Category Archives: Media

The job I won’t be applying for

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Amid mixed emotions, the school summer holiday is over!

I must admit, when it started, 10 weeks ago, this weekend seemed a distant, almost far-fetched prospect.

Thousands of miles later, we’ve made it through to September, with our sanity intact (laughs skittishly). We’ve been to theme parks, palaces, museums, railways, state parks, lakes, beaches – you name it. All heaving with families in the UK and surprisingly hot and sweaty in the US (who would have guessed there’d be Dubai-like weather in the mid-west of America?)

Me, soon – if I haven’t been completely forgotten, that is

There’s been a great deal of joy. A lot of laughter. Special times with loved ones and friends I don’t see enough of.

The happy stuff precious memories are made of.

But, inevitably, we’re also had our fair share of cranky kids, time-zone changes, food thrown back in our faces, sibling spats and over-tired tantrums [whispers: this mommy might actually go on strike if anyone suggests another ‘fun-filled’ outing to a family attraction].

So, while sad it’s all over, I can’t wait to get back into a routine – which also means putting out feelers to see if anyone who I freelance for actually remembers me after such a long break.

With the thought of an air-conditioned office with minimal noise and everyone’s bums firmly in their seats sounding quite appealing right now, I found myself browsing some media jobs online – and clicked on this ad that set out the following (ideal) requirements for the ‘superstar’ they hoped to employ:

● You write articles that make people laugh hysterically. Even you don’t believe how funny you are.

● People around can’t stop appreciating your creativity, wit, passion, imagination and how wonderfully you articulate your thoughts into words.

● Your pen is your magic wand, and you can take simple ideas or boring dry facts and effortlessly convert them into exciting, engaging and humorous articles with your magic powers.

● Your proactivity makes people around you seem very lazy.

● Your command over spoken and written English would give Shakespeare a complex.

● You know the effort it takes to be part of a winning team and if it wasn’t for this job you would be running for the American presidency.

That’s a tall order, for a superstar with bells on. Suddenly my life of mainly mummydom sounds so much more do-able.

And fun!

DH’s office in the sky

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Many moons may have passed, but in an entirely different life two countries ago, it was my job in women’s magazines that people were interested in.

It helped that at the time I was seeing someone who ‘worked in computers’. Not many people knew exactly what he did – and nor did I – so people would turn their attention to me and ask questions about working in media.

They loved hearing about the problem page I did for a health & beauty magazine. Were the problems made up? (yes, some of them!). What kind of letters were in the postbag? (some corkers!) Did readers reveal explicit details about their sex lives? (yes, eye-opening).

Then, when they found out I also worked for the Mirror newspaper, they’d be really curious about the stories I wrote. Again, were they true? How did you find those basket-weaving, identical twins who gave birth at Butlins?

I’d tell them about my baptism by fire into the world of tabloid journalism and explain how I had to find a whole class of teenaged school girls, with a willing head teacher, and persuade them to keep diet diaries for an attention-grabbing feature on osteoporosis.

Love, sex, food, fashion and family - in women's magazines, these are familiar territories

The original brief was to have the girls X-rayed – but as this wasn’t ethical (not to mention entering nervous breakdown territory for me), the diet diaries were the easier option. “Just don’t mention smoking,” said the head. And I didn’t – until the article got rewritten so the intro described the schoolgirls as ‘living on crisps and cigarettes’ and the headline blared ‘Junk-food generation: Crippled by the age of 35’. Not quite the publicity the principal had in mind for her fee-paying school.

People also wanted to know about the press trips I was lucky enough to go on. Monaco, Germany, France, Prague, Portugal – the French one involving travelling by private plane to the launch of a nasal douche (a squirter the manufacturer was convinced would become as popular as toothpaste – it didn’t, not in the UK at least!) and the Monte Carlo trip accompanied by a ‘sexpert’ to report on the launch of a condom with an applicator (try keeping a straight face during *that* demonstration!).

But, as I said, this was all a long time ago. Turned out Computer Boyfriend wasn’t just working in the tech industry – he was also working on another girlfriend. We broke up. I was reunited with my teenage sweetheart, who became my DH. We moved to Florida five days after marrying and the rest is history.

Nowadays, given that my work is more of a side show, and the rest of my time is spent attempting to control and entertain two small boys, wiping bums, soothing tantrums and refereeing fights (on far less sleep than when I was working under the tightest deadline as a freelance journalist), it’s DH’s job that everyone’s interested in.

Where do you go? people ask. Do you ever have celebrities on board? (Hilary Swank, Natalie Imbruglia, Gerard Depardieu are a few he’s mentioned). Have you ever had a near crash? Seen a UFO? Isn’t it on auto-pilot the whole time? And from guys: ‘Do you get to hang out with the flight attendants at the swimming pool?’

