Category Archives: Friends

When old friends become famous

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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.

Class list Jenga

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This week, many mums in Dubai found out which classes their children are going to be in from September.

Each year (and for Son1, it is an annual event), the release of the class lists is an eagerly anticipated event. Mums anxiously pore over the role calls; they take photos of the lists, and discuss at the school gate who little Sylvie will be mixing with next year.

(Believe me, I’ve seen mums sobbing over this).

As for the children, I’m not convinced they’re as bothered as the mums.

It might be different for girls, but for boys, shaking up the classes doesn’t seem to be too big of a deal – especially in a society as fluid as ours, where numerous children leave at the end of the school year anyway and September always sees a fresh crop.

Circles of friends are given a shake, rattle and roll

Circles of friends are given a shake, rattle and roll, with no bribes accepted

Son1 was given the chance to pick three friends he wants in his class next year, and the letter said they’d try to make sure he’s in the same class as at least one. (I hear some schools in the UK even let you name one child you’d rather not be with).

There follows a process of list building that I can only imagine is like playing Jenga, with the teachers not only taking friendship groups into account, but also gender balance, ability mix and personality clashes.

Far from just bunging the names in a bag and pulling them out, the decision-making must get complicated: “Sylvie makes Tallulah cry so we should split them, and we’d better share out Boris, Hugo and Tarquin because they’re gifted and talented – almost fluent in Mandarin with rocket-scientist aspirations – and make sure the football squad aren’t all in the same class.”

Repeat x140 children per year.

But, as I said, for us mums, that moment when the list is released can be a little tense. My eyes rapidly scanned the names of the children– of whom son1 knows about three, and (because we all know this is important too) I know one of the mums. Not bad at all.

Happy mixing kiddos!

Silent Sunday: Love notes

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The relationship between my oldest son, 7, and his adorable Girl Next Door, 6, is a source of fascination to me, because from the moment our lovebirds met (aged 2!), their friendship has shown that boy/girl differences really are hardwired into the brain.

I was reminded of this the other day, when they drew these pictures for each other:

Girl Next Door thinks she’s going to marry BB and doesn’t mind that he only talks about trains and ships. This is the birthday card she made for him – look at the kisses on the track, the hearts coming out the coal and the word ‘Love’ in the smoke stack. Cute!

Girl Next Door thinks she’s going to marry BB and doesn’t mind that he only talks about trains and ships. This is the birthday card she made for him – how cute are the kisses on the track, the hearts coming out the coal and the word ‘Love’ in the smoke?

Here’s the drawing BB did for her. It had a functional purpose – the hole was so he could hang it on her front door handle like a pizza-delivery menu. The words, in case you can’t read them, say: ‘The Titanic sank 100 years ago’. Talk about girls being from Venus, and boys from Pluto!

Here’s the drawing BB did for her. It had a functional purpose – the hole was so he could hang it on her front door handle like a pizza-delivery menu. The words, in case you can’t read them, say: ‘The Titanic sank 100 years ago’. Talk about girls being from Venus, and boys from Pluto!

Expat friends stock-take

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I’ve made a new friend since getting back to Dubai. She actually popped up on my ‘friend radar’ before the summer, but busy schedules got in the way.

When I returned, our paths crossed and, one party and two playdates later, I’m pretty sure she’s a keeper – in expat terms, that is.

As we sipped on cappuccinos yesterday afternoon at the playarea, on the fringes of a group of women from Dubai Mums, we found ourselves discussing the errant, sometimes tenuous nature of expat friendships.

“In nine years, I’ve seen a lot of friends come and go,” she told me, with a look that said, “They nearly all leave in the end – the lot of them.”

I nodded. It’s what many women find here. Not nearly as much as some expat postings, where it can be so transient the children automatically assume their playmates have moved on if they’re off sick from school. But even so – despite the fact Dubai, with its non-stop sunshine, maid culture, champagne brunches and five-star resorts, is hardly a ‘hardship posting’ – there’s still a steady turnover of friends and you do have to stay on the look out for new ones.

Especially as friendships, it seems, are forged in some unexpected places when you find yourself living overseas, with children and a DH who travels. A lot.

