All went well. The Egyptian scarf was a huge success. Leo lent it to his girlfriend during the mid-morning break when she complained that she was cold.

“Then I kissed her,” he told us proudly over lunch. “But not on the lips.”

“Er, does she know she’s your girlfriend?” asked Rupert, a highly-trained hack, always ready with the most penetrating question.

“No, of course not,” said Leo, tucking into his pumpkin salad.

“Oh good. I’ve got lots of girlfriends like that,” said his father.

Meanwhile the other gift from Egypt; the tent pictured here, has been a huge success. They have pretty much lived in it since I got back. So we have been allowed to watch the Australian Open undisturbed. What an amazing tournament, I am going to miss it once it is all over tomorrow.

I’m sure once Heloise, as the “girlfriend” is called, sees the tent she will be begging to be Leo’s girlfriend and stop her flirting with the other boys. I hope so anyway. The end of the tennis along with a broken-hearted Leo might be more than I can handle all at the same time……

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

I returned from Cairo last night to sad news. Leo apparently came home from school yesterday weeping.

“What’s wrong?” asked Rupert.

“She broke my heart,” he wailed.

“Who?”

“My girlfriend,” Leo told him. This girl is the reason he was all dressed up on Monday last week. When I questioned why he was wearing a gold-sequined waistcoat to school he looked at me as if I were a total idiot.

“Don’t you know my girlfriend comes back today?” he snapped and went back to combing his hair.

Anyway, back to yesterday.

“What did she do?” asked the concerned father. “How did she break your heart?”

“She spoke to another boy,” said the heart-broken one.

“Oh don’t worry about that, Mummy speaks to other boys all the time.”

But he was inconsolable. “It’s not the same,” he wailed and ran upstairs.

This morning he was clearly prepared to take out the competition. He was wearing another waistcoat and very dapper he looked too. Especially when I gave him the Egyptian cotton navy scarf I bought him from Cairo.

If all else fails, he can always gag her with it.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

I travelled to Cairo last night with my friend Joy who is the wife of the Swiss Ambassador in Abu Dhabi. I am never travelling without her again.

We get to the airport where she checks in at the business class counter (despite the fact that we have economy-class tickets). Then we are escorted through a special VIP passport control by a young lady and up to the Etihad Business Class lounge where we drink Chamomile tea in splendid isolation. Half an hour before we are due to take off we are escorted by a charming young man to the gate where he pushes us to the front of the security queue. Once through, we get into beautiful white Mercedes with a flashing light on its roof and are whisked to the plane.

Next there is a brief hellish interlude as we endure an economy-class flight for four hours. “How the mighty are fallen,” I say to Joy.

Happily upon landing normal service resumes. We are met by Switzerland’s military attache for the Middle East and his driver. His driver takes our passports and organises my visa then we are whisked through the VIP passport check and into a waiting car.

Joy says this normally doesn’t happen to her either, and was as surprised as I was. I am sure though that the diplomatic passport played a big hand. Or maybe my meeting with Sheikh Mohammed (below blog) is already having an effect as the ‘wasta’ filters down……..

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

Henri Cartier-Bresson talked about the “defining moment” in photography; that split-second when you capture an image that will never be forgotten. In life there are defining moments too. Depending on what you are into it could be the first time you saw the ballet Swan Lake, or your first pair of Manolo Blahniks, or possibly the birth of your first child.

In journalism, rather like photography, you have to grab those moments when they come up, because they do not happen often. On Thursday I was having lunch with my friend Noch at a local restaurant called Jones the Grocer. A Sheikh walked in. We knew he was someone very important because the whole place ground to a halt and one person even kissed him on the head (a mark of great respect here because it means you elevate the person to the level of your parents).

Noch and I thought we recognised him but decided to check with two Emirati women sitting next to us. “It is Sheikh Mohammed,” they told us. “The Crown Prince.”

This is the second most powerful man in the UAE, probably one of the richest men in the world and, most crucially, the owner of my newspaper. I immediately called Rupert. “Go and ask him for an interview,” he said.

Now I were the owner of a newspaper, that is exactly how I would want my employees to behave. But this is the UAE I thought to myself. Maybe he won’t appreciate being disturbed. But my deep-rooted journalistic instinct took over. I picked out a pristine business card (one that hadn’t been drawn on by the children) and marched over.

“Your Highness,” I began, with a little curtsey which I had perfected for Prince Andrew only weeks before, “I work for your newspaper. My name is Helena Frith Powell.”

