I predict a riot, except I didn't and neither did anyone else

I've spent the day, when I really should have been concentrating on my glossy magazine stuff, compiling stuff on what British ex-pats think about the riots for the ever brilliant Khaleej Times.

The premise of my story is that I, as a person living abroad, worries that the England I will go back to visit and eventually for good will be a changed place with new, tougher criminal justice laws intended to crack down on people who think the police shooting of a man is a good reason to go out and nick a microwave.

I felt the same during the News of the World malarkey because the actions of a few will probably eventually mean that privacy laws are tightened to prevent it happening again meaning the job will be harder for mid- ranking hacks like me.

Things I have discovered today are:

1. I am still really, really crap at vox pops. 

2. British ex-pat men are pretty happy to say what they think in a newspaper but British ex-pat women, less so, particularly if you ask them to have their picture in the paper.

3. I am the only over-opinionated prima donna that I know in Dubai apart from possibly one of my bosses.  That must be why we got on so well.

4. I am somewhat rusty at this news reporting lark.  Just ask a certain editor who was greeted with roughly 17million words of copy to sort out half an hour past deadeline

5. Trying to do news reporting to a first edition deadline while simultaneously trying to do a different assignment which involves arguing with people in PR about why they can't just send us one image instead of 1GB of info that we have to dig image out of and crashes our computer is not a good plan. Still, I signed up to this freelancing thing so I shouldn't complain.

6. Not many people share my opinion that Britain will change thanks to the riots.  Must remember to check people think what I think they think before I start writing a story.

I am genuinely appreciative of everyone who's put up with me ruthlessly mining you for information and pics today, particularly when I'm the only one getting paid for it (it's not very much if that makes you feel any better) and when some of you have been directly affected by having your communities torn up by these little plonkers.

I couldn't include everything that was sent to me, some of it because there just wasn't room and some of it because it might have looked like we were taking the mick. 

One of the ommissions was this comedy gold nugget that one of the Sand Warlock's colleagues sent to me in response to being asked if he knew anyone directly affected by the riots. I thought it should reach a wider audience even though it didn't make it into the hallowed pages of the KT.

"I once shopped with Carpetright, and although not in the Tottenham branch, it’s still sad they’ve been targeted. I can’t think why they’d be victimised; I bought a really lush rug at a competitive price and experienced nothing but fine customer service throughout – I can only imagine wrong place at the wrong time?"

I think that says it all.

Ramadan Kareem

I'm on my eighth day of Ramadan and you'll be pleased to know I'm surviving extremely well.

No, no, please, there's no need to pat me on the back. Yes, I know, this not fasting, not getting up early to pray, not making any kind of religious observance whatsoever, doesn't half take it out of a girl, but please, no, I really don't deserve your praise.

Seriously, though, fasting in the desert is obviously no joke.  No food or drink between sunrise and sunset is tough when the sun's fully up long before you're normally awake and sets between 6 and 7pm, and, of course, there's the temperatures and the ever present drying out air con which makes the lack of liquids particularly difficult.  To give you an indication of what it's like at the moment, we trundled past a temperature indicator on Beach Road this morning and it was 46degrees by 9.30am so kudos to everyone who's managing the fast.  

We have already noticed the effect of it on some of the people we meet going about our day to day business.

The Sand Warlock was in the post office the other day and his conversation with the man behind the counter went a little something like this.

SW: I would like to pay this parking fine and post these letters to the UK, please.

MBC: OK, that's 150 dirhams for the parking fine plus 10 dirhams for the admin fee.

(SW pays the 150) SW: And how much for the letters?

MBC: Oh yes, I'll weigh them.  9.50 for each of those and five for that one.

(hands over stamps)

MBC: Is that all?

SW: Yes, but I haven't paid you for the stamps.

MBC:  Oh, right, how much is it?

SW: Well, it's usually you that tells me that, but it's 24 dirhams.

MBC: OK.

SW: Here's the money.

*pause*

Can I have my change?

MBC: Yes.

*another pause*

MBC: How much is the change?

SW: It's a dirham, but, again, it is usually you that tells me that.

MBC: You don't have exact money?

SW: Er, no.

MBC: *grumbles a bit then hands over a dirham.*

SW: What's the 10dirham admin fee for the parking fine all about? 

MBC: It's Dubai, they just find ways to take money off you. Don't complain.

SW: OK, thanks, cheerio.

Poor chap. Barely knew what he was doing and there was at least another six hours until sunset at this point.  A lot of offices and facilities, particularly the Government ones, close early during the holy month presumably because there's such a dip in productivity in the afternoons.  

There does appear to be some confusion as to who has to fast and when.  Despite what I thought I knew about it in the UK, it would appear that children are at least expected to have a go at fasting and those from aged 15 and upwards should make even more of a commitment,

I've also read on The National that diabetics have been given advice on how to observe the fast safely along with pregnant women, although I've seen conflicting articles in the last few days, first saying pregnant women do have to fast, then today the Gulf News  they don't unless they've had health checks first. 

