The night before my parents arrived, my list of niggly, not-yet-got-round-to maintenance issues became impossible to ignore.

The hole in the garage wall wasn’t the problem – it was more the flickering lights downstairs that had turned the living room into a discotheque. It was a choice of sitting in the dark with the lights off, or under a strobe light. Which, knowing my boys, would hype them up so much we’d all end up looking like a series of crazy stills from some epic, horror movie.

My over-active imagination pictured all kinds of voltage surges, circuit overloads and faulty connections, so I got on the phone.

But who to call? Our compound’s maintenance services have changed hands several times and all the numbers I had stored on my phone were old. The portal for logging problems needed a password, which we didn’t know.

That’s when I found out we now have a Happiness Centre.

Yes, a happiness centre! Except it closes at 2.30pm, after which time it’s just an answering machine.

Undeterred, I called the happiness centre the next morning.

A quiet female voice answered. I explained and after several minutes of ‘circular’ conversation (very common in Dubai when you’re trying to be understood), I decided not to expect too much.

Low and behold (and credit where credit is due), the happiness centre worked a treat! A man turned up!

He stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and frightened. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face, forcing him to wipe it away with his hands. 

I know what you’re thinking – our household must have looked like a horror scene after all.

The maintenance man shifted his weight from foot to foot, still refusing to come in despite the heat outside.

“Dog,” he said and pointed at our pet desert mutt – who was swiftly sent out to the garden so our lights could be fixed.

Once he’d got over his terror at the dog, our maintenance man was an absolute sweetie, promising to come back to fix five other lights upstairs – once they’d been properly notified and the jobs were on his to-do list.

Next, between the hours of 7.30-2.30pm, and not on a weekend or public holiday, I’m going to hit the call centre for help with the hole in the wall.

Hurrah for the happiness centre!