The weekend

Posted on February 27, 2009 by helena

For us Friday is the new Sunday. Rupert has taken Olivia and Leo to the golf course. Since we moved here he has rediscovered golf. I catch him practicing his golf swing almost incessantly; in the supermarket queue, while watching the news, when collecting the children. Heaven knows that the locals must think.

Bea and I are having a lovely morning, doing her homework and some sewing. She has also compiled a little list of things children can do if they are bored and asked me to post it, so here it is:

For kids
What to do ??????
And what to not do???????
When you have nothing to do you can draw you can play a game you can play truth or dare you can skip on a skipping rope if you have a kite you make it fly if you have a laptop you can watch video’s on it or check you ‘re mails you could go shopping if you ask you ‘re mummy if she say’s yes then you a can go with her you could go on a boat for a walk you can play the playstation and you can watch the t.v but the one thing you can’t do is cook without you’re mummy or a grown up around you can’t go on a bowncanny incase you fall off and you must not light any candles you must not do that because you can burn the house or you can burn you ‘re finger ?

So there you have it. I might also add ‘take self-portraits with mummy’s phone’ like the one above.

My list would be as follows; sleep, read, sleep some more, get my nails done, read some more, eat, drink, sleep, watch a good movie with the children snuggled up next to me, go for a walk, sleep. And I think we all know what Rupert’s would be….how about yours?
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

Oscar night

Posted on February 24, 2009 by helena

There was an Oscar party last night at the Intercontinental Hotel here in Abu Dhabi. Three friends and I decided to go, mainly because the dress code was “red carpet” and I can resist no excuse to wear my full-length sequinned dress which now looks even more glam, paired as it is with my Valentine’s present from Rupert; a purple cashmere fur-lined mini-cape.

“I’m going to an Oscars party, ” I told the children. Leo started crying.

“Why are you going to Oscar’s party? Why aren’t I invited? He’s MY friend,” he sobbed.

I calmed him down and set off to meet the girls. It started well, with pink champagne, flash-photography and canapes. Then it seems the whole room took up smoking. Then David Hasselhoff arrived. Could things get any worse?

“I can’t breathe,” I texted Rupert.

“I’m on the terrace drinking wine,” he texted back. It sounded like a much better option. I headed home, joined him on the terrace and watched the Oscars on YouTube in bed in a smoke-free environment.

Where we live

Posted on February 21, 2009 by helena

This morning at half past seven when I went for a walk it occurred to me that I have not written about where we live. We live on a street called Little 8 Street, away from the centre of Abu Dhabi but still close enough to feel part of it. In fact as you come over the hill on Salam Street to reach us, the traffic suddenly eases, things seem less chaotic and greener.

I say the traffic eases but even this morning when I was out walking along what is called the New Corniche it was constantly flowing. You have to wonder where all these hundreds of people are going so early on a Saturday morning. But the view of the sea was lovely, as well as the high-rise buildings that looked almost suspended in the sky because of low fog.

After my walk I went to our local shopping area, which is a little like walking into an Indian village. There are about 40 small shops; dry cleaners, hair dressers, take-away places, a baker’s, a fruit and veg shop, countless material shops and little grocers that sell everything you could possibly need. If it’s not on display then just ask and they will nip upstairs to get it.

The baker’s this morning was full of men. It suddenly struck me that the shops there are always full of men. I’m not sure I have ever seen a woman over there. But this doesn’t make it feel unsafe or anything. In fact Olivia and Bea often go shopping alone and have made friends with all the shopkeepers. I bought some pain au chocolat, sesame bread and then picked up fresh mango and orange juice on the way home, as well as the newspaper, obviously.

This morning we will do very little and then we’re invited to a BBQ. There is something very exotic about the thought of a BBQ in February, but the fact is we should be outside as much as we possibly can now. In a month or so it will be too hot to go for a walk, even at 7 o’clock in the morning. Which is one of the disadvantages about where we live.

With thanks for picture to Michael Gunnison who writes a blog caller Flowers in the Sand.

First meeting with a policeman

Posted on February 19, 2009 by helena

I have often thought that a place can be defined by its police force. The English bobby, for example, is a thoroughly good bloke who can be relied on to be fair and trustworthy. This is my image of England. The German is rather bossy and neatly dressed. The Italian is too busy drinking his Espresso to worry about what you’re up to, although I do remember once in Rimini seeing an Italian traffic officer approach a woman who seemed to have fallen asleep at the lights.

“Signora,” he said. “We only have three colours.”

Yesterday I met my first policeman here in Abu Dhabi. His name is Ahmed and he was there to witness my first car incident here. I say incident because you could hardly call it an accident. I had to stop to avoid hitting someone and another car drove into the back of me.

