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…..

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

“What is the hardest thing in Abu Dhabi?” Olivia asked the other day as she stood by the pool at The Club, tucking into an ice cream.

“My stomach?” suggested Rupert.

“Not having anywhere to live?” I ventured.

“Eating an ice-cream,” said Olivia. “It melts before you can eat it.”

I look forward to her misery memoir.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

My friend Amanda sent me an email with an attachment describing three guinea pigs looking for a home. “Very cute four week old guinea pigs looking for a home,” it reads. “We like to stroll around, squeak all the time for food and we love to cuddle. All we need is a cage, hay, water and pellets.”

I thought I might solve our housing crisis by sending out a similar one for the children. This is how it might read if written by Olivia:

Three very cute and lovely children looking for a home in central Abu Dhabi. Must be a large house, have sea view and be close to the French school so we can come home for snacks should we need to. Would also prefer walking distance to Marina Mall or possibly driver on hand to take us there.

We like to shop. Leo doesn’t much, but that doesn’t matter. We also like to play Nintendo DS games; someone with a library of said games (especially Super Mario) would be preferential. Or in any case enough money to buy them. If you have a spare room for our parents that would be good too, but we’re not really fussed.

We eat almost anything; Bea will try to eat nothing but chocolate cereal, but don’t let her. We must have pasta at least once a week please. We also need a TV with programmes we like such as Hannah Montana. If we have to share a room, then Bea and I could, but could you put Leo in his own room please because he snores. You will like him a lot, everyone does, he is blond and charming. It gets a bit irritating actually.

That’s it. We’re very nice, not that much trouble. Well, Bea is a bit. But you’ll get used to her. Leo is fine as long as he has a ball to play with. And I’m very useful if you ever lose anything as I remember everything. Thanks. Oh can I have a mobile phone please? A pink one. Don’t give one to Bea, she’ll only break it. She just broke mummy’s. Leo wouldn’t know what to do with one because he’s a boy. Please write soon. Mummy is going mad with us all in the hotel and it’s getting boring.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

As I stood at the reception desk at the British Club Kitty’s words went round in my head. Kitty was Rupert’s formidable grandmother. “If you don’t ask, you don’t get,” she used to say before she became a victim of the NHS superbug.

So I asked the stranger next to me how long he’d been here. About 10 years he told me. “Oh,” I replied. “You don’t happen to know anyone who is moving and would like to let us have their apartment do you?”

“Why are you talking to strangers mummy?” asked Olivia. “You always tell us not to.”

“I do actually,” said the stranger, and explained that a colleague of his might be leaving and looking to sub-let his three bedroom flat in the middle of town.

“Well, goodbye then stranger,” said Olivia. “Here’s my card,” I said giving him my best ‘I’m not really desperate but please take pity on me and my three children’ smile.

We got into the taxi. Suda had gone off to Dubai so sent his room-mate to collect us. He is a young, good-looking man, also from Sri Lanka. He told us he was born in 1980. Isn’t that when I took my driving test? I feigned heat exhaustion and collapsed in the back seat. That was one thing I wish I hadn’t asked.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

Today I substituted flat-hunting for the Marina Mall. The children chose their school bags; Olivia went for Pucca, Bea for High School Musical and Leo, you guessed it, Spiderman. We also invested in a portable DVD player which we should have done at the beginning of this trip. Anyway, I feel so much better. Maybe we could just live at the Marina Mall?

I also had a good day in the office. I have my own office email address (very grown up) and I am going to write an article about shopping in Abu Dhabi. It is a tough subject, but I am a determined hackette and have researched it extensively.

On the way to the club this morning Rupert tried to distract the children by asking them to remember the names of my new friend Amanda’s cats.

“Nelson,” shrieked Bea. “One of them is called Nelson.”

“Correct,” said Rupert. “And why is he called Nelson?”

“Because he only has one eye,” said Olivia, who never forgets a fact.

“And who was Nelson?” asked Rupert.

“I know! I know!” yelled Leo. “He was a famous cat.”

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

So we have settled into some kind of a routine here. This is our average day.

