Category Archives: Weekend

Wild boys! (and for once, not mine)

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The sound of Duran Duran’s sing-a-long favourites rang out across the desert last night as the pretty boys of ‘80s rock proved they’ve ‘still got it’, minus the shoulder pads.

With a full moon, fiery Mars and countless stars shining down on us, Duran Duran belted out tunes such as The Wild Boys, Rio and Girls on Film, catapulting the audience – most of whom must have been orbiting 40 (not a teeny bopper in sight!), back to an era when teenagers awoke to posters of the five British Midlanders plastered all over their bedroom walls.

The band left the stage with a bang

It was a flash-tastic, energetic performance – even better than in the 80s, according to one Duranie who also saw them in 1984 – followed by the prettiest fireworks I’ve seen in a long time.

Which leads me to a confession: I think I might be a Duranie myself. Twenty-five years too late. At school, it was my great friend Joanne who set her sights on becoming Mrs Le Bon (move over Yasmin, Joanne-Joanne sounded just like Duran Duran, we reasoned). I was a Culture Club chick. But in adult life, I’ve seen D-D twice they’re so fantastic live (muffled video clip below!).

I also realised three other things at the Rugby Sevens venue last night:

– Firstly, wearing heels to totter around in sand is not a good idea – you just end up walking on tip-toes.

At least two heads taller than everyone else! But he's forgiven because he kindly didn't move much and his statuesque height meant there was plenty of space

– Secondly, there is no denying I’m getting on a bit. Okay, old. Simon Le Bon – who I remember for his boyish face, puckered rouged lips and knee-knocking baggy silk trousers – is still a sweetie, but now looks like George Michael crossed with Ricky Gervais. John Taylor, meanwhile, appears to be morphing into Keith Richards.

– Thirdly, a height restriction should have been imposed on the audience. The 8ft man just in front of me must have had the best view in the house, lucky chap! Though, actually, standing behind his towering silhouette worked in my favour, because the vacuum behind him was the perfect space for bopping around, even in heels.

Back in the day

When the cat’s away…

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It’s another dusty, windy Saturday afternoon and I’m drinking tea at a formica table while the boys burn off energy at an indoor play area.

There’s noise, bad music, lurid plastic, flashing lights, crying children and constant interruptions, but this is my downtime – two hours of respite from being the sole parent in charge today.

I’m sure all mums will know what I mean when I say single-handed parenting can sometimes be like doing a marathon in Manolo Blahniks, backwards and with no-one to tag.

OK, so on DH's list I left off the work bit, the jet lag and travel fatigue, but you get the picture. Jealous? NOoo

From the early morning wake-up calls to tantrums at bedtime, from oldest son’s non-stop, brain-bending questions to youngest son’s refusal to eat anything but chocolate, it always feels like a HUGE responsibility being the only adult on duty at the weekend.

[Said in a hushed voice]: They don’t leave me alone, not even to go to the toilet! And don’t get me started about the fighting.

So when I waved DH off this morning, to the bierhauses and beautiful architecture of Munich, it was with a hint of jealousy on my part, even though I’d actually hate to have to leave home the whole time (and, if the truth be told, I wouldn’t swap roles with him in a million years – nor did I actually see him off as he left even earlier than the kids got up).

But I missed his help when, in the car today while trying to concentrate on traffic, BB started shouting, “MUM, L.O.O.K!! LB’s got his willy out!” – upstaged only by an incident at the supermarket 10 minutes later which saw the Little Boy FLASHING shoppers while my back was turned getting cash from the ATM.

“Enjoy every moment,” well-meaning, nostalgic parents always advise. “It goes by so fast.” And I do try to savour it – just not *this* moment. Or the moment last Saturday when I discovered they’d etched a 1.5 metre-long scratch on the TV cabinet and filled the CD player up with soil.

Angels in standard-issue devil's horns: Nice try BB, but I don't think this will stop your brother from bugging you!

I’ve actually got off pretty lightly today – on previous occasions when DH has been gone, far worse has happened. I came home from work a few weeks ago to be told, by our nanny, that she’d lost BB that afternoon and found him up on the roof, hollering to our neighbours.

We do have lots of fun, too, when it’s just the kids and me, but it does seem that while the cat’s away, the mice will play up, especially on weekends.

When DH gets back from trips, he scoops up the boys, his eyes shining with joy. “They’re such angels,” he’ll say, turning to me.

I’ve learnt to smile sweetly and respond – in a measured way – “Yes dear. Little angels.”

“Both of them.” Before retreating for what I consider to be a well-earned break.

This has been doing the rounds on Facebook recently - love it!

Back to reality: A yellow weekend

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There’s nothing quite like a howling sandstorm outside and the sound of your kids howling and fighting inside to bring you back to reality with a bump.