He stood up to greet me and I handed him my card.

“I just wanted to say that if you ever wanted to give an interview I would really love to interview you.”

He smiled and nodded.

“Thank you, it was lovely to meet you. Enjoy your lunch,” I added and walked back to Noch and my fish and chips.

I am not sure he will ever let me near him again, but it was a pretty defining moment for me. Here is a very bad picture I managed to take once back in my seat…..he’s the one standing up.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

Sometimes you have a day at work that sets it apart from any others. Yesterday was such a day for me. I ventured into the western region with Delores the photographer and a guide; the lovely Leila from the Khalifa Fund for Enterprise Development. I was covering a story about the fund’s efforts to revive heritage through self-employment opportunities for women.

When they were bedouins, the women in the UAE used to weave tents and camel bags. But since the discovery of oil they have all had houses built for them so this ancient skill was set to become a thing of the past.

I was really impressed with the women I met. We went to the town of Sila, which is eight kilometres from the Saudi border. We were welcomed like long-lost relatives and as we stood up to leave the oldest one (and mother of two others) said: “You can’t go yet, we’ve slaughtered a sheep for you.”

In Bedouin tradition you slaughter an animal for visitors and leave it whole to show you have not skimped. So off we trundled to her tent in the middle of the desert to enjoy lunch.

Obviously as a vegetarian I was at a slight disadvantage, but despite the dead sheep I have to say I can see what old Wilf (as in Wilfred Thesiger) was on. These people are very easy to fall in love with; they are kind, warm, simple, affectionate and generous. As well as funny. Leila told me the story of one of the ladies when a film crew paid a visit to film the weaving. There was much discussion over what should be worn.

“A man has landed on the moon,” shrieked Fatima. “And we’re still debating which part of our body we can show. And anyway we’re completely covered up!”

I can also see the attraction of the desert. I took off my shoes and walked around on the warm sand looking at the infinite views all around while the ladies chatted. There is a real sense of peace there. They told me they miss the old life and I can see why.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

Every week in the magazine we have a back page interview called Life Lessons where people I interview give their five life lessons. I have thought long and hard about what my life lessons would be and can only come up with a couple.

Treat everyone as your best friend would be one of them. This is what Ines de la Fressange told me when I thanked her for all her time and help with Two Lipsticks and a Lover.

Another would be to get the hairs on your legs lasered well before the age of 40. I could have written another book with all that time I spend shaving and waxing.

Last week I interviewed my lovely yoga teacher Ria. Her number one life lesson is Live your life without expectations. This is of course not a new concept. Benjamin Franklin once said: “Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.” But it is really worth thinking about.

Over the weekend I expected nothing from the children and guess what? They behaved a lot better than normal. Although Leo did have a mini-tremor at one stage and told me “life is so frustrating at this age”. This was after he came out of the bathroom, his face covered in Hermes body lotion and asked me “do I look younger?”

Anyway the fact is if you expect nothing and get something you are overjoyed and if you get nothing you are not upset. So there’s really no downside. I have realised that the problem with my life so far has been high expectations. I expected all my books to become bestsellers and they didn’t (with the exception of Two Lipsticks which sold above the 10,000 copies required to classify it as a bestseller). This time I am just going to expect that it does nothing and so I will be pleasantly surprised if it does anything else. It may sound hard to do but once you get your head around it, it’s as easy as a forward bend. Easier in fact.

So here’s to a life of contentment with no expectations but lots of success. If that makes sense…..And not that I’m expecting it….

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

The girls are totally and utterly obsessed with some game on the internet where you have a flat and pets and move your furniture around and go to sleep. My question is this: why not just play in a real room as opposed to a virtual one? Maybe it is because in a virtual world they are in total control?

Or they could even go outside. The weather is lovely at the moment. There is a cool breeze and warming sun, it is hard to imagine how hot and unpleasant it gets, right now it feels like paradise.

The novel is progressing. Not the writing, obviously, that comes last. But there is already interest from the US publisher of Two Lipsticks and a Lover, heaven knows how they heard about it. And Martin my publisher and I are back to our old habits of emailing each other at strange times of the night with “brainwaves”. When Rupert found me on my BlackBerry at 6am this morning responding to an email Martin sent in the middle of the night he quickly decided to go and play golf. “I can’t believe you two are back together,” he sighed.