With an influx of new families in the UAE in situ for the new school term, mums are exchanging confidences and phone numbers

Here’s how I found my inner circle (and why I love them!):

B: Lived opposite us in our first compound. Kindred spirits, we shared a fear of driving in Dubai, though really she’s an ace behind the wheel (American).

L1: Chatted while sitting next to each other at the doctor’s surgery. I was really forward and pounced on her (actually on her husband, if I’m honest, as by the time I’d plucked up courage, she’d been called in to see the doctor) and got her phone number. She moved to Dubai from Hong Kong and also has two boys, same ages (British).

K: A talented writing buddy (blogs at sandboxmoxie.com) who I knew I’d be great friends with. Just knew. Even if a year passed before we bumped into each other again (American).

M: Just happened to be sitting near each other in the park one weekend. With a high-flying, full-time job in education, she was looking for mum friends and so we swapped numbers. Now I see her most weekends (Canadian).

L2: A neighbour and another clever writing friend who also happens to be one of the funniest women on the planet, especially when drinking gin on a Friday (British).

C: Met at an ExpatWoman playgroup and bonded over Black Forest gateau in Ikea. Now lives in Abu Dhabi. Uber-stylish and owns the most fabulous shoes (British)

If you’re new in Dubai, welcome! We’re a friendly bunch, I promise!

The to-do list that keeps growing

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Last week was my first whole week at home in a little while, following a stint of work – but, and I’ve always said this, getting back to one’s housewifely/motherly duties is when the hard work really starts.

I had so many plans for the week. BIG plans.

Top of the to-do list was sorting out our clothes – not just mine, which are now so crammed into the wardrobe I can’t even see what’s there, but also the boys’ clothes. Their baby clothes (they’re 3 and 6 now) were to be given away, their shoes tried on and organised and their t-shirts filed in size order.

The guest-room vision: No Disney characters in sight

I was then going to move into our spare room and redecorate so visitors don’t have to sleep with giant Winnie-the-Pooh stickers above their heads, choosing muted, gender-neutral tones picked at leisure while browsing the paint store.

I was going to go jogging every other day, and cook several low-carb, low-fat dishes – stashing extra portions in the freezer. I saw myself making vegetable soup with the radio on in the kitchen and eating it for lunch, with a brown roll, every day. I was sure I’d lose at least 2lb and feel great.

I was going to reply to emails dating back to 2010, get passport photos taken of LB and start writing an article for a friend who’s doing a jolly good job raising awareness of coeliac disease in the UAE.

Oh, the optimism.

What I’d forgotten was that DH was home for 4 days last week, the school day is over in a blink and the kids are always so ecstatic I’m not working, they won’t let me out of their sight. Needless to say, our clothes are still clogging up the wardrobes, the article didn’t get written, I’m still a hopeless pen-pal and I didn’t even buy the paint.

So what did I achieve?

● I hung out with the boys and marvelled as BB miraculously started to read [proud moment – he can be challenging]

● Ate chips and a giant pastry-rich vol au vent at the Belgium Beer Cafe on a date night with DH

● Drank tea with friends in Costa Coffee and Starbucks

● Went down the road to Silicon Oasis to catch up with friends I haven’t seen for a year

● Enjoyed seeing my in-laws who surprised us with a visit from Beirut, where heavy rain had stalled work on the house they’re building

● Had my hair chemically straightened

● Power-walked round the block, once

Wonderfully sociable, even if nothing got ticked off the list.

There’s always this week, though DH has just got back, it’s LB’s half-term and, snow-permitting, we’ve got more visitors arriving on Tuesday for a week-long sleepover with Winnie the Pooh.

INSPIRATION: Dubai’s Desperate Housewife; PHOTO CREDIT: New Bedroom Designs

The girl next door

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When I joined DH in Dubai – LB a six-week-old newborn, BB a just-turned three tear-away and me blinking in the sunshine with sleep deprivation and the newness of it all – we moved into a small compound that was bright orange in colour with disco lights on the gate and goats round the corner.

