Helena Frith Powell

If I were to be reborn I would like to spend my childhood, or at least some of it, in Abu Dhabi. While I am mad about a kind of ‘Swallows and Amazons’ upbringing in England I wonder how possible that is any more and also if life as a child here also has its unforgettable elements.

Last night we were invited by the Abu Dhabi Tourism authority to the final event for Gourmet Abu Dhabi. This is a food festival running over two weeks, with lots of top chefs and expensive dinners and wine-tastings. Tickets are normally around £100 each so I was relieved that we were invited, especially as we had all five children with us, as well as Miranda, Leo’s friend.

The children ran from stall to stall picking up delicacies like giant prawns in lemongrass sauce and pineapple flakes with ginger ice-cream. They were fussed over by everyone. The setting was the gardens of a magnificent five-star hotel on the beach with a huge pool in the middle at the other side of which a band was playing.

We immediately recognised the band as the one Bea, Leo and I had seen (and met backstage) in Dubai so the children went to talk to the singer during the interval. Minutes later they had secured their spot on stage. The pictures are not great, but you get the idea. I am proud to say they all danced and grooved and there was not a moment’s stage fright.

When I was their age my pop star practices were limited to a shampoo bottle in front of our bathroom mirror. My point is that this is not only a land of opportunity for adults, most of whom come here to earn lots of money and secure their financial future, unless you’re a journalist of course, but you do then get in free everywhere. But it is also in many ways a land of opportunity for children because you never know what might happen.

I know in England, for example, that Health & Safety would soon have put a stop the appearance of our budding pop stars, even if we had managed to get close to the singer in the first place.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

Heaven knows what this means but I don’t want to be number 100, so please can you vote for me and ensure that I get to at least number 99….

Here is the link and then you have to click on HOT 100 and ‘click here to nominate’.

www.ahlanlive.com/18417-2010-hot-100?img=97220

Meanwhile the really big news here is that out of three goldfish bought 10 days ago, two died today. What can be the reason? Poisoning? Boredom? Overfeeding? Lack of attention?

Typically Olivia’s is the sole survivor; just like Sushi Sam who is swimming about in a cow trough in the Savoie with his friend Sausage John despite a kidnap attempt and below-freezing temperatures.

He would win the Top 100 goldfish award, that’s for sure.

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

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

There is much to report on family life as the school holidays have begun. For some reason even the weekend seemed busier. I think we probably have only just recovered from the birthday party. And poor Rupert is business editor for two weeks so rarely out of the office.

My in-laws, who are heroic in their efforts to travel and see their offspring around the world, are here. During the last year they have been here (twice), India and Portugal. And they are in their late seventies/early eighties respectively. My father-in-law even managed to get someone to give him a beer during Islamic New Year (he of course had no idea the corner shop doesn’t sell beer or that Islamic New Year is dry). He met a woman who was so charmed by him she went to her flat and picked up some beer for him. Imagine our surprise when we came back from the beach to find him watching the cricket sipping a bottle of beer (obviously the house was totally dry after the party…)

Last night Rupert and I took Leo to see the football. It was final of the FIFA Club World Cup. It was fun seeing Thierry Henry in real life but I hadn’t really heard of anyone else and their kit was the most awful orange colour. Leo loved it which is the main thing (not the kit I hasten to add he has better taste than that) although he looks a bit glum here. This evening we are all off to the races so to speak; it is race night at the Abu Dhabi Golf and Equestrian Club and later in the week it is Christmas Day…I have never felt so un-Christmassy, but I guess that might because the sun is shining and there aren’t many carol singers in Abu Dhabi.

Anyway, for the full report on family life I defer to my own very special guest blogger Bea. She really should have her own column….

FAMILY LIFE !
It could have been a crazy time for the wright/frith powell family
with rupert wright’s work going on .It’s great. to have
a lovely family like bea has her sister olivia who
is 10 doesn’t want to be the oldest and
as her little brother leo who’s 6
only wants a new roman book
with all the pictures of the olden days.
we all miss france terribly
as my mother who tryes to keep
the family together consvinced
us not to go back there “it’s better here
we have a cleaner and a driver “
she says

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

Apart from the fact that I didn’t get the Ferrari and Marat Safin didn’t call me and offer to become my personal tennis coach I had as brilliant a birthday as  a girl can hope for.

Being born close to Christmas is a bummer, but I think that at this ripe old age I have finally found a way round it. You have a birthday party. People come with presents instead of just bunging you a card and saying “I’ll get you a big present for Christmas instead”.

