Banned in the UAE!

The other night, I did some work on my blog, behind the scenes. I spiffed up the ‘About’ page, and a couple of the other sections. I also knocked out a quick post – nothing controversial, just a conversation that had taken place with my sons at bedtime.

So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up in the morning and discovered my blog had been banned in the UAE!

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My ban came in the same week that the UAE cracked down on applying makeup while driving and taking selfies at the wheel

Not the whole website, it turned out, but the latest post (below if you’re online). If you click on it in the UAE, you get the Du surf safely message, telling you that the website you’re trying to access contains prohibited material (!) Don’t worry, I’m not writing this from behind bars [laughs nervously].

I’ve no idea what I’d written that was so offensive, but I took this to be a blogging milestone – at a vast quantum leap of the imagination, could it put Circles in the Sand in the same category as the FHM and Maxim websites, which are blocked in the UAE, I wondered? Or, at an even further stretch, The Wolf of Wall Street? Martin Scorsese’s film had 45 minutes of unsuitable content cut, and in places didn’t even make sense. My blog only had about 300 words censored, but I do often wonder if my late-night ramblings about the non-stop party that motherhood is (joke!) are coherent.

Given that I’m pretty sure it comes across in my humble blog that I genuinely love living in Dubai, I can only imagine the censorship software was feeling a little oversensitive – perhaps trying to get its point across to all the newbies here in time for the new school year, and that it will gradually lose interest. Like a really bad teacher.

So, here goes … testing … testing … testing: I’m gingerly pushing Publish and hoping it was a one-off glitch. Fingers crossed. If you don’t hear from me again, I’m writing my novel in jail.

My little polygamist

I had a quiet chuckle this week when I saw in my blog stats that someone had landed on Circles in the Sand after asking Google: “Can expats have more than one wife in Dubai?”

Any Western men reading this, you know that the answer is no, right? It’s just Muslim men who, under sharia law, are allowed to practise polygamy – that is, they can have more than one wife at the same time, up to a total of four.

So I was having a little laugh at the expense of the hen-pecked Googler who was clearly curious about his chances of polygamy.

But then

I was putting the boys to bed tonight. We were reading an Enid Blyton story, and in it, there was a stepfather.

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Three’s a crowd: Son1’s wedding in 20 years’ time

“What’s a stepfather, Mummy?” Son1 asked.

I attempted to explain. “Well, if anything happens to Daddy [God forbid], and I ended up getting married again, then my new husband would be your stepfather.”

Son1 looked solemn. I probably should have stopped right there.

“And, likewise, if something happens to me, and Daddy gets a new wife, she’d be your stepmother,” I continued.

Son2 made a reassuring sound suggesting he wouldn’t want a new Mummy, but Son1 still had questions so I elaborated, using the example of my brother-in-law – also a pilot in Dubai, who is exceedingly eligible with flight attendants lining up to date him.

“You know your Uncle’s pretty friends who we meet. Well, if Daddy was to marry one of them [Note to DH: I would haunt you], she’d be your stepmum. But you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No,” said Son2, emphatically.

“Can’t I have both of you?”, asked Son1, with an unmistakeable twinkle in his eye. “A stepmum and a mum! Why not?”

Facepalm!

Silent Sunday: UAE logic

If you live in the UAE, you’ll know that addresses such as “Past the mosque, first right after the Spinneys then turn left after the cat sitting on the wall” are commonplace. But even when you find the street on which your friend lives, pinpointing the actual villa isn’t always easy …

driven by the eventual postal system but currently we're both villa4 & villa6

A good friend of mine is at villa 4 – or is it villa 6? Take your pick! We think this is driven by the eventual postal system, but who really knows …

Frequently asked questions

“Your ticket is upgradable,” the nice lady at the check-in informed me. “Do you wish to upgrade?”

“Thank you, but no,” I replied, shaking my head (thinking yes, YES please. Do I want to upgrade? Of course I do! Who wouldn’t?)

But, no matter how tempted I was by the free-flowing wine, champers, gourmet cuisine, canapés, flat-bed and acres of legroom on offer in the A380’s upper deck, it was never going to happen. There was no upgrade for the boys, and they’re too young to sit by themselves (there’s always next year!).

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Bye, bye England! (s0b)

So, instead, I leapt on Son2’s conversational freight train for the 7-hour journey from London to Dubai:

“Mummy, what country are we flying over? What’s the smallest country, Mummy? … Is Dubai bigger than England? … Are we in space? If we’re not in space, is the upstairs in space? When are we there?” …

[The moment my eyes closed] MUMMY! WHEN.are.we.THERE? [Bringing me back to earth, or at least 37,000 feet above it, in a snap.] Is it nighttime in Dubai? I’m hungry Mummy! (Me: “They just served you a kids’ meal, and you didn’t want it!’ said through gritted teeth.) Is there wifi? Can I watch YouTube? How fast is the wind, Mummy? Is England still bigger than Dubai?”

Until I could see his mouth moving, but couldn’t really hear what he was saying and could do nothing but nod at whatever his moving lips were trying to assault me with.