Our temporary company accommodation, the complex was quickly renamed The Pumpkin Patch and wasn’t popular, partly because of the goldfish-bowl-style living. The villas were so close together you knew your neighbours’ comings and goings better than they did.

Despite the fact we now all own orange beer coolers emblazoned with “I survived Al-Badi”, I have blurred but fond memories of this compound as it’s where I made my first friends in Dubai – friendships that remain firm today.

By chance, our opposite neighbours hailed from the same part of the US that we’d recently moved from and had a daughter just a bit younger than BB, giving us an instant connection. Within days I’d made a lovely Dubai BF. And, what’s more, the kids hit it off too.

Today, in our permanent compound, I’m lucky enough to have Dubai BF right next door, and our children, who are in the same class at school, play together all the time.

BB calls round for his gorgeous Girl Next Door at least three times a day, and I’m sure they must at times want to disconnect their doorbell as he’s quite persistent.

Little girls are made of sugar and spice!

Inevitably there are boy/girl differences – which, at a later age, make you wonder if your partner could possibly be from another planet – and watching our two lovebirds together has proved to me that these characteristics are hardwired into the brain at birth. Men and women, boys and girls really do think differently.

The sweetest conversation that took place yesterday morning made me more sure about this in-built brain circuitry than ever.

“I just know I’m going to marry BB,” Girl Next Door confided to her mom. “When we went to the playground I told him I was going to marry him, but he told me he was going to marry a toilet [she laughs]. Mommy, can I marry BB?”

“Of course you can sweetie,” Dubai BF replied.

Girl Next Door: [closing her eyes and smiling] “Mommy, are there hearts coming out of me?”

My verdict: girls are from Venus, boys are from Pluto.

Home for a refill and a blast of winter

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I love London, and each time I visit I’m reminded how much I enjoy being holed up in a cosy pub, drinking wine with my oldest friends – laughing till our sides ache, reminiscing, and marvelling at how much time has passed since we were at Uni together.

Nearly two decades have flashed by! How did that happen?

Our graduation ceremonies feel so recent, mine etched on my mind forever because I spied a fellow student’s grannie stuffing silverware into her handbag when she thought no one was looking.

The UK is actually having a mild winter this year, but it still feels cold when you only have summer clothes

These past few days, I’ve also enjoyed every minute of catching up with my family – loved ones I don’t see enough of due to living in the Middle East.

Everyone has said the same thing, though: “What are you doing here? Has something happened?”

They’re asking this because, since moving to Dubai four years ago, I’ve timed all my visits to the Northern hemisphere to coincide with warmer temperatures and long days.

This time, it’s winter – there’s a cold, howling wind that whips right through you, the tree branches are bare and the pale winter sun gives way to an eerie twilight at about 3.50pm.

I know my friends and family are struggling with blustery days, during which they go to work and return home in the dark like badgers, but, for me, the blast of winter is a wonderful novelty – a chance to drink warming hot chocolate by the radiator, to snuggle under the duvet with the iPad – and wear the Uggs.

I’m no stranger to winter. When we lived in the States – in Minneapolis, a city I adored in spring, summer and fall, the temperature could plummet to minus 25, so cold it hurt. During these sub-zero spells, if you threw a cup of boiling water into the air, it would freeze by the time it hit the ground.

Minneapolis in North America: Moving to Dubai was like jumping out of the freezer into the frying pan

Yet, at the same time, it was like living in a magical, winter wonderland. Fresh, fluffy snow would burst through the clouds, the flakes lightly touching your face, attaching to your lashes and tickling your nose. The sky, I remember, was nearly always blue, and the frozen lakes dotted with ice fishing huts and the odd car.


A British winter is, of course, far more dreary and overcast, but when you’ve escaped it for eight years running, it doesn’t seem gloomy. On the contrary, I’ve been revelling in the cosiness and loving the winter fashions being paraded everywhere I go. The scarves, hats, boots and coats – floor-length maxi-coats, double-breasted wool coats and fur-lined jackets in trendy winter colours like mustard and aubergine.

I’ve practically had to stop myself coo-ing at coats out loud or, worse, running up to people in the street to snatch the coat off their back.