The children were as nicely behaved as I have ever seem them; Leo’s job was to greet people downstairs and send them up to the terrace where our friend Sandra had created a wonderfully candlelit louche setting with fabric awnings, beanbags and rugs. The girls manned the bar. It is hardly surprising we got through 20 bottles of champagne in a few short hours; once those two get on a mission there is no stopping them. But they were all charming, all evening. Leo eventually fell asleep around 11pm on one of the beanbags. When I said to him this morning that I was so touched they were all so well behaved he said: “It was your birthday mummy, we haded to.”

The guests were all great. I have a theory that a drinks party is only dull if you invite dull people. And as it was my birthday I didn’t see any need to invite anyone I would resent being stuck chatting to. We had an eclectic mix; two ambassadors and my seriously foxy yoga teacher among them. Rupert has vowed to re-think his attitude to the downward dog.

What surprised me I suppose is just how many really good friends I have made here in just over a year. I don’t think I could have had such a large soiree of people I really like in France after almost nine years. Although of course we have some great friends in France whom I miss terribly. And Norrie and Mary in the Savoie also added to the euphoria over my birthday by sending me a copy of the new ITV Wuthering Heights and singing ‘Happy Birthday to you’ on the phone. But my point is that I think here, because you are so removed from Europe, you make good friends very quickly and there is also a bigger pool of potential friends because there are so many more people in the same situation as you are in.

Whatever the reason, as I surveyed the presents this morning (not one duff one among them; Chanel handbag (almost real), Girl’s Night Out Five CD set, book on Yoga, Clarins bubble bath, Estee Lauder lip plumping gloss, several gift vouchers to spas, lots of bottles of wine, a gorgeous necklace and more) I realised that I may have a hangover from hell and be middle-aged (yuk) but there are a lot of great people living here who really seem to know what I want. Including my office who gave me a huge bunch of pink flowers. I have rarely felt so loved on a birthday as this year. Maybe next year someone will show up with the Ferrari and my birthday really will be totally perfect….

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

We are back from Italy and gearing up for Christmas. Apparently real Christmas trees are not readily available here, which came as a surprise to me. The thought of a fake one was too depressing. I considered several options before coming up with this…..I figure if you’re going to go fake, you may as well really go for it.

As Rupert saw me gazing at it last night he said; “You may never agree to having a proper one again.” He has a point.

The other thing on my mind is Tiger Woods. As I struggle to find the time to buy Christmas presents for my nearest and dearest I dread to think how long his shopping list must be. Poor love, maybe he could get a mass-purchase discount at Agent Provacateur. And to add to his woes his Swedish wife has banned him from playing golf, which I think seems a little harsh. I mean to ban a man from his favourite sports is just churlish.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

I had am anguished telephone call from Schamanee our maid today as Leo, Rupert and I played cricket on the beach.

“Madam, the girls are putting posters up,” she said. “I don’t know why.”

I spoke to Olivia who explained that they are giving a concert tomorrow evening and were simply advertising the fact. The concert will take place at 5pm on the small terrace outside our sitting room.

Sadly I will be in Dubai but I don’t think they will miss me. Apparently several of the neighbours have said they will attend and as I write there is an interested cluster around the sign on the lampost outside our front door (pictured below).

For anyone who has always wanted to see Hannah Montana in real life, do come along. I have seen the rehersals and they sound just as good as the real thing. The song is a rather drab number called ‘Party in the USA’ but the girls have made it all their own…..I cannot imagine what our neighbours will think of it all, but as Bea told me; ‘it’s better than posting it on YouTube”.

In this virtual age it is nice to know they appreciate the value of live music. If you can call it that….

This week has been mainly about recovering from last. It all seemed very empty and mundane with the glamour of the Formula 1 gone…but all that is about to change.

This evening the children and I are off to Dubai to see Navi. For those of you who haven’t heard of Navi, he is the world’s most successful Michael Jackson lookalike/impersonator. I interviewed him and must say he was charming. As the interview was on the phone I can’t tell you how much like the King of Pop he looks or not, but I will tell you all after this evening.

Tomorrow night I am going to a big party at my friends Noch and Bruce’s house. Noch is one of my oldest (not in age) friends here and one of the reasons I like it here so much more than France. This is a woman who laughs, drinks, eats and sings along to bad pop songs with me. So everything a French woman is not. Added to which she speaks English, another huge advantage. In fact she is English, but English colonial, so more amusing than most.

Anyway the idea of the party is that we all come dressed as the thing we wanted to be when we were growing up. After much thinking I have decided to go as Audrey Hepburn, partly because I did always want to be her but also because my view of fancy dress is that you should wear what makes you look good and no one can ever look bad in black and white. What would you go as? I guess I won’t have to ask Navi that question if I meet him this evening…..

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009