I ain't no Bridget Jones...

WANTED: one bacardi with a hat...

Monday July 2nd 2007

I think I’ve lost about half a stone already, partly through sweat and partly through being forced unwillingly into a strict detox programme. I haven’t had a drink since Saturday night and yes, I’m well aware it’s only Monday, but when you literally can’t get a drink anywhere, it only makes you want one more!

Walking home again from the office tonight I would have killed for a nice, cold beer back at the hotel.  But there isn’t even a bar here.  And there doesn’t seem to be any hotels/bars anywhere near here, either.  T and I started dreaming of the mini Bacardi I smuggled into the country in my make-up bag. It’s been sitting on my windowsill in its little Mexican Hat since 2004 and I couldn’t bear to part with it.  The time had come, I thought, to tuck in – we’d mix it with some orange juice and break the fast with a nice rum night cap. BUT – and you won’t believe this – on getting back to our apartment, mini Bacardi was missing. He’d gone AWOL.  I saw him this morning – I’d placed him lovingly by the telly opposite the beds, next to the disgusting German aniseed concoction Lucy brought me back from Hamburg. But when we reached for it, it had gone.

The maid must have nicked it – it’s the only explanation.  She obviously left the German shit behind because it looks almost medicinal – it’s so gross. But my beautiful Bacardi baby she took for herself, to drink no doubt in a darkened doorway, or exchange for a few thousand dirhams in a land where my blessed Mexican rum child is as precious as a newborn baby on the black market. Gutted! 

At least it’s gone to a good home, I suppose.  At least it’s been enjoyed and appreciated instead of glugged in a last minute attempt at prolonging a night of inebriated joy.  I suppose I shouldn’t be too annoyed, really.  She could have taken my laptop.

My phone's been cut off...

So to anyone who might have sent me a text, don't bother till I send you my new number! Arse. I almost.... ALMOST... forgive Orange, but not quite. They've made my life a misery for years.

Bring on Arab-Chat...or whatever I'll "phone" with next!

Are you sisters?

That was what the lady at the hotel reception asked us last night as Tracy and I wandered in looking rather bedraggled, having WALKED all the way home from the office. Getting a cab was proving impossible so we made the trek along the highway with a sweat on - it must have been about 38 degrees outside. And it was dark. Anyway... we both wear glasses sometimes, (mostly when we can't see) and we both have brown hair, so she asked "Are you sisters?" and we laughed and said no, just friends. Then she looked at me and said, "Oh,.. I thought you were sisters, only you're quite skinny, and..." (looks at Tracy), "You're..."

"Quite fat?" said Tracy. HAAA!!! Error! I honestly don't think some people here have a clue about courtesy, or indeed what women just DON'T say out loud. I'm aware it's a cultural thing - we Brits are all disgusting truth-dodgers in disguise as a very polite nation. But honestly - when you've just trekked a middle eastern highway in desert heat, getting chanted at in Arabic by the Dubai equivalent of the mob that used to wave Diamond White at me and slur insults as I exited Bethnal Green tube, the last thing you need is to be insulted. It was quite funny though. Although of course, Tracy then proceeded to run about 20 miles on the rooftop treadmill as I lifted about three weights and then went and sat in the jacuzzi.

Work is going well today - I've started on a big project and I'm actually learning something about the world in the process. It's kind of like a history lesson - T says it's almost like studying again, being back at uni - although I'm still obviously learning about living in Dubai. We got a cab this morning for three times less than what we paid yesterday. I think he took us round the houses a bit yesterday really, and charged us for a road toll that the bloke today avoided. Anyway, we got here early, got stuck in, and today we're hopefully getting new phone sim cards so I'll wave goodbye to Orange forever - useless wankers that they are. I wouldn't be surprised if they figured out I was here, actually, and started bombarding my brand new number with sales calls. In FACT, I wouldn't be surprised if they sent a representative to my villa (when I find one), wrapped in a robe and shooting evils through a burkha when I refuse to "update my phone for free with a thousand free texts every month". JUST FUCK OFF.