On his most recent trip to Germany, there were even spectators when the plane came down to land – and people videoing the aircraft’s arrival and departure (the A380 has only recently started flying into Munich and is still turning heads). I’ve watched the video footage on YouTube.

Where we live there are more pilots than you can shake a control stick at, so when we’re at home, it’s all very routine, very normal. It’s when we’re mixing with people outside the aviation world that the interest is sparked. But the thing I find funny is how DH views office life. He’s only ever spent three days in an office – three days – and that was just ‘work experience’ when he was a teenager.

He watches programmes like The Office with the same fascination that I watch shows like Airline or Pan Am. Consequently, he thinks that in officedom we spend our whole time hitting on each other, photocopying body parts and hiding the stapler. When I told him that at work, someone had actually stapled my co-worker’s post-it notes together, he thought this was hilarious.

I’m quite truthful with him, pointing out the realities of office life – because don’t you think that his fantasy version of the 9-5, complete with a hot secretary in a short skirt, office cubicles and a resident prankster, is the equivalent of a cockpit kitted out with a remote control, take-away pizza, pin-up poster girl and fluffy dice?

The Airbus A380 dreampit

Office life versus mummydom

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These past few weeks I’ve been working on a magazine down in Media City – some 10 years too late.

Publishing offices here are full of skinny media types, with trendy clothes, silky hair, and because it’s Dubai, a sun tan, exotic accent and just the right amount of bling.

They’re all so young, I sometimes feel like telling them, “You know, there was a time, not all that long ago, when people didn’t have the Internet at their fingertips.”

“And when we did start getting connected at home, it was dial-up. Imagine that. Bet you can’t, can you?”

“You were alive then?” I imagine the young whippersnappers responding, wide-eyed as it dawns on them I’m from a generation that remembers cassette tapes, Commodore 64 computers and mobile phones the size of a brick.

I cover at this particular magazine during busy periods and I said yes to the work because I know I enjoy it when I’m there and they actually pay.

So I’m reminded again what it’s like to be a proper working Mum – commuting for an hour-and-15 a day in rush-hour, doing the grocery shop with the rest of the world on Saturday, and only seeing the kids at bedtime, when they’re behaving monstrously.

It’s always a nice change. Here are some of the things I enjoy:

• Lipstick and heels (with toe cleavage) rather than jeans and flip flops

• Going to the toilet in peace

• Office gossip – generally, though not always, more salacious

• Still micro-managing the boys’ social lives and well-being, but being able to do it remotely, at my desk eating salt-and-vinegar crisps that don’t get nicked

• Not being interrupted every two seconds and when someone does need something, the request not starting with, “Mumm-eeeee, I waaaa-nt…’ Even the office twit seems mild-mannered and quiet to me.

• Incentives like a slap-up meal for the team with the tidiest desks (we didn’t win)

• Colleagues who don’t hit or bite each other

• Lunch out and even eating a sarnie at my desk that doesn’t come with a plastic toy

• Eyeing up a gorgeous dress and thinking “I could buy it! I’ve earnt the money myself!” then being overcome with absent mummy guilt and settling on something for the kids instead

• Not feeling bad about achieving nothing on my mile-long ‘things-to-do-around-the-house list’ – and instead writing on post-it notes that are dealt with by the end of the day

• Making a cup of tea while chatting to adults at eye-level rather than waist-level and who don’t shout at me, tantrum or cling to my leg

• Sneaking back to the mall later to get the dress

I could go on…. it’s one helluva lot easier than refereeing small boys, but there’s a big problem: I miss them and hardly see them! Talk about the grass always being greener on the other side…

“Have a nice day – without the pay”

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You might remember that a while ago Dubai was thrust into the spotlight for owing some money.

I don’t just mean a maxed-out credit card amount-of-money after too many trips to Karama to buy handbags.

I’m talking serious money – some US$80-billion-worth of debt, according to the press.

For a city used to the heady heights of economic success, it was a massive reality check.

Much of the construction work stopped and schemes such as a refrigerated beach where the sand would never get too hot underfoot and a man-made archipelago of 300 islands in the shape of a world map ground to a halt.

That wasn’t all: A theme park to dwarf Disney and an 80-storey skyscraper with revolving floors and an ever-shifting shape also never came to fruition (Dubai thinks big, you see, so a debt crisis the size of China was hardly surprising).

I really hope they pay up, because BF and I have plans to boost Dubai's economy with purchases like this

While things are certainly on the mend now thanks to some clever restructuring by accountant types, I’m not convinced that everything is rosy again though.

I say this because, for the first time in 15 years of freelancing, I’ve just come a cropper at the hands of the publishing company I’ve been working for recently.

They haven’t been paid themselves by advertisers (including the Abu Dhabi government!) and, as a result, their money’s dried up and they can’t make payments – for my last three months of work!