Believe me, winter can be utterly fabulous, especially when you’ve just arrived from the desert and it’s only four days long.

Oh the coats - I love the coats. You would too if you never had to wear one

Loves kids but couldn’t eat a whole one

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We’ve had a tsunami of visitors over the past few weeks – and the great thing about having friends and family to stay is you get to do some of the touristy things in Dubai, which usually come third or fourth fiddle to the mundane everyday stuff.

And, of course, when home comes to visit, it’s the most wonderful chance to spend time with loved ones – in the sun, on the beach, at the pool and out at dinner. Until the time comes for them to leave, and you’re left sobbing on the sofa that it went so fast.

As well as my in-laws and my parents, my BF came to Dubai. I’ve blogged about her before as her life is more interesting than the grittiest soap opera.

She might not think so but, to me, hearing about her dating adventures is like a dose of reality TV starring my favourite character – and anything can happen!

Take her visit to Dubai’s Gold Souk to do some handbag shopping.

“We have Louis Vuitton, Prada, Mulberry, we give you good price,” called out a handsome fella with dark eyes and a chiseled jaw as she got out the taxi. BF couldn’t resist and followed him down a dark alley, up another one, through the winding streets until they reached a doorway.

There he led BF up some stairs to a thick bolted door, on which he knocked twice and then waited.

When the door opened, she was led into a room wall-to-wall full of copy bags. She bought four Mulberries and went to leave – but not before the handbag seller thrust his phone number into her hand, saying if she wanted to meet up he’d come running.

Then, in the taxi on the way home, she found herself deep in conversation with the driver about all sorts of ‘taboo’ subjects, from religion to marriage.

But her most promising ‘holiday romance’ was the good-humoured man she met on the airplane on the way home, who kept her entertained the whole flight and has since texted BF to see if they could meet up. BF has always harboured a desire to join the mile-high club, but promises me she passed up the opportunity, fearing the consequences on the Royal Brunei aircraft would be too great to bear.

Aside from providing a steady stream of hilarious stories, the thing that struck me about BF’s visit was just how much fun you can have with kids when you’re not the one responsible for feeding them, keeping them alive, dragging them to bed and clipping their toenails.

BF doesn’t have children of her own and admits that the older she gets, the less appealing she finds the idea – but she’s the most amazing Godmother and auntie to at least nine kids.

My boys and BF ran round like lunatics, squirting water at each other on the beach, and making each other laugh hysterically. She didn’t mind when BB puckered his lips as though to plant a kiss on her cheek and blew a huge raspberry – or when he held onto her in the swimming pool calling out ‘Giddy Up’ like she was his personal pack horse.

BF took it all in such good spirit – even when BB cheekily pulled her tankini bottoms down as she was getting out of the pool.

We all had such fun in the sun – and I miss BF (who blogs at lujat71) terribly now.

There is, of course, the possibility that BF, who spends her working life protecting children, will become a parent in the future – if she chooses to – perhaps not through conventional means. But for now – to use BF’s words, it’s a case of loves kids but couldn’t eat a whole one!

Twit virgin no more!

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This week a lull in my freelance work has meant I’ve been paying extra special attention to my household duties.

Have I heck? That’s what I should have been doing – the reality was I succumbed to something I’ve been resisting for a long time: joining the Twitterati.

The lovely @Bubblesdxb, movie reviewer extraordinaire for Virgin Radio Dubai

It was so easy – so seductive. Names such as @Bubblesdxb, @the_hedonista, @HeelsAndDeals. How can you resist sneaking a peek at what they’re up to. It was bound to be more interesting than chasing freelance payments (yet again!)

I promised myself I’d be quick and joining took no time at all. But as I scrolled down the list of suggested people to follow – from Ruler of Dubai Sheikh Mohammed’s “official tweets” to Queen Rania of Jordan (“a mum and a wife with a really cool day job”), it dawned on me I could be there a while.

By midday, I felt positively giddy. I’d found nearly all my favourite bloggers, my fave DJs Catboy and Geordiebird from Dubai 92, and several relatives and best friends from real life. How could I have not known about this whole new world of micro-blogging Tweeters?