4.30am get woken up by the muezzin (call to prayer). Spend next two hours lying awake worrying about not getting back to sleep, when to get my nails done, what is happening to Max and Wolfie, if the children are settling in or if their constant bickering is a manifestation of insecurity, where we will live, how hot it will be today and just about anything else that comes into my head.

7am the children wake up. Leo covers me with kisses and tells me I am his “darling gal”. This is the highlight of my day. Actually the highlight of my day yesterday was lunch with my new friend and buying two pairs of designer sun-glasses for the price of one. It’s amazing how a bit of shopping can lift your spirits - and there is plenty of that here.

7.10am children start arguing

9am Breakfast at the club - Olivia and Bea very happy as they have a full English greasy breakfast. I am very happy as I have muesli and fruit and can see the beach. Rupert is happy as India playing Sri Lanka on the flat-screen TV. Leo just happy, as he always is.

10am Children go to the Turtle’s Club where they swim, ice-skate (I am not joking), climb walls, make friends (mainly called Hannah as far as I can make out) and play games until 4pm. Rupert and I go to the gym. I lose will to live after three minutes on the stair-master.

12 back to hotel, shower, change and go to office. Rupert works until 8.30-9, I have to leave at 3.30 to collect the children. Until we have somewhere to live I can’t arrange childcare. Housing is the key, once we have that, everything else will fall into place. Without it, we are all in limbo.

4pm collect children and go flat-hunting. This is the low-light of the day. Yesterday I saw somewhere I thought was fine, having seen a lot of really awful places. Rupert saw it and immediately declared it a “dump”. And there are two mosques outside the window. So we would be doubly sure to be woken at 4.30am. I must be getting desperate.

6pm back to hotel; children by now exhausted. Try to muster the energy to go out to eat (much cheaper) but opt for room service. Have food, bath, read Winne the Witch’s Birthday for the 400th time (I did bring Alice in Wonderland, but do they want that? They do not).

9pm Tuck children into bed. Children stop arguing. Rupes kisses them good night.

9.30 Collapse into bed with Wife in the North (the book that is) while Rupes watches Brazilian women playing volleyball at the Olympics on Arabic TV. Fall asleep.

2am wake up wondering when I will be woken up by the muezzin….

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

I have not yet described the heat to you. It is quite remarkable. Here instead of sheltering inside shopping malls against the snow, sleet and rain you shelter from the sun.

I remember once in St Petersburg in December Rupert and I decided to walk from the Grand Hotel to the Hermitage (like you do). “You’ll never make it,” said the concierge. He was right. Despite regular sips of blueberry vodka from a hip flask, we had to take shelter.

Here it is the same but it’s the heat that will hinder your progress. I couldn’t imagine walking from here, for example, to the Corniche, which would probably only take fifteen minutes. I would melt en route. Even with an umbrella which I have noticed lots of people carry as a sun-shelter. There is no relief from the sea either. We went swimming yesterday. I kid you not, the water was as hot as a bath.

It’s strange though, I don’t dislike it too much. I find it quite comforting. It really is like walking into a steam room every time you go outside, the shock of it hits you and doesn’t lessen. But rather that than the Russian winter. The paper we’re going to work on here seems to be staffed mainly by Canadians, no surprise that.

Meanwhile our housing crisis lurches on. All being well (or Inshallah as we say down this way) we will be transferred to another, nicer, bigger hotel apartment today. Our dream flat is still not ours on account of our inability to come up with two annual salaries in one day.

But we are settling in. Suda our Sri Lankan cricket-playing taxi driver is a gem. The kind of man who is always calm, kind and charming. The children love him. He has his own family, but they are in Sri Lanka. He only sleeps three and a half hours a night so he can support them by working practically around the clock. I guess there are thousands of people like him here. We are all so spoilt in comparison.

Talking of spoiling, my new friend Amanda and I are going to have our hair done today and get manicures which I think will make all the difference. Not only to my hair but to my state of mind. And I will never complain about lack of sleep again now that I know what Suda does every day, day in and day out.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

Things are better.

I have a friend who is lovely and knows all the best bars, beauticians and shops. I have been to M&S (not bad, bit pricey) and in the same mall there is a play-area where you can leave your children in a sort of child’s heaven all day for about £2. Olivia has made about seven friends from all over the world.  I have also seen that you can get a manicure in the same mall for less than £9. Not bad.