When you're surrounded by sand, being engulfed by a shamal (sandstorm) is inevitable from time to time


The stay-at-home or risk-a-crowded-mall forecast for the weekend was for gusting sand to continue buffeting the UAE until Monday – and it gusts everywhere. Step outside, and you inhale sand into your lungs – causing hospital admissions to surge as people with respiratory complaints find themselves gasping for breath.

Blowing sand gets into your ears, in your eyes and up your nostrils. Your scalp feels gritty and your skin is exfoliated by nature’s loofah.

Everything outside is covered with a coating of dust, making the garden look like a scene from the nuclear-war movie Threads and sand even gets indoors, through gaps under doors and air conditioning ducts. Heaven forbid you accidentally leave a window open, and you come home to find the whole room’s been landscaped.

Dubai this weekend: A Mission Impossible 4-style sandstorm - stay safe peeps


On the roads, visibility is reduced, quite drastically at times, with reports that visibility on one of Dubai’s busiest roads was so low at one point that some drivers had difficulty staying on the motorway. In another part of Dubai, there was so much sand on the road, it was being moved with a bulldozer.

When it’s all over, the blue skies return, as though nothing ever happened, and then the big clean up can begin.

Yes, sometimes it does feel like we’re living in a giant dust ball.

Talking of inclement weather, the boys were playing on an inflatable slide at a park the other day and this safety notice made me laugh. Kids take note!

A note on competitive parents

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Homework for kindergarten kids is a new concept to me, but I hear that it really kicks off from next term and can be a nightly battle.

To prepare BB’s class of five and six year olds for this, they had their first proper assignment this weekend – the kids had to research an object, such as a toy, television or car, and produce a poster at home, showing what the object looked like in the past and what it looks like today.

And the most worrisome bit: ‘Your child will then present the poster to the whole class as part of their summative assessment,’ the teacher told us.

And, believe me, this made me nervous. Not just about the presenting part, or actually making the poster, but because you wouldn’t believe how competitive expat parents in Dubai can be.

“I know, let’s visit the museum this weekend to do some fact-finding,” I imagined the other mums saying. “And work on some mock-ups first. Even better, why don’t we fly to London to browse the British Museum.” “Yes, and once we’ve finished the conceptuals, we can do a historical key in PowerPoint,” their DHs, getting into the swing of it, probably reply. “That’ll really knock the socks off the teacher.”

BB and I finally got down to it on Saturday afternoon, his attention captured momentarily because I stole an idea from the recent National Day celebrations – a classic car parade! It kept him focused for, ooh, all of 30 minutes, before he legged it to the play area.

Two hours later, I’d finished the poster, cleaned up the mess and hidden it so BB’s little brother wouldn’t scribble all over it – just in time to start thinking about dinner.

I think I’m going to be busy next term, when homework really gets going.

Colouring, cutting, sticking - I was in my element!

Happy 40th birthday UAE!

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Today was National Day, the 2 December anniversary of the creation of the UAE – and a big birthday, too, as this year the UAE turned 40.

I can sympathise as mine is just round the corner, although compared to a soon-to-be 40 mum wondering whether I should be having a mid-life crisis, a 40-year-old nation sounds like a spring chicken.

This is actually someone's house! The photo is from last year, but we saw a quite a few villas just like this today while driving down Jumeirah Beach Road

BB came home from school this week waving a flag, the Emiratis decorated their cars and put lights up, and the Thursday before National Day was declared a public holiday for the Islamic New Year, making it a long weekend.

The parades, including a Ferrari and classic car parade, the fireworks, the shows, the Dubai Fountain dancing to the UAE National Anthem, the flags on cars, hot-air balloons and the Sheikh reading poetry on the radio combined to create an electrifying buzz.

Both boys enjoyed celebrations at school and nursery earlier in the week. The Arabic department at BB’s school requested that the kids wear national dress on Tuesday, leaving us mums scratching our heads over where to buy an abaya or dishdash small enough, but this was quickly followed by an email saying national colours would do.

LB’s nursery put on a lovely morning of activities that I went to with high expectations as they’d advertised among other things mosque-decorating and a dhow (traditional sailing vessel) to climb on board – they really pushed the boat out (excuse the pun!) and I wasn’t disappointed.

National Day is never entirely smooth, however – a number of young drivers always go a little crazy and indulge in stunt driving, such as driving on two wheels, which led to the impoundment of 440 cars during last year’s celebrations.

This year, the prize for the best-dressed vehicle went to an Emirati business woman who spent 162,000dhs on decorating her car with 150,000 individual Swarovski crystals – here she is showing her bling BMW to the media.