Whereas Son1 plugged himself into the in-flight entertainment and watched back-to-back movies, with a couple of iPad breaks. Oh the difference being nearly three years older makes.

Fashion advice from a 5 year old

I thought that having boys would mean I’d be spared from repeatedly hearing the Frozen soundtrack Let It Go.

But like the snow in the part Norway, part Narnia Disney movie, the song is everywhere: in the car, on the TV, on the YouTube clips my boys devour. It’s their new life anthem, and they can’t seem to get enough of the animated movie this summer.

[Lowers voice] I think because they’ve developed soft spots for the two resourceful heroines – Elsa and Anna (carefully pronounced: “It’s ‘Ah-nah’ Mummy!”).

But it’s not the remodelled princess stereotype, or the way proactive Ah-nah rescues guys from danger by setting things on fire and throwing them at wolves that they like. It’s Elsa’s hair.

"Can I have an 'Elsa' please!"

“Can I have an ‘Elsa’ please!”

“Mummy?” said Son2 yesterday. “Can you have your hair done like Elsa?”

“Erm … I could try,” I replied. “It might be impossible,” I warned. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I could just imagine the look on his face as I came out of the salon without Elsa’s long ice-blonde hair, huge glassy eyes and sparkly gown.

“Not her queen hair, Mummy,” said Son2. “Her ponytail.”

“I know,” I said. “You mean her loose, flowing plait – after her makeover.”

I hesitated. “But I wouldn’t look like Elsa,” I warned again.

Son2 thought for a moment. And, because anything’s possible when you’re 5, came up with a solution: “Just take the DVD box into the hairdressers and show them what Elsa’s hair looks like.”

With dark roots an inch long, dried-up split ends and general neglect due to 7 weeks away, I can almost hear my hairstylist attempting to suppress her laughter.

When old friends become famous

My parents have lived in the same town for more than 40 years, so when I visit, it’s hard to go anywhere without bumping into a memory.

My first school, middle school, secondary school, bus stop, sweet shop, houses where friends lived, even the field where I met DH (don’t ask!) all still exist. But although the places are still here, the people are not. Most moved on years ago, with the exception of a few who I know through social media are still in the vicinity somewhere.

I think I spotted one at the station the other day, but what do you do? Can you go bounding up to a total stranger and say: “Hello, we did Biology together 30 years ago! Blimey, look how much older you’ve got!” (Like you tell children how much bigger they’ve got.)?

Looking up old friends is much more fun than googling symptoms, which never ends well

Searching for old friends is much more fun than googling symptoms, which never ends well

Far better to go home and look them up on Facebook, or Google – and get the low-down in just a few clicks. More fun is doing this with a mutual pal, especially after a couple of glasses of vino.

At Café Rouge last night, while nibbling on a salad Paysanne and fries, a good friend and I caught up. We covered all the usual topics (kids, schools, work, holiday activities); had a few ‘remember when’ moments; and then moved on to ‘Do you remember x? Whatever happened to y? And did you keep in touch with z?’

Not in a gossipy way, you understand, but with a healthy curiosity – and an internet connection.

And that’s when you find out that some of your old friends went on to much bigger and greater things than you were ever encouraged to aspire to in Home Economics.

I looked up S, an old schoolmate, and found her on Facebook. Except hers isn’t exactly an ordinary Facebook page. It’s her international model page, and it’s peppered with gorgeous fashion photos. Her bee-stung lips and exotic beauty radiating glamorously across the internet.

On a roll, we googled a university peer, L – now a famous model and writer (of Richard Gere former girlfriend ilk). “Look, she’s got her own Wikipedia entry,” I exclaimed. Along with a famous film producer husband and her own jewellery label.

Of course, I had to take this a little further and ‘Like’ the lovely S’s Facebook page (she might ‘Like’ Circles in the Sand back!). Which meant that this morning, as I ate cornflakes and listened to my children attacking each other viciously, I received her latest update:

“About to go on set to shoot the party scene with Hollywood actors Matt LeBlanc and David Schwimmer for the American series Episodes.”

Jealous? Moi? Not in the slightest. Although I might have to post a few more pics of us standing on the Burj al-Arab’s helipad.

Family vacations: Are you having fun yet?

Many of us are travelling with a shouty entourage this summer and, if you’re anything like me, you’ll know there’s an initiation parents must go through before you can honestly say family holidays no longer leave you feeling winded.

Here’s my five-step, tongue-in-cheek guide to achieving holiday zen:

Dream on

Dream on

1-2 years [with a health warning]: While friends with older children sip cocktails and watch the sunset, your toddler has more energy than an atomic explosion. He scales the furniture and hurtles round your holiday home like a hurricane (anything breakable, you’ve already moved higher, or hidden – it was either that or develop such a shrill tone through continually shrieking ‘Don’t touch that” that it doesn’t even sound like you). Relaxing is inconceivable so you’re out and about every.single.day, which means, between your (early) morning latte and lights out, you save his life at least five times. Think of holidays with 1-2 year olds as paying to lead your normal life in a less convenient location.

