used his I am a grown up patient voice. "Penny I have been telling you all week that I have booked a dentist appointment for US" What the hell? Never, ever have we gone to the dentist together. The only times we ever did anything vaguely medical together was when I gave birth to the boys and when I had to give my permission in front of the doctor for Bryan to have a vasectomy (that is another story and not for this forum.) What the hell?  My health is being hijacked by my husband. "What are you talking about?" I started my rant.  "At no point did you say that I was going to the dentist with you. I did not ask you to book me a dentist appointment. What the hell?" I squealed.   Visions of bloody mouth cavities filled my mind. But the appointment was booked, so off I went...... with Bryan.

The dentist told me that my mouth and teeth were all in very good order and all they needed was a clean and really why had I come, I was not due for a check-up. Well that gave me an opening to pour out my woes. How I was hoodwinked into visiting the dentist (bet that made the dentist feel good about his profession) and how I was very glad to hear that I would not have to see him again for quite some time (again, winning comments to make to a person who can cause you great physical pain) and how my husband was going to get a full treatment of smugness from me. I distressed and amused the lovely dentist in equal measure, I think. 

I am all right on the dental scene.

Bryan on the other hand has ground his teeth almost to the roots. He has gnashed and bashed his teeth to the point that they have stress fractures (just like mountains under the pressure of the tectonic plates I am guessing) and splintering shards of enamel cracking away from his teeth and has been instructed to hold a pencil between his teeth when he works to protect his gnashers from his strong grinding jaw. Ha, Ha, Ha!  All this in addition to the gum guard that he already wears while sleeping to stop him grinding away at what is left of his bite. I have a game that I like to play with his gum guard. I wait till he has it in his mouth and then I will start a conversation so that he has to take it out.  I don't do it often, just every now and then to mix up our bedtime routine a bit.

Did I mention that I have a healthy set of teeth?