Oooh, free pizza in the conference room? Come to mummy!

Finally here...

Here's a little backdated catch-up, now that we've discovered the email-to-blog trick (thanks daddy!)

Well, I was actually pretty happy up until about 5 minutes ago, when I tried to log into my blog. It wouldn't let me. I don't know if it's my company or the country that's blocking typepad, but if my blogging days are over I'll be VERY unimpressed. And sad.

Other than that my second day in Dubai is going relatively smoothly, bar an hour long journey to work, 90% of which was spent twiddling our thumbs in a cab, 10% of which was spent running round our actual building trying to find the office. It's hot outside too. And by hot, I mean FUCKING HOT. The kind of "hot" you might experience if you import your household oven into your wardrobe, turn the heat up to 300 degrees and sit with your face in the open door. People here seem to be afraid of going outside. We offered to attempt to walk to work, which judging by the map should have taken 20 minutes, but we were met with puzzled looks and a severe shaking of the head session. "You don't walk anywhere in Dubai", was the general consensus. Instead you shut yourself in an air-conditioned cab and sit in traffic for what feels like all eternity, before literally turning the corner and then getting out again. Oh, and all the while you're being stared at through the windows by other drivers for exposing your shoulders, or knees. I'll get used to it.

The apartment in the hotel is nice - Tracy and I were given one each, but seeing as mine was three times the size of the flat I've just left behind we moved all our stuff into one, so we wouldn't get lonely. We've still got a big bed each, tons of space and a sitting room with a DVD and telly,... plus there's a pool on the roof, and a gym that we may (or may not) take advantage of. Oh, we had a swim last night which was great, but it's kind of weird here because the blue sky I was expecting is a kind of sandy brown colour, and what in London would have been a foggy, or rainy haze, here is just a mix of sand, exhaust and sweat. Taking a dip on the roof was like swimming underneath a storm cloud, even though the sun burnt our faces in seconds! Apparently that's normal here for summer,... we have 8 months of blue sky and sunshine ahead, after September/October time.

Everyone is tanned here. H met us at the hotel room and took us for a drive when we first arrived and I couldn't believe how brown she was! It was pretty cool to meet her actually, after writing for months via facebook - she's lovely and so's her mate Daisy, and their villa is ENORMOUS! They live in Satwa, which is kind of an older area, but when we arrived the maid was leaving and sitting up in her room befoe heading out again she exhibited her washed, ironed and hung-up clothing collection and made me think Jeeesus I have to live in a place like this! Although I'm thinking Al Barsha sounds like a good area too, close to the mall of the Emerates. We might be lucky enough to stay at a colleague's house for a few weeks after the hotel stay, as she's leaving for August, so with a bit of luck we won't have to move into our own place/places till September! Gives us a bit of time to explore and get to know the place a bit better - it's all a bit daunting at the moment, AND WHY WON'T MY BLOG WORK??? Agh.

Being ushered off now... more later...

Testing, testing...

I found out yesterday that my blogs have been blocked by the Government out here in Dubai. Apparently anyone with an opinion they might not like is banned from expressing it via typepad and other blog hosts, so my clever dad has come up with a way of posting via email. I hope. Is it working???

another suitcase in another hall...

...and to be honest, the hall is pretty crowded now. Mum and dad kindly brought more suitcases down so I could decide which one to take, but the 20k baggage allowance is a killer, even in a lightweight container! DO THEY NOT KNOW how many clothes I have? I even bought a new dress yesterday morning because I was stumbling round TopShop at 10am drunk, having just been paid. Major error - not a good combo. It's my new "I'm off to Dubai tomorrow so I really really need a nice dress" dress. It's red. Oh and I was drunk in TopShop at 10am because I was up till 4 drinking with my pal G and my brother, having danced and sobbed the night away with most of lastminute.com in a local pub and our most favourite shit-hole, the Roxy. And then I passed out at G's house where I woke up on the wrong side of sober, round the corner from Oxford Street.

