How low can you go?

Posted on September 5, 2008 by Helena

I am hoping I have hit the low point. After yet another night of no sleep, a bean-bag exploding all over Amanda’s flat and no response from my high-powered contact, I was told the ballet class I wanted the girls to go to was full. I did what any normal balletomane would do and burst into tears, then I thought about calling Etihad and arranging flights back to France. But decided against it due to the fact that the ballet class there is probably full as well.

Then a knight in shining armour appeared in my inbox. It’s amazing how emails can change your life. He is involved in property in Abu Dhabi and had read my tale of woe in the Sunday Times. I am not going to say too much about it for fear of jinxing it, but the flat is perfect, the location divine and the rent, although astronomical, totally normal for here.

An hour or so later I had a call. “Madame Helena? This is the Expressions of Dance studio,” said a friendly voice. “Are you still interested in your girls joining the Grade I ballet class. We have two places.”

“Interested?!!!” I leapt so high I hit my head on the roof of the taxi. It turns out one girl had pulled out, the head of the school didn’t want to offer a place to one sister and not the other so asked the ballet teacher if she would, just this once, take eleven girls instead of ten. She agreed. I love her. It seems ridiculous that something like a ballet class can change your whole outlook but it has.

You’ll be pleased to hear that Leo is starting too, on Sunday. His kit has been ordered, white leotard and blue shorts. But he too has hit a low point poor little love. After his first day of school I asked him how it went.

“It’s my worst school ever,” he told me. “I didn’t make any friends and they don’t speak English.”

He is sleeping peacefully as I write. When they all wake up we will take them to the Club where there are activities all day(it’s the weekend here) from Nintendo Wii (whatever that is) to cooking to tennis and bouncy castles. This is an amazing place for children and last night as I watched him and the girls play on the beach I thought that things must get better for him as well just as they have for me. Especially once he discovers ballet…..

The act of a madwoman?

Posted on September 3, 2008 by Helena

So the international conspiracy to keep me awake has now reached ridiculous proportions. I leave the hotel room next to the mosque to move into my friend Amanda’s flat while she is away. But now instead of the mosque I have the combination of four cats and the insomniacs on the 9th floor to keep me entertained.

I have realised that the only sleep I can hope for is before 1.30 am, when cats and insomniacs are at their most active. This has been going on for days. This morning at 3 I finally decide to write a note, not to the cats, to the insomniacs. In said note I ask them politely if they could perhaps be a little more considerate as they keep waking the children up (total lie of course, they have slept remarkably well). I decide to deliver the note immediately. Problem is I am wearing a pink and yellow nightie and all my clothes are in Amanda’s bedroom and I don’t want to risk waking the babes. So I find a raincoat, put that on and take the lift up to the 9th floor.

It does occur to me en route that if anyone sees me barefoot, in a nightie and a raincoat carrying a note written in pink at 3am, they might well call the men in white coats. But at least at the asylum in my sound-proof cell I would get a good night’s sleep.

Meanwhile I tried to phone the sheikh’s property man as arranged, about 100 times. His phone was switched off. It doesn’t look like my happy ever after is happening. But right now I’d be content with a few hours sleep.

Happy ever after…..?

Posted on September 1, 2008 by Helena

When a publisher first wrote to me offering me a book deal after my first Sunday Times column, I assumed it was a vanity publisher, keen to make a fast buck. This morning I had an email that I read four times before I was convinced it wasn’t my best friend playing a trick on me.

I had mentioned in my column in yesterday’s Sunday Times that we might need a friendly sheikh to help with our housing problems. What do I wake up to? An email from the best friend of the property manager of the sheikh. Amazing. “Call him,” he said. “Tell him you’re a friend of mine.” I didn’t need telling twice.

I have called him, and he sounds totally charming. He runs all the properties on the Corniche which is exactly where we want to be. I am trying not to get too excited but he has asked me to call him at 9am tomorrow when he is in the office to let me know what he has available.

So tomorrow is a big day; the girls start school and we might, just might, finally have our happy ending, or even our happy beginning….