Designer booze for the discerning royal

I'm going to recount a little anecdote to take my mind off the fact that the accounts department for my main employer seem to think it's perfectly fine to pay me five days (and counting) late.

It's a cultural thing.  My pay needs to approved by one of the company owners and he's been away, as have many people, for the Eid break. Far be it from the accounts dept to bother working ahead, as we do in the UK at Christmas/bank holidays/to make sure we get paid on time or, indeed, bother to contact the boss themselves to make sure it goes through or even let me know that my pay might be late. No, better to wait until I discover said pay still hasn't arrived in my bank account and get on the phone grumpier than a troll with ant bites on its arse and then get me to chase around after said boss because of course I have nothing better to do with my time such as getting on with work/ranting on this blog.

This is one of those many points in life in the UAE when it's best to take a deep breath and remind yourself that this country is just under 40 years old and therefore there are, of course, fewer efficient systems in place to make sure that life as we in the West know it runs smoothly and that we just have to live with it and appreciate the lack of rain instead.

Anyhoo. On with the anecdote

My best beloved was about to clock off from work this morning when a High Up Important Airport Person sashayed into view saying: "A female member of the royal family of a state which doesn't totally ban drinking but doesn't encourage it which shall remain nameless (that's not exactly how he put it, obviously, but you get my point) would like to buy a bottle from you."

"Rightio, then, send the old duck in," quoth he (why do people become cockney in mind's eye? Is it because my mother was born within earshot of the Bow Bells? Who knows?)

"She would like to buy a bottle of Chivas Alexander McQueen and will send her representative shortly," said the High Up Important Person.

For the unitiated, this is bog standard Chivas but in a limited edition and in a bottle which was one of the last things designed by the late Mr McQueen.   A picture of said bottle can be seen here

"Gor blimey, strike a light, send them in, then, the Missus is waiting outside the airport revving Kevin the Toyota to take me home and I went to get out of here sharpish,"  he chuntered. Well, that's an approximation of what he chuntered. Knowing him it was probably some really polite chuntering.

"Nyes.  It would be better if you had a bag with no labelling," pointed out the High Up Important Person.

It's a funny old world, isn't it?  A member of a royal family hiding their booze inside a plain package like a park drinker with a bottle in a brown bag.  Well that's me distracted, I'm off to count the 33dirhams I currently have to my name. Oh, such riches are to be found in the Middle East! I'm teetering on a pile of oil cash, here, you know.

Headline of this Eid day, Expert Advice: Eat less food

Eid Mubarak my dear readers.  May the day be full of festive fun and joy. Or, if you're in a non-Muslim country it will probably pass you by, but there we are.

In case you're wondering what we're up to, the Sand Warlock is at work (no time off in the twilight world of the airport) and I will be at home chewing my nails, scratching my head and working half-heartedly until he gets home.

Then we're off to dinner at the dwelling of an ex-pat with an assortment of Dutch, Egyptian, English and Scottish people.  That sounds like a joke, doesn't it?

In the mean-time, I just had to share some expert advice and a possible winner of headline of the month from the ever marvellous Gulf News.

That advice is: eat less food

What a truly groundbreaking and though provoking piece of advice, and published on a day associated with feasting after a period of fasting and abstinence throughout the Muslim world.  Until this day, it had genuinely not occurred to me that if I ate fewer pies, I would be healthier. Gulf News, I salute you for your foresight. 

Say it in Broken English

I heard a funny story about the misinterpretation of the words of an innocent English hack. This innocent hack was writing about a high up person in a global jewellery brand attending a fancy-schmancy Dubai event sponsored by his company.

She used that classic British language device of understatement by stating that said high up chap "knows a thing or two about jewels, gems and bling" or something similar.

Unfortunately, this was misinterpreted.  The reason this was misinterpreted is that many of the PRs that we indirectly deal with are Lebanese who speak Arabic, French and then English as their third language. The reason many of them are Lebanese is that they are often working with Swiss and French companies so being in the Middle East and speaking French and Arabic is extremely handy for this purpose.

Malheureusement, the PR people, reading as they were in their third language, took this to mean that what was being implied was that high up person knew just one or two things, that he knew little, and took great offence and demanded a retraction, etc.

No amount of persuading on innocent hack's part convinced them otherwise, so, presumably, in the next issue of the magazine, a clarification along the following lines will be published:

XXXX magazine previously stated that Mr X knows a thing or two about gems, jewels and bling.  We wish to clarify that Mr X knows a great deal about jewels, gems and bling and any implication that Mr X knows just one or two things about this matter was unintentional and we wish to apologise for any offence caused.

Innocent hack told me a similarly entertaining story about a time she covered a horse beauty competition in Saudi Arabia and she used the phrase "fairest of them all" for a headline.  Unfortunately, the King of Saudi Arabia, who sponsored the competition, took umbridge at this saying the magazine was accusing participants of cheating and threatened to pull the plug on cooperation.  Several 10 page missives later explaining the story of Snow White, the dwarves, the wicked queen and the magic mirror, he was placated.

Ah, the perils of international publishing. 

Up on the roof

Being the dedicated housewifey that I am, I drop the old man off at work at the airport each morning. OK, that's a lie. I work at home and I know if I didn't have to get up to take him to work, I probably wouldn't get up until 2pm and would therefore accomplish nothing.