Martin’s publishing assistant had come up with another title: Sex and the Chateau. I am not mad about it, but do see the need to make the title a little more intriguing and sexy than Lost in France. I came up with Three Lovers and a Vineyard, but we’re open to ideas….Meanwhile I need to get back to writing, or it will be a virtual book.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

One of the results of making friends with my aunt again is that I am back in the will. I hasten to add that I am only back in the will because she tried to leave her money to my children, bypassing me, but was told they would have to pay inheritance tax. Now my aunt may hate me, but she hates the tax man even more. So back in the will I am.

On one condition; that I add the name Benedetti to mine.

I have always rather liked the name Benedetti and so have no objections to doing this. In fact I have for many years felt not only cheated of my birthright (inheritance from my grandfather which my father blew), but also my roots and Italian family. So it was in cheery spirits that I sat down in front of my laptop to rectify the mishaps of my parents on the deedpoll website.

It suddenly occurred to me as I sat there filling in my new name that I have also always felt rather cheated when it came to my christian name. I only have one. Everyone else I know has at least two, if not three. Some spoilt brats even have four. But I have only ever had Helena. How mean was that?

Never one to let a bargain go I thought ‘why not add another Christian name while I’m here?’ I mean it still costs the same and I may never have the chance again.

Now all that was left to decide was the name. I did not ponder for long. Emily briefly crossed my mind, after my heroine Emily Bronte. Alice is another favourite. But the name that hit me, stronger than any, was that of my favourite (ageing) ballet dancer come literary wife come writer come party girl: the audacious and glorious Zelda Fitzgerald.

So I am now Helena Zelda Benedetti Frith Powell. And not at all eccentric. Now where did I put my pointe shoes….?

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

Several months ago, Bea drew this cover for my novel. She was clearly more optimistic than I was. The top figure is me and the other three the children in the book who are called Emily, Charlotte and Edward. Loosely based on three children you know well.

She is such a special little girl. Yesterday she did two drawings in her Arab class because her teacher was ill and they had no replacement. One of Olivia and the other of me; both so imaginative and well drawn.

Obviously they are all very special and they have been lovely over the past few days. Our tenant downstairs has moved out so we now have a big kitchen to cook, eat and chat in. For some reason this has made a huge difference to family life. The children seem miraculously calmer and I am certainly happier. It is so lovely to have a proper kitchen. I have even started cooking again. Monday lunch was like a ’scene you seldom see’ cartoon from Private Eye. The children came home to find me cooking lunch in a pinafore.

This evening I inaugurate the kitchen with three of my lovely friends here. White wine and asparagus risotto and lots of chatting; what more can a girl ask for? I am starting to feel at home.

Even the children are getting used to life in Abu Dhabi. When Rupert asked Olivia if she preferred living here or in France yesterday she replied: “Here, it is closer to IKEA.” Now there’s a girl with her priorities sorted out. I prefer living here because of yoga, my friends, Nisar our driver, my Volvo, my job, all the activities the children can do 10 minutes from the house, the people in the office, Schamanee our maid, sunshine and our kitchen……but not in that order. Right now, the kitchen comes first.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

There are many things I would describe myself as; efficient, busy, prone to car-sickness, grumpy when tired to name a few, but not a party animal. In fact my ideal evening would normally include being in bed by 9.30 and often asleep before the children are.

Imagine my surprise then when I found myself dancing on my terrace at 5am New Year’s Day.

It is amazing how fast the hours between midnight and 5am go. One minute it’s 11.30 and you’re thinking; almost there, almost time to go to bed and then whooosh suddenly it’s 5am and you have danced to ‘I will survive’ and ‘Valerie’ 14 times each.

I have a theory that life is a little like this too. That the years after 40 accelerate and life just whizzes by.

So one of my New Year’s Resolutions is to have lots more parties.

It was great fun, but less fun when at 7am Leo came storming into our room. When I explained why I was so tired he looked very angry.

“Didn’t you think you would be tired for Rafa?”

Happily my interview had been and gone, but we were off to claim Bea’s raffle prize. When we got there, it was the Swedish player Robin Soderling and not Rafa, which Bea was fine with happily. And before you start complaining about the quality of the picture, I was probably still squiffy from the night before. At least they’re both in it, just.

Another one of my New Year’s resolutions is to speak more Swedish with them in case Soderling ever become the world number one (which is looking likely, he was great during the tournament).

All in all an amazing New Year; Rafa, parties, book deal, masses of tennis, our friends from France, lots of food and wine. Now it is time to get back to ‘normal’ life. Except for the odd party until 5 am that is….

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010