Anyway, it's almost 6am and I've been awake since 3, ugh. I had a really nice caesar salad at "the last supper" in the Fat Cat round the corner, but now my mouth feels weird and I think it might be a chewing gum day. But yeah, I think there are just too many things in my head and they're mostly mundane things like making sure my council tax is definitely cancelled and remembering to pack my toothbrush. But it's been hard because Wednesday night was mad anyway and I must have cried on far too many shoulders. The team got me a fab iPod station and an album full of photos that they've commented all over - it's seriously awesome. I can't take it straight away because there's no room but Dad's going to ship it over. Oh, I also got Lee Mead's autograph which I was slightly more excited about than the iPod station, but don't tell anyone. I'm cool.

So, the flight leaves at 10.30pm and I'm meeting Tracy at Heathrow at 7ish, I guess. I can't believe the day has arrived and I'm sitting here surrounded by the remnants of my London life crammed into binbags and Lucy's gonna wake up soon so I'll have to say goodbye. Urgh. Awful. I'm not very good with goodbyes - I think work was slightly miffed that I didn't cry until my emotions had been inebriated with 5 shots of whiskey but you know... I like to be happy. I like to stay strong. Because if I don't, I'll just think too much about the hell I'm doing and why I'm leaving all these fabulous people. This is my last blog from the UK - the next one I'll be writing from Dubai - how weird!

Wish me luck - I'm gonna try and get a few more minute's kip or the flight tonight will be HELL!

a final protest...

At least we did something fun this morning - so I'm not going away feeling totally miserable. We rallied around outside 10 Downing Street as Tony Blair came out and actually got quite bollocked by the anti-war protestors, whose ground we were apparently "advertising" on. Well I guess some might not agreee with a travel and lifestlye company shouting about wanting a FOUR DAY WEEK, when there's a war going on in Iraq but quite frankly someone's got to throw something a little light-hearted into the equation.

leaving the building...

After two fab years here it's my last afternoon,... God it feels so weird! I can't really put a finger on what I'm feeling but I have this funny tightness in my tummy and I don't think it's coming from the pub lunch we just had. The last supper, if you will. It's been such a great journey here, I've made some amazing friends. I wouldn't even call some of them "work" friends anymore, really. They're just friends now.

I remember on my first day when Verity, Dan and Sonia took me to the Monk for a cold sandwich that was supposed to be hot, and extended the warm lastminute.com embrace to a girl who was, quite frankly, rather scared of being flung into what was essentially a giant marketing machine full of strangers, in what looked like a massive call centre. As soon as I walked into the office I took one look around and thought, Jesus, this is no New York. I thought for sure that I'd marry my mate for the greencard and head straight back to the Apple as soon as I could but to be honest, something happened in those first few months and I felt accepted and worthy, and necessary, in a way that I never did in New York. Work was so much fun, and I loved every second, and I decided to stick around. And yeah my feet never really stopped itching but to stay two years wasn't a struggle at all. And it's really hard to leave right now.

I remember dad telling me when I was a kid: "if you can make your money doing a job you love to do, you'll never have to work a day in your life." I'm sure he didn't make that up himself, (although he's very wise). But I think it's true - I have been lucky here. And sure we all moan about things like how much money we're not being paid, and how many promotions we're not getting, but quite frankly I've never woken up and wished I didn't have to go to work, and for that I suppose I'm very grateful. It's reeeeeally hard to leave right now. I think there will probably be a few tears later,... and I'm quite scared about the prospect of making a speech. I have no idea what to say.

Maybe I'll just send this blog link round instead.

he's hardly Jaws...