And, even worse, because I introduced one of my loveliest friends to the company, she too is owed thousands of dirhams for work she lost sleep over while doing some mummy juggling.

I knew something was wrong when they started stonewalling me every time I tried to chase our money. Then came the email, essentially saying, “Have a nice day – without the pay!” Then, finally, the phone call to tell me the sorry story.

What also bothers us is that, at some point, they maybe knew we were working for free – and when you’ve got two kids to entertain, mouths to feed, grocery shopping to do and errands to run, ‘work experience’ isn’t exactly helpful with the whole work-life balance thing. I mean, do we look like eager, just-out-of-college interns? Do we? No, I don’t think so!

If they’d looked closely, they’d have seen a few crinkles round my eyes and a child clinging to my leg.

I won’t name and shame, because I’m really hoping they’ll stick to their promise to pay us eventually, when the cash starts flowing again, but I’m not holding my breath.

Keep your fingers crossed for us! My BF is coming soon (so excited!) and we’ve got shopping to do.

The World Islands off the coast of Dubai and the Palm Jumeirah, on the left, as seen from space. When the World project was launched in 2003, it was hoped that celebrities and the super-rich would snap up the 300 islands. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt were even said to be thinking about buying Ethiopia. But now it looks like the project will never be completed.

PHOTO CREDITS: The Purse Page; Mail Online

Why working from home isn’t working

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There’s something I’ve learnt about work in Dubai – it’s quite different from being gainfully employed back in the UK or US.

You can ‘get away’ with things here – so you hear stories such as my friend’s tale about a meeting in which her boss got angry and swirled around to tell her colleague, “My, you look spotty!”

On the job section of a website called Dubizzle, you’ll quickly find adverts that specify what nationality they’re looking for, or not. For example, ‘Models & promoters needed (No Filipinos)’; and another stating, ‘Only expats or Russian girls may apply.’

After just five minutes of living in Dubai you realise that with so many people from South Asia terrified of losing their jobs, working conditions are not always what they should be – and nor is the pay.

But I didn’t mean to dwell on the negative stuff, because actually the chance to work with such a diverse mix of people from all over the world (not to mention the tax-free extra dirhams) has been wonderful. My intention was merely to point out some differences I’ve noticed.

So yesterday, when a publishing company I won’t name asked me to come into the office for “a couple of hours” to do some proof-reading, what they really meant was “would you give up 10 hours of your time to re-write swathes of copy put together by writers from Syria, Egypt, etc, whose first language is most definitely not English.”

Spot the difference: H&M adverts featuring sexy Brazilian model Giselle were censored for the Dubai market

I’m also finding out that there are certain things you won’t ‘get away with’ in the media industry here. I’ve been told that designers and journalists who have put together a layout with a camel above a sheikh have lost their jobs – and international publications have been known to have inappropriate images (like a rear view of a naked woman at the back of The Times Style magazine) blacked out with marker pen.

This is apparently done by those doing time in the UAE. And anything deemed offensive may also be ripped out. One publisher had government approval to write about wine for a food book. Once the book was published, the decision was apparently reversed and the book was sold with the wine chapter listed on the contents page, but no chapter actually in the book!

To date, I don’t think I’ve said anything on my humble blog to get me deported. And working down in Media City, where there are numerous good-quality magazines, from Time Out to Esquire, has been a really positive experience.

And when I went to see the movie Friends with Benefits the other night, it had been so heavily cut, there was no evidence of any benefits at all!

Perhaps my biggest challenge has been the projects I’ve taken on from home, because at the moment I’m finding working at home to be the equivalent of walking up the Burj Khalifa backwards in Jimmy Choos.

It’s just too tempting to think, “I’ll just squeeze in that mammoth grocery shop / go through that drawer of clutter / lie down for a quick nap.” And, the hardest one to resist, hearing the kids the other side of the wall being looked after by our nanny.

I keep finding myself at the computer at 11pm trying to catch up. Hence I was intrigued by a couple of jobs landed by friends of mine recently (as a quick aside, it never ceases to amaze me how expat women here who don’t want to work full-time, don’t want to have another baby but want to do something to stave off boredom, reinvent themselves – sometimes several times over).

So my friend who was a nurse, and discovered that the pay here for this particular profession is abysmal, is now a chocolate taster for the Mars factory! And another pal, who used to be an airline pilot in the US, became a mystery shopper (she actually got paid to shop!) and now reviews movies for Virgin Radio Dubai.

Perhaps the answer is to only accept jobs that take me into an office in Media City, where household distractions aren’t a problem – except all the girls down there are young and thin, with sashaying hips, trendy clothes and perfectly flicked frizz-free hair.

Anyway, enough – I’m procrastinating again and must get back to editing a delightfully bad feature (because there’s only so many times I can tell them my lack of productivity is due to our internet being down).

PHOTO CREDITS: TNT Magazine; Collider.com