Each day I like to watch the tiny little men running around on top of Dubai Airport's Terminal 4 which is currently under construction. Well, I have to entertain myself somehow. The Sand Warlock is many things but a morning person is not one of them, therefore the conversation tends to be somewhat monosyllabic.

As an aside, I know the men are regular-sized really. I'm not like Father Dougal in that scene from Father Ted in which Ted has to explain to the younger priest the difference between "small" and "far away". 

You can just about see the poor beggars running about up there already, by 7.30am.

They remind me of that compulsive computer game Lemmings as they do look very tiny, as high up and far away as they are from Marrakech Street where this pic was taken.

They seem to wonder about quite freely, unencumbered by such boring, tedious things as harnesses or climbing ropes to prevent them hurtling to their deaths.  You can't really tell from this picture but the shell of the terminal, which I have been told will be for A380 or double decker passenger jets only, is made of glass and this morning I watched one of Dubai's several billion cranes swinging about merrily in the wind as materials were lifted on to the roof perilously close to it. 

Really, living in a society relatively unfettered by that silly old Health and Safety nonsense doesn't half make the morning commute diverting.  Such fun, as Miranda Hart's onscreen mother would say.

The terrace where taste dies

I'm a young(ish) fogey and I listen to Radio 4 including programmes such as Gardener's Question Time.  Let's just get out the way so you can smirk at my tragic life and then read on.

I was reminded of Bob Flowerdew's recent controversial comment that hanging baskets are "the place where taste dies" by this divine item spotted at Ace, the Dubai equivalent of Homebase:

 That's right, people, it's a free standing water feature modeled on Dubai's seven-star hotel the Burj Al Arab.

It's clearly for the discerning buyer for whom a keyring or ornament is not enough. They want to tack up their garden while simultaneously causing all who come near to want a pee with the permanent sound of running water.

At least you now all know what to buy us for Christmas. 

Eat a big supper at a luxury hotel? If(tar) you insist

Ramadan, I've been reading in the local newspapers, is a great time during which people spend more time with their families and sit down to evening meals together at the end of a hard day's fasting rather than ordering a takeaway and collapsing in front of the 3m flatscreen.

That may be the case for Muslims, anyway, particularly those who have the good fortune to be living with or near their families.

For us non-Muslim ex-pats, it's a bit different. I'm not going to moan about it, partly because Ramadan is really no hardship for me, and partly because a British woman recently got taken to court for insulting Ramadan on Facebook. But the differences are marked: Obviously we tend not to fast but you have to be a bit careful about making sure you don't eat in public in case someone sees you and is offended. Things tend to be closed and raucous Western-style partying is not as well tolerated, so quite a few people in search of entertainment, us included, give the old Ramadan suppers a go at the local hotels. They're basically the same as brunches, but with a bit more focus on Arabic cuisine and no booze.

We tried the one down our local.  It was rather sweet with delicious food. We were sitting near a man who had clearly been observing the fast as he barely paused for breath between mouthfuls. 

I then got a bit keen on the idea of the Ramadan tents I keep reading about and having purchased a Time Out Dubai we spotted Al Majlis at Mina Al Salaam Hotel, Madinat, which promised an authentic Arabic Iftar experience and a luxurious Ramadan tent.

"That sounds fun," I thought, picturing myself, Sand Warlock and a recently arrived fellow ex-pat who we knew in Blighty, sitting cross-legged on cushions sampling authentic Gulf region delights in between puffs on a Shisha. So we put on our trousers and skirts with the elasticated waists and off we jolly well went.

It turns out that the Mina Al Salaam's idea of a tent is a little different from your average marquee or indeed Millett's camping shop Eurohike job as it looked a little bit, well, in fact, exactly like this:

There were blokes in fezes rambling round lighting and keeping shishas going and sumptuously-attired waitresses looking elegant and not minding in the least when I barged into one of them spilling her glasses of juice because I had fallen into a diabetic coma just from passing by the pudding table.

It was a very enjoyable experience as the food was delicious.  I took care to sample as many Arabic-style things as I could which seemed to largely consist of huge quantities of grilled or roasted meat, including whole lambs roasted surrounded by rice, which I believe is known as Lamb Ouzi, and various couscous or chickpea-related dishes.  Generally speaking, I have found the Emiratis I have met so far to be somewhat acerbic and deadpan (which does make me wonder if I have some Emirati heritage somewhere along the line) so seeing them tuck into large buffet dinners with something that resembles enthusiasm was diverting.

The experience also differs from brunch in that it's in the evening and they play a recording of the call to prayer before everyone chows down.  There were plenty of Gulf Arabs there which suggests that it is at least close to something resembling authentic, however, I'm still in search of a real Emirati Iftar.

Next stop, the snappily named Sheikh Mohammed Centre for Cultural Understanding which I am told serves Emirati dishes at Iftar in a wind tower.

Milky milky

It turns out that getting people to agree to be interviewed is a lot harder in the UAE than it is in the UK, particularly when said people are effectively employed by one Sheikh Mohammed. 

Hence this relatively simple story about the viability of camel milk in the UAE took weeks of wrangling. Another lesson learned.