But my favourite National Day story is still my boss’ tale from last year, because it sums up perfectly the kind of exotic pets the wealthy Emiratis can afford to own. He took his kids down to Beach Rd for a ‘cultural experience’ and, amid all the spray foam and silly string, they spotted a funny-looking dog in the back of a car. Closer inspection revealed it wasn’t a dog – but a lion (not fully grown, but even so!).

World’s fastest rollercoaster

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When you’re given protective goggles to stop your eyeballs popping out, you know the ride you’re about to go on won’t be all about the view.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask DH, who – used to being in control of fast-moving metal in his job as a pilot – looks more nervous than I expected.

“Too late now,” he replies, as they lower the lap bar and the bright red Formula Rossa rollercoaster at Abu Dhabi’s Ferrari World is prepared for launch.

It pulls out of the station to whoops and cheers from other riders, then we hear the launch mechanism (similar to those used to propell jets from aircraft carriers) connect to the carriage.

Suddenly, our world explodes into an insane blur of speed. The ride accelerates from standstill to a gut-squashing 150mph in just 4.9 seconds. It honestly feels like we’re being shot out of a canon.

Designed to simulate driving a Formula One car, it’s the fastest thrill ride in the world and the primal screams of its passengers ring out in the warm Arabian sunshine.

My innards feel like they’re being rearranged and my eyebrows nearly fly off when the G-force hits 4.8.

“Oh-my-God,” I scream as the car hurtles up a 170ft slope so fast I’m sure it’s going to take off like a rocket, then it plunges down at such break-neck speed I fear my stomach will pop out my mouth.

A minute-and-a-half later it’s all over, the brain-shuddering high-speed twists, turns and chicanes completed. Climbing out isn’t easy as my fingers need prizing from the restraint bar and my legs have turned to jelly.

“Would you do it again?” I ask DH, my throat dry with all the adrenalin and hair sticking out at right angles.

“No, we’ve done it now,” he says, quite sure of his answer. ‘No need to do it again.”

I really recommend it, though – if I survived, you will too!

More info at: Ferrari World Abu Dhabi

Rain – and peeping at leaf porn

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It seems I’ve been prowling the Internet looking at photos of autumn leaves.

On trees, on the ground, piled up – it really doesn’t matter what position, any kind of leaf porn is marvellous! Though photos from America are obviously the best, like these lovely shots taken by a blogger in the Midwest.

I know, I know, fallen leaves mean endless raking and bagging up, not to mention signalling that winter’s on the way. But when you’re a desert dweller, and surrounded by sand and palm trees, you miss the changing of the seasons.

That said, the weather is perfect right now and to make the most of where we live I’ve instigated a weekly trip to the beach, whether the kids want to or not – rather like the compulsory visits to National Trust gardens I remember my own parents insisting on!

Sunset over the Arabian Gulf this weekend

And while I’m talking about the weather, let me tell you about the rare treat we enjoyed last week – rain! The first in at least eight months.

You wouldn’t believe how excited we get. Anticipation mounts a few hours before, with all eyes cast skywards to see if it’s true.

Windows and doors are flung open to let the fresh air in – such a nice change from air conditioning – and when the downpour (or should I say dribble) starts, you feel like doing a rain dance outside.

Every single Tweet and Facebook update from a UAE friend will mention the rain and if you’re in the car, it takes a minute or two to remember how to work the windscreen wipers.

It’s amazing how rain clears the air, too. Seeing the enormous, billowing Burj al Arab (pictured above) from as far away as Arabian Ranches was quite a shock (had someone moved it, I wondered?) and just goes to show what a dust ball we live in the rest of the time.

But, rain in the Middle East has a downside if you’re out and about – the drivers don’t slow down and aquaplane along the roads, with car crashes all over the emirate. The drainage is also completely useless, meaning parts of Dubai, including our compound, actually flood if the rain is prolonged.

If the heavens open twice, puddle-loving kids can’t believe their luck, though may act confused. “Mummy, why is it raining again?” my friend’s four-year-old asked – boy, are our kids in for a shock if we move back to England.

Flooding in 2009: Who would have thought? It literally brings Dubai to a standstill

Doing battle with a three-year-old

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I try not to say too much about DH in my blog because he’s rather mystified by the concept of Facebook updates let alone blogging.

But I can’t resist documenting a conversation I overheard between him and the little boy this weekend.

LB wanted a carton of strawberry milk, which I’ve taken to buying so their apple juice consumption can no longer be measured by the gallon.

He was refusing to say please and DH was – for the umpteenth time – trying to teach him to remember his manners.

This went on for at least half the morning. I would probably have buckled far sooner.

LB managed to manoeuvre DH into the kitchen and they were both standing by the open cupboard.

“Say please,” says DH, his hand reaching up and hovering over the strawberry milks.