The article that has tickled my fancy most is this one:  That those who live above a certain height in the world's tallest building should break their fast a bit later

The reason being for this is that, from such a height, the sun sets a little later and therefore, iftar comes later.  Incidentally, I have to get used to seeing the word "fatwa". Child of the 80s that I am, I still associate it with the "fatwa" against Salman Rushdie.  Remember that? Such fun. It meant that he was in hiding rather than being photographed at literary events looking increasingly grizzled with progressively younger women.  But a fatwa is not a death threat, it's more like a decree which may be related to Jihad but usually it's a simple rule for followers of Islam to observe.  

Anyway, my usual glibness and flippancy aside, Ramadan does affect all of us non-Muslims in this part of the world because it means a lot of cafes and restaurants are closed during fasting hours so the Dubai habit of barely using your kitchen goes to the wall and you actually have to cook for yourself.  It means that parts of Dubai Mall dedicated to restaurants look like the apocalypse has happened, if the apocolypse was a very orderly and organised event in which everyone left on a particular date, that is.  Some outlets, such as the Starbucks near my block of flats, are open but only for takeways and they have black screens up lest a Muslim pass and see someone consuming something. 

We're also asked not to eat or drink, even chewing gum or water, in public, in case someone sees us.  Even eating in your car is considered extremely disrespectful and you can get a police warning and then a fine if you're caught doing it again.  So, you really need to make sure you've had plenty of water to drink if you're going to be walking anywhere or outside for any period of time to avoid dehydration unless you can find somewhere out of sight to have a drink. 

Oh frabjous day, calloo, callay. I nearly forgot, a benefit of Ramadan, apart from the delicious Iftar suppers on offer at the hotels and restaurants, is that public music is not really the thing, so it appears to that the loud and offensively rubbish young people's music, drippy R&B with that annoying computerised voice effects, that they normally play in the gym, is turned off.  So, I can listen to CNN news or my own music without having to turn up my iPod so loud that my ears ring for hours afterwards. 

Fashionista

Here's something to get you through 10 minutes or so at work during the heatwave back home, my attempt at fashion journalism

They cut my comment about me looking like Harry Potter's deranged auntie in a pair of designer shades which I thought was the best bit, but it can't be helped.

The Dubai stone

I had another one of those: "You know, this is a rather strange place" moments when I was arthritically lumbering around the gym this morning.

Gyms are not my natural habitat. Tapping away on a computer while slurping six cups of a tea in a row, that's more my usual comfort zone, but you learn pretty quick that the combination of home delivery takeaways, being within walking distance of every variety of restaurant under the sun and it being too hot to set foot outside for more than five minutes means that you'd better do something quick if you still want your buttocks to be able to cram into your plane seat on your trip home. It's known as the Dubai stone. 

So, several days a week I am to be found clad in lycra and ancient running shoes pounding away on the treadmill and lifting really quite pitifully small weights while being bemused by screens showing Animal Planet, CNN, MTV and the like.

After attempting some pathetic situps and staggering to my feet with my usual head rush (low blood pressure, it's a family thing) I spotted a gardener wondering past one of the building's glass doors pushing a wheelbarrow.

This is not unusual as the gym building, like many, is surrounded by lush green foliage which is tended by teams of gardeners who work for the property company Emaar.  The "this is a rather strange place" moment came when I clocked the fact that he had some kind of scarf or cloth draped over his head to protect him from the heat and he was painfully thin, as are many of the manual workers from the sub continent that you see tending gardens or working on construction sites.

"Bizarre," I thought to myself.  "Here I am, having paid for the privelege of trying to burn off my excess calories in this air conditioned environment when I could save myself a lot of hassle if I ate fewer pies and made the effort to brave the heat and go for a walk.  That chap probably gets paid in a month what my three-month gym membership cost, if he's lucky.  The last thing on his mind would be trying to burn calories, just getting enough fluids onboard to survive the heat and enough food in his belly later so he has the strength to lift that wheelbarrow and enough money left over to send a bit home to his family. I am, in fact, a ridiculous person."

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Life here is strange, people. It can be really very nice and easy thanks to the cheap labour represented by my wheelbarrow pushing chum but you're constantly reminded of what a priveleged position you're in as a  European ex-pat as opposed to a poor migrant worker.  I do worry that I will stop noticing people like that gardener if I stay here too long. I hope not.

No woman, no buy

I crawled out of a doomladen weekend of news of the deaths of dozens of people in Norway in a terror attack by some right wing nutter and the inevitable but still miserable demise of Amy Winehouse searching for something to convince me that yes, life in the dust bowl still goes on as normal and the (immensely fierce and really quite burny) sun will continue to shine. Thanks to the Gulf's, erm, most peculiar news source, I found it.  