I immediately texted several friends, all of whom responded with the question “is the Volvo OK?”

The Volvo is fine, it is a sturdy old thing, and the other car, some cheap Toyota, was much the worse for wear. Added to which any damage incurred will be paid by the other driver’s insurance as it was “100 per cent his fault” Ahmed told me.

I am a bit scared of policemen. I think it might stem from the fact that my mother, throughout my life, whenever she sees one shouts “oh help, a policeman!” as if his sole purpose in life is to arrest her.

But happily Ahmed was charming and extremely civilised. And totally uninterested in arresting me. He even pretended to be surprised when I told him how old I am.

It was possibly the fact that I was able to give him half my phone number in Arabic that won him over…

Tomorrow, tomorrow….

Posted on February 14, 2009 by helena

When I was little I wanted to be an actress. “You don’t want to do that,” my mother said. “It’s just a lot of waiting around.” Yesterday I saw just how much waiting around is involved.

I took the girls to audition for the musical Annie in Dubai. We got there at 10am sharp as we’d been told to do and joined a queue. Two hours later we were still in said queue. Then we were finally allocated numbers and told we had another two hours to wait. Maybe that’s why the most famous song in the show is called ‘Tomorrow’.

“We quit,” said the girls, ripping off their sticky numbers. I am normally quite a determined type, but four hours of waiting to be told they haven’t got the lead part seemed a little excessive, even for an ambitious mother like me.
So we headed to a party on the beach. Much more fun. We danced and ate and drank and ran up and down the beach carrying pink balloons. The girls looked lovely in their Monsoon sale kit. One advantage of the credit crunch is that 70 per cent off is the new black.

As I gazed at the moon while listening to 80s pop music and sipping champagne, I reflected that Noel Coward was right. “Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington,” he said. Sound advice. Which my mother followed and I am beginning to see the wisdom of.

Of course this does not apply to ballet. On Wednesday the girls will be performing their “Arabic dance” at a theatre in Abu Dhabi. I am hoping the only queuing will be from the eager public…..

A Nobel Meeting

Posted on February 10, 2009 by helena

I have long maintained that the Nobel Prize for Literature should only be given out every four years. I don’t think there are enough writers around to warrant such an accolade every year. Now, having met one of them, I wonder if it should be cancelled altogether.

The meeting did not begin well. I, of course, had no idea who he was. His name is Orhan Pamuk and he won the prize in 2006. I was at a dinner in Goa when the host asked if I had met so and so who won the Booker. I pointed to Orhan Pamuk and asked if he meant him.

“No, he won the Nobel,” he replied. Rarely have I felt more ignorant.

I tried to make amends with the Nobel Laureate. I apologised for the fact that I had never heard of him, said what an honour it was to meet him and asked him what it felt like to win literature’s highest prize.

“Such a journalistic question,” he spat out.

Funny that, coming from a journalist. But being a determined hackette I persevered. “Look, I’m just really interested, I just wonder what a difference it made to your life.”

“It made a difference to my bank account and my email account,” he replied before turning away to talk to someone far more important.

Dinner was awful. I sat in the middle of the table with two separate groups talking animatedly either side of me. This is not a position I am used to. Normally I am right at the centre of the party. I was strongly reminded of the bit in Muriel’s wedding where she finally cracks after years of trying to make friends with the cool gang. “I’m not nothing,” she weeps.

I am home now and very happy to be here. India was all I had imagined; colourful, busy, crazy, chaotic, messy and vibrant. The Nobel Laureate was not.

Pain or a needle…?

Posted on February 4, 2009 by helena

Yesterday evening Olivia fell down some steps at the music school chasing Bea. Being Olivia everyone thought she had broken her arm in about seven places. We rushed off to hospital and the doctor thought the same.
“I will get you an injection of pain killer,” he said.

A nurse showed up with a syringe filled with liquid. The plan being to inject said liquid in Olivia’s back thus relieving the pain. I didn’t like the look of it, but then I have always had an almost pathalogical fear of needles. Olivia didn’t much like the look of it either.
“I’m not having that,” she said.

“What about the pain?” asked the doctor.

Miraculously it seemed a little better.

Two hours and six x-rays later we discovered there were no broken bones. “You can go to school tomorrow,” said the doctor.

“I don’t think so,” said Olivia. “A sprain is very bad, even if nothing is broken.”

She is at home watching TV while I am pack to go to Goa to interview the author Amitav Ghosh. I can’t wait to see India for the first time. I just hope the children stay out of hospital while I am away. Actually it was Olivia’s first time. “Bea has been lots of times,” she pointed out to the doctor. “But it was mainly my fault. Like the time I dropped a torch on her head from the top bunk.”

Yesterday after almost six years Bea got her revenge.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009