“THAT ONE,” LB retaliates, pointing at the cartons (“Can’t you see? They’re right there!” he’s thinking)

“What do you say?”

“At the T.O.P.” responds LB, getting more and more exasperated he’s having to give orders for something so simple.

“If you won’t say please, you can’t have it.” DH pretends to walk away.

“T.U.R.N A.R.O.U.N.D,” yells LB [angry tears].

I crept away, pretty sure DH would win (my mother-in-law used to talk about running etiquette classes, and we do try to hammer home the manners).

But, a little later, I notice LB running round with his ‘pink milk’ and DH, on the sofa, looking a little, dare I say it, beaten.

“He won’t get away with it next time,” mutters DH.

Three-year-olds, honestly. As cute as a button – but compared to life now, don’t you think our pint-size dictators make pregnancy seem like a nine-month massage?

Once we've got the please and thank yous down pat, we can move on to using napkins, knowing when to be silent and table taboos! I'd better start reading this book by etiquette expert Ava Carroll-Brown

PHOTO CREDIT: Ava Carroll-Brown

Falling for Dubai again

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While folks back home are enjoying seeing the trees turning from green to pale orange and then, in the States, all the way through to crimson red, here in the desert we’re getting rather excited about our own change of season.

It’s not in the least bit colourful, the palm trees don’t shed their leaves, there’s no apple picking or hayrides (all things I really miss), and pumpkins cost an arm and a leg. But the climate does go from boiling hot to hot – and you’d be surprised how ‘hot’ can feel really quite pleasant after the searing summer temperatures.

Invigorated by being able to exercise outdoors again, Energetic Mum can be found jogging round the Ranches before the school run

It’s like someone’s turned the oven off – you can stand on the ground again without getting third-degree burns, swim in the sea as the water is no longer as warm as a bath, and dip your kids in an unchilled pool without feeling like you’re watching a boil-in-the-bag meal cook.

Despite it still being in the low 90s, energetic mums with size 8 figures – who somehow rarely sweat – can really go into overdrive. “Hey kids, it’s Saturday! After boot camp on the beach, let’s go for a bike ride, then head to Al Ain zoo, and maybe finish up with a pony trek at the Polo Club,” I imagine them telling their astonished offspring. “C’mon kids, race you to the door! Whaddya waiting for.”

I may not be the proud owner of a pair of sequin-embellished hot pants myself, but I am trying to get more active and have been out on my bike at dusk when it’s cooler – inspired by my mother, who this week was tweeting about starting aqua-zumba classes.

But, better still, today BB had a beach party, which was lovely, even if it did involve prancing around in a swimsuit in front of the class mums (with one shaved leg because LB’s clinginess while I was trying to get ready meant things went a little off-course).

And because LB practically glued himself to me after his brother dumped him in favour of his classmates, I spent the whole afternoon carrying him while jumping waves – turning my upper body to jelly and giving me the perfect excuse to drink pain-relieving wine tonight rather than doing my evening exercise.

“Happy sigh”

Fall was my favourite season in the US, but we’re at least safe in the knowledge here that there’s no snow round the corner (can you imagine Dubai drivers skidding along in the snow?)

PICTURE CREDIT (above): Clipart Guide

Life getting a bit easier?

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At stupid o’ clock this morning, the grey light of dawn only just creeping round the curtains, my human alarm clocks dragged me from some rather enjoyable early-morning dreams.

If just one boy appears, there’s a chance he’ll go back to sleep. But when you hear the pitter patter of two sets of feet running across the marble floor, it’s usually game over and a full 17 hours before you get another go at the whole getting a good night’s sleep thing.

So, at 5.40am – a weekend, of course – I was resigned to a day of muddling along in a tired, fuzzy-brained state, nothing unusual in that. Then something really astonishing happened.


Suddenly, it was 8.45am. The house was quiet. The boys not in bed, but not making a peep. They’d vanished – and I’d slept through the whole thing!

I found them downstairs, glued to the TV watching cartoons in Arabic (learning something, perhaps?)

They’d let me go back to sleep – a first! And there were clues everywhere that they’d looked after themselves.

The puddle of milk. Chairs dragged across the room so they could climb up to get snacks from out-of-reach cupboards. The kitchen scissors on the floor, used to open packets of M&Ms. Biscuit crumbs everywhere.

Why, next weekend they might even pack their own lunch boxes and head off to joy ride the Metro all day.

It’s another definite sign – along with ditching the toddler car seat, breezing out the house without the stroller and our semi-successful interventions to cut down on whining – that they’re growing up and life’s getting a bit easier.

Bitter-sweet? Maybe. But, mostly, utterly wonderful (I do love my sleep), even if I pay for it this afternoon when their early start leads to crabbiness in spades.