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“Muuuuuum, MUMMY, where are yoooouuuu?”

2-3 years: By now, there’s a sibling on the scene and travelling with two constitutes a whole new level of pain. Expect nightly games of musical beds and heated debates over who slept the less. Do be careful not to let your guard down: your 2-year-old will be irresistibly drawn to dirt, puddles and dog poo, like bees are to honey. (Remember to bring several changes of clothes per day for each family member – expiry through laundry overload isn’t covered by travel insurance.)

3-4 years: Continually ravenous / thirsty / hot / cold / bickering / or in sudden need of the loo, your children are a zillion times more demanding than your most attention-seeking work colleagues, yet on Facebook it’s all smiley faces in front of stunning backdrops. You’ve tried holidaying with friends so the kids can play together while the adults drink wine, but the downside is you can no longer claim their bad behaviour is a temporary blip when it lasts all week long. You’ve also discovered you can take your children to the best zoos and wildlife parks and introduce them to all manner of cute animals, but they’ll never be as happy as when you discover cockroaches in the kitchen.

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The heaven, hell and humour of family holidays is the new normal

4-5 years: By now, you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that holidays aren’t what they used to be, and you’ve learnt how to hit the ground running. On arriving in an unfamiliar environment, you can find the supermarket, buy essentials and whip up a supper for four. Hell, you can even cook fish fingers in an Aga. And with the letting go of any notions of late-nights, lazy days reading and uninterrupted sunbathing (pre-child holiday memories that might as well have taken place in Ancient Rome – because there’s no going back) comes the realisation that family vacations can be fun, especially if there’s a kids’ club.

Don’t think family holidays will now be a breeze. It’s not that relaxing is bottom of your children’s priority list. It’s not even on it

Don’t think family holidays will now be a breeze. It’s not that relaxing is bottom of your children’s priority list. It’s not even on it

5-6 years: Showing your offspring new things, new places and new horizons is not only rewarding, it’s like putting a down payment on developing citizens of the world. On good days, your rosie-cheeked kiddos slip little hands in yours, and swing happily on the farm gate. On bad days, there’s always electronic stimulation to fall back on. Life-long memories are made, bonds are strengthened. Your children become your ambassadors, opening doors to new experiences and conversations. While they race their new Italian friends around the Campo in Siena, you can actually enjoy your Campari. As the years roll by, you look back at holiday snaps of your babies with rose-tinted specs on, and marvel at those precious, crazy moments captured in time.

Happy holidays everyone!

The Naked Bike Ride

A question I’m often asked by people coming to Dubai is: What can I wear?

They’ve probably read in the media the story about the British shopper who wore see-through clothing to the mall and received a stern warning from an Arab lady. Angered by the telling off, the shopper stripped to her bikini – surprise, surprise, leading to the police being called and her arrest.

It’s common sense really that in a Muslim country you need to be respectful of the UAE culture. I got it wrong once (shorts in Sharjah, on Friday, at prayer time), and a man in a Kandura leaving the mosque shielded his eyes from me. As he started muttering under his breath, I felt so bad I hurried my whole family away, back into the car, and back to Dubai, where the decency laws are less strict and I knew my outfit wouldn’t cause offence. (More on what not to wear in Dubai info.)

You get so used to seeing less flesh in the UAE that, on trips to the UK, it always takes me by surprise to see midriffs and bits-that-are-best-left-hidden on display. I do understand why: For a couple of fleeting weeks, the sun comes out and in a flurry of sunshine, cider and sunglasses the public strips off. It’s all cropped tops, boob tubes, Daisy Dukes and strappy sandals, until the heavens open and the weather turns biblical.

And I had to laugh when I saw this picture on Facebook today, not just because of the oh-so-apt slogan on the passing bus, or the fact my friend told me the naked cyclists appeared out of nowhere. But because, really, their ‘attire’ is not terribly different from the naked thighs, eye-popping cleavage and exposed derriere sported by some on your average night out in the UK.

Gotta love the relaxed nudity laws that made this event possible, even if it was all over in a flash!

Less gas, more arse: Cyclists take part in June’s annual World Naked Bike Ride in central London to protest against car culture #Uncomfortable

Less gas, more arse: Cyclists take part in June’s annual World Naked Bike Ride in central London to protest against car culture #Uncomfortable

11 things no child says on holiday, EVER

“These swimming goggles are a perfect fit.”

“I’ll just stand still while you apply the sun cream.”

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“Five minutes until dinner, kids, and you can use my coffee cup to shovel sand”

“Let’s not bother Mum right now, she’s reading.”

“Just one ice-cream a day is fine, thank you!”

“Can’t we just squeeze in one more medieval church?”

“You’re right Mum, I am tired. I’ll think I’ll go to bed even though it’s still light outside.”

“What a lovely view! Shall we walk a bit further?”

“You go and lie down over there, Mum, and play Candy Crush for an hour.”

“I don’t really feel like the gift shop today – let’s just go home.”

“Mum, I’m still sleepy. Let’s sleep in.”

“I started it!”