Any news story that incorporates a play on words into a Bob Marley song title for its headline is alright by me so gold star to my beloved Emirates 24/7, purveyor of fine headlines since, well, probably a few years ago.  

But there's more than just the headline to love in this story about shopkeepers sneakily taking advantage of discounts at the new Union Coop in Al Barsha, Dubai.  The very idea that taking a woman with them will stop these men buying up huge amounts of fruits, vegetables and household goods in order to sell them on at a profit, that a woman will be way too honest to countenance such behaviour tickled me a great deal.  

I am also now entertaining a host of mental images. 1. These men dressing up in saris or abayas, shaving their beards and donning wigs and makeup, such will be their desperation to profit from the Coop's generous discounting. Or perhaps, not because they're not best keen on cross dressing in Dubai.  2. They could send their wives or sisters down there to buy half a ton of onions and tomatos and innocently tell the manager that they're having a really, really big dinner party.  3.  Grab an innocent woman shopper at the doors of the Coop, bribe her and convince her to accompany you on your supermarket discount sweep.  Marvellous stuff. 

I applaud them for taking the really rather forward thinking step of banning men from the store rather than, say, stop people buying up goods in large amounts. No arguments about the reasoning for buying 20 sacks of spuds, just ban the man. Awesome.

They've well and truly got their message across that the Coop is offering really quite massive discounts.  If they weren't relatively innocent in the dark arts of press releases and PR in this part of the world, I'd suspect a publicity stunt.  Oh no.  Perhaps they're not, perhaps the protested innocence is all part of the clever plan to suck you in with their genius PR and I've fallen for it. Argh! *Black hole opens up as the universe collapses in on itself and Sand Witch melts in manner of Wicked Witch of the West in Wizard of Oz.*   

Beneath the veil

I was surprised by this article which I found on the Gulf News this morning as it's by a young Emirati woman who nearly expresses discontent at feeling compelled to wear the abaya.  Expressing discontent isn't really the thing in the Emirates, at least, not that I've seen in the English language media anyway, unless you're a conservative politician quoted expressing muted complaints about the amount of foreigners "coming over here, taking our jobs" (which shows there's nothing new under the sun), or the decline in the standards of behaviour of the youth.

She says she likes wearing it but obviously feels a bit fed up about it when she sees pictures of her mother at her age dressed in Western-style clothes.  She also hints at a double life, the one you live with your parents and the one you live with your friends.

Women's dress in the Emirates is something that is often on my mind because walking around Dubai Mall, which is the equivalent of walking around your local town centre, particularly in summer when it's too hot to be outside, I've noticed more and more women wearing the niqab or face covering.

It's also been in the local news recently that the number of visitors from other Gulf states has risen dramatically thanks to bargain-rate hotel rooms in Dubai.  It could therefore be that they are visitors from stricter states like Saudi Arabia, because, as I've said before, many of Dubai's young Emirati women tend to be beautifully made up with their veils pushed back to show elaborate hair styles and wearing ginormous designer heels.

In contrast, I've noticed some of the younger women still in their abayas but have thrown off their head coverings and stuffed them into their bags.  I think I would do the same if I knew I was going to be walking out into 40+degree heat or if I had made any kind of effort with my hair. It must be the Emirati equivalent of rolling up your standard issue knee-length unflattering box pleated school skirt. 

It's July in Dubai so get your warm clothes out

I haven't gone mad but since the temperature has crept above 40degrees (46 today, 45 tomorrow and 41 on Tuesday) I've had to get the warm clothes out.  The reason being that our block's air conditioning seems to have been cranked right up to cope with the heat.

It's particularly a problem in the late evenings. The humidity ratchets right up after dark has fallen meaning that it still feels incredibly hot even though the temperature's probably dropped a bit. The air con seems to respond to the humidity outside rather than the heat so it keeps on pumping deep freeze into the flat. The other night I had to put on trousers, jumper and pashmina to keep warm.  I also put on socks for the first time since I came here other than when going for a run or at the gym.

I resorted to opening the patio door wide this morning to let some warmth in.  The heat is such that when you stand in front of the open door, it's a bit like being in front of an open oven.  A very odd feeling indeed.  At least the sand storms seem to have stopped for now.  There was a period last week when I felt like I was in Lawrence of Arabia because of the grains of sand blowing into my eyes when I nipped out for a pint of milk.

Maybe that's why some of the women here favour the transluscent, completely covering, black veils over the niqab face coverings which have a slit which leave the eyes exposed.

Still, at least I've got Ramadan to look forward to. Thankfully, it starts the day after my birthday this year.  There have already been warnings in the newspapers that people seen eating or drinking in public during fasting hours will be given a first warning and if they are caught again, they will be prosecuted.  My plan is to stay indoors and out of the way of all that, which is pretty much what I've been doing since the hot weather started anyway.