And as I realised that friends who I thought didn’t even know each other had become pals, I was encouraged to go all out with my first ever tweet.

“Just be yourself,” advised my friend @Linda_FB. “There will always be smarter, wittier and prettier people out there.

“If people follow you, just follow them back, unless they’re naked!” she signed off with.

So after a couple of attempts at getting my post under 140 characters (Twitter tells you to “be more clever” if you ramble), I tweeted and can’t even remember what I said now, it was that interesting.

While fun, the twitiquette worries me though. What if you don’t check it for a few hours and come back to a zillion tweets? And if you don’t reply, is that dreadfully rude? These kind of social media pressures could easily turn me into a twittering wreck.

According to my guru Linda (who founded @glutenfreeuae), the mentions button will be my best friend – and she says it can take days to see the point of Twitter. But one thing I have found out is there’s some unique stuff on there.

Like FoodPorn, in which someone from Chicago posts enormous, gorgeous photos of food that make your lunch look utterly disappointing (“because we all have a little fat guy living inside us”) – and shhdonttellsteve, in which someone who lives with a guy named Steve posts what he (Steve) is doing at all times.

I also know that Twitter could be my downfall in terms of never getting anything done, ever again. Now what’s this about Google +?

PHOTO CREDIT: Techie Buzz

Would you like to be 20-something again?

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“He said he could give me a J.Lo – for £5,000 extra,” my best friend told me excitedly over curry one night while I was in England this summer.

“A J.Lo, really?” I gasped, in amazement.

“Yes, but it’s too expensive. I’m just going to stick with the body lift!” said BF, explaining the procedure her cosmetic surgeon had in mind – her not-so-hushed tones causing the people on the table next to us to nearly choke on their tikka masala.

There was a very good reason why BF and I were so excited about her upcoming transformation, with or without a J.Lo butt. It would mark the end of a life-long journey for my friend, who, two years ago, underwent radical weight-loss surgery after battling obesity for as long as she could remember.

In the 48 months following her gastric bypass operation, BF more than halved in size. We called her the Incredible Shrinking Woman. She ate like a sparrow, and even came to Dubai to do all sorts of water activities that she would never have done before due to not wanting to be seen in a swimsuit.

While her weight loss has been nothing short of miraculous, the thing that’s been most wondrous to see is the way it’s ignited an interest in dating, something she didn’t have the confidence for when she was a larger lady. So, all of a sudden, in her 39th year, BF started seeing various men – it was like she was living her entire 20s, in the 12 months before turning 40.

This has all been quite illuminating, because when I had kids – and especially after moving into a compound in Dubai made up entirely of families – I became a fully paid-up member of the mummy mafia.

The advantages of membership include lovely DH, BB and LB, of course, a never-ending supply of neighbourhood playmates to distract the kids with and some great mummy friends to talk to while watching our off-spring play. I wouldn’t change a thing, but imagine my delight when I discovered I could re-live the thrill of dating via BF without actually being on the roller coaster myself.

Bloke1 came round to fix her computer a while ago and is still asking her out. Bloke 2 was in America so too far away. But it was Bloke 3 who stole her heart as they bonded over online Scrabble games. Until the despondent text message popped up on my phone.

“He’s dumped me,” it read, the let-down almost palpable.

It turned out he’d been to the dentist and the dental nurse had flirted with him, looked up his details on the computer and called him to ask him out (isn’t that unethical, not to mention rather forward, or am I really out of touch with this dating malarkey?)

We talked about kissing lots of frogs and BF drowned her sorrows – then made the most magnificent comeback.

“They say to get straight back on your horse,” she told me two days later. “I’ve got a date with a fireman on Friday.”

And now he’s Bloke number 4 and her new rough diamond (while Bloke 3, whose dental nurse proved to be no more than a fill-in, is back in touch wanting a rematch).

I’m so happy for her, I really am. She so deserves this. And I’ve also been reminded that, while things may feel a bit Desperate Housewives at times, I find the mummy mafia to be a far less bumpy ride.