We have found an apartment, only problem is they want a year’s rent up front before we can move in or secure it. So we are still in the dump in the wrong part of town with the three children camping on the floor.

We have also met a lovely Sri Lankan taxi driver who says he will now stay here as long as we do. And he plays cricket. Now we are going out for an Indian meal to a restaurant he suggested.And I have a local mobile phone.

Not bad for 24 hours. I hope in another 24 we’ll be in our apartment. Rupert has pointed out that we could rent a place in Chelsea for less. But the manicures are more expensive.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

So we’re here. The flight was good, despite Olivia’s fury that we were not “in the best bit” of the aircraft. Having prepared myself for seven hours in the air with my children by drinking a glass of Barolo at the Rhubarb Cafe in Terminal 3 I fell asleep as soon as we took off. I woke up three hours later to find the girls happily eating, Rupert ordering Whisky and Leo snoring away with his bear, Connaught.

So far so good. Then we arrived. I have to admit that so far I am not overwhelmed. Abu Dhabi seems a little like living in an oven, but possibly less attractive. Actually that may be unfair, we are in a total dump of a hotel apartment but drive ten minutes to The Corniche as it is called and things get better, greener, more elegant. Sadly there is no way we will be able to live there as apartments rarely come up for rent and when they do you need to be an investment banker to afford them.

We looked at a villa this morning on the other “new” Corniche. When they say “new”, they mean not yet constructed, so apart from a little bit where you could walk, the rest was a building site.

This is as far away from any place I would ever choose to live; there are no walks, no nature, no little side streets with designer clothes shops tucked away, no charming Italian bistros. It is a little like Florida, although the people are a lot thinner and I have to say universally charming.

But here’s my hope. I am hoping that after a long flight and being stuck in the worst part of town and getting used to living in steam room conditions (my glasses actually steam up when I go outside - it’s not a good look) that things can only get better. My hope is that in a week or even a few days I will be writing to tell you how marvellous it all is. How many friends I have made and how much I love the highways and impersonal shopping malls and how I never want to drink fine French wines again.

But for now it all feels a bit grim. Although I am encouraged by one fact I read in my guide book. There is an M&S. It could be my salvation.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

It is tough being back. No calming lake, no one bringing me food every meal, no massages, no doctor monitoring my progress. But I am trying my best to keep up the good work I began. The enemy lurks around every corner in the form of alcohol, chocolate and Pringles. It is also difficult to stick to eating certain things at certain times and dining before seven pm.

Last night instead of waiting for a late dinner with the friends we are staying with I ate a bowl of cereal and then watched as they tucked into a lamb stir-fry and red wine. Was I jealous? Did I want to grab the bottle of wine? No, oddly enough I didn’t.

This morning I woke up bright and early while Rupes slept on (clearly digesting all that lamb and red wine) and tried to do some yoga but was interrupted by Leonardo jumping on my back. I am wondering how easy it will be to carry on the routine once we get to Abu Dhabi.

We leave tomorrow - the Friday flight was full so we have had to wait until Sunday. We fly overnight and land at 07.25am local time. From the airport we take a taxi to the hotel we will be living in for a month. I am thinking about writing a book about it all, starting with the flight and ending, who knows where.

Yesterday we went somewhere that was about as far removed from the Arab world as you can get. It is a shop called Abercrombie & Fitch near the Royal Academy which my husband took me to. You are greeted at the door by a man with a naked and rather impressive torso. Inside it is practically dark but light enough to see that every member of staff (male or female) probably model for Ralph Lauren in their spare time. The place is crawling with gorgeous young men asking if they can help you at all. “Well, now you mention it, you probably can,” I was tempted to reply.

Needless to say I was totally seduced by the whole scene and bought jeans, two jumpers and some little dinky vests, even though a subtle voice inside was telling me that this is really a shop for people under the age of 25.

Despite that it was an extremely anti-ageing experience and I recommend it to anyone who wonders what it is like to be in a room surrounded by young men you have only ever seen on the cover of a magazine before now. And just in case you’re wondering, it felt great. It has certainly given me something to think about on that long flight to Abu Dhabi.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008