...but H just sent this rather alarming photo of a shark in the Palm Jumeirah. I think that's the exclusive part out near the beach - the one they dredged the land up from the sea to create? I think that's where all the rich people live, so clearly I won't be setting up home anywhere near his guarded territory, and apparently he's just a harmless whale shark who lost his way but still, I'm not too happy about the fact that there are sharks living ANYWHERE in my vicinity, whatever breed they are.  They still breed nightmares.  I was planning some serious banana boat action out there quite frankly, and we've all seen that bit in Jaws where he bites a massive chunk off the end of an inflatable, including a fair amount of some poor woman's leg. *gulp* 

Also quite scary is how fake those buildings look in the background. It looks like a model village or something, doesn't it. Like you'd expect some Arabic Postman Pat to waddle his animated way along the path delivering plasticine letters to little stiff people.  In fact, I half expect a massive cat's paw to poke out from this photo and start prodding that teeny, weeny shark, before whipping it out of the water and eating it for breakfast. I've heard some people say that Dubai can seem a little fake and "surreal", which could probably be interesting to explore, but I don't really want to live in a plasticine house surrounded by sharks, no matter how nice it looks in the photos. *double gulp*

bagels, byes and bunny burps....

This time next week I'll be sitting at my brand new desk in Dubai. Well, unless I'm on the loo, or at the printer, or boozing away an extended lunch break, although it might be a bit too soon for the latter.

My leaving do was fab on Saturday night - loads of my lovely friends came to say Dubai-bye which was nice, and even though it pissed it down we managed to get a spot outside the Vibe Bar underneath the canvas, and there was something quite cool about the rain crashing down around us as we drank and Andy amazed us with his magic tricks. (I have to say that because if I say they were shit he'll get angry - aaaw they weren't shit - mostly). I wished "the boy" could have been there, but we spoke on the phone and he said he would have come if I'd asked. Hmmm.... I'm sure I did ask, last weekend in Barcelona, but maybe he didn't think I was serious. Or forgot. Oh well. He did send me the nicest text message that anyone has EVER sent me, which made me smile. I want him to work in Dubai now!

Oh, I got some lovely cards and pressies too, including a hot vintage bikini from Anna, whoo hoooooooooooo!  The bro got pretty bladdered, bless him, but it's all good for making friends... and of course, my final brick lane bagel was scrumptious too.  I needed to drink about 90 gallons of water throughout the night to compensate for the salt but it was worth it. I'll miss those beefy beauties.

Last night, after an entire day of sitting round in my PJ's, fending off a hangover whilst uploading photos onto facebook, Lucy took me out to the new Shoreditch House, as she's a member, the jammy swine! The place was amazing, and just what I needed to round up my last London weekend. It's right round the corner from our fave bar, The Redchurch, and it was soooo exclusive that Lucy said she kept thinking we were gonna get kicked out for looking like straggling blaggers. Seriously, on the top floor is an open air pool with massive loungers all around it, overlooking the London skyline (mostly cranes and the gherkin, but still, it's cool, alright?!) We had a half price glass of wine as Dermot O'leary chatted to our right and watched the men sweeping the rain away from the middle of the room and into the open fireplace. (Apparently, that part of the roof won't be arriving till August. Error)

At dinner, we sat at long, banquet type tables with a bottle of gorgeous red and ordered from the (half price) menu. I chose some kind of scallop affair that looked like a flattened jellyfish, or some dolphin puke, but tasted ok, followed by rabbit casserole. I don't think I'd ever had rabbit before that,.. well not that I can remember anyway, but it tasted a bit like chicken, only more tender. Still feel a bit bad for liking it though. Especially when I did a little bunny burp after finishing it all and suddenly had a terrible flashback to petting little Fiver - the rabbit I cared for as a child... until he froze in his hutch in that cruel, cruel Lincolnshire winter of 1996. (RIP)

David Walliams was there, on his own at first, waiting for some bird. He was in my direct eye line every time Lucy moved, and actually he's pretty fit for a bloke who's made a mint by dressing up as a "lady". I also saw Alex Zane when I was on the way back from the loo, but mostly it was just an average, family crowd, and a smattering of super cool media looking types - aka, long hair, scarves and tight trousers.

You know, the whole time I was in there, wearing my posh frock and feeling ever so slightly out of my league, I couldn't help but think that maybe, the majority of bars in Dubai are going to be like that. I'm definitely gonna have to wean myself off my skinny jeans...