We were at the hairdresser’s yesterday reading short story entries for the magazine’s annual short story competition while Hassan transformed our lanky hair into luscious locks. Here is the outcome:

And here is an email Bea wrote to Rupert, it is vintage Bea….

Hey papa,I just got my nails plus toes done the colour is beautiful sparkly pink. I love you so much and soon I will be home say hi and how’s your work did you write a new piece in the paper ?Will you please call olivia’s phone when your on your way back home I <3 u (love you )sooooo much sorry to disturb you your probably in the middle of work right now did you know mummy had got a huge hat on her hair ? Well I better get going I have a lot to read so does mummy love you daddy and work hard quick question, r u gonna have your piece on the front page tomorrow?

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

While I was in India last week I interviewed the writer Amit Chaudhuri. He was charming and interesting and terribly middle-class. He comes from a middle-class Bengali family, grew up with “servants” as he called them (interesting note we PC Europeans would not think of calling them that but I just arranged for our maid’s visa and in her passport under job description is written just that) and went to private schools.

In a poem I read by him he said that: “My problem was how to suffer, for I knew suffering to be essential to art; and yet there was little cause for suffering. I had loving parents and everything I required.”

This is a sentiment Rupert and I have often discussed. OK so we have had our share of suffering but we have often wondered if we are just not angst-ridden enough to be serious writers. Actually all I ever wanted to be was Jilly Cooper so not much need for angst but you get the idea. Chaudhuri laughed when I asked him about his lack of suffering and said, “I suffered because I didn’t suffer.”

I am pleased to report that Leonardo will be able to call himself a serious writer. He is still suffering because of his “girlfriend”, the feckless Eloise. In fact the total angst and suffering knows no bounds. He won’t even CONSIDER the option of another girl and cries at the very mention of her. Here he is looking dreamy on the beach at the weekend.

The only sign that he is toughening up was that yesterday, after weeks of pleading from us all, he proudly told us “I haven’t called her for two days. Normally I call her every day, all day. Now she’ll be thinking ‘why hasn’t he called?’ Ha. I’m doing hard to get.”

With advisers like his canny sisters, there is no way his strategy can fail. And if it does, it will just be fodder for more poetry.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

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

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

For me it began with my birthday party – fabulous fun – and ended this morning when my in-laws went back home. Christmas Day was great; lunch around 4pm by which time Noch (see self-portrait below) and I had danced to most of the 80s hits on her i-pod.

This evening our great friends Jean-Claude and Alexandra arrive from France with their daughter Elisa, Olivia’s best friend, and Astrid, Leo’s girlfriend (although he denies it). We will have lots to do including the Capitala Tennis tournament (Rafa and Federer playing), a trip to the desert and a party to see in the New Year. If it is anything like my birthday, it will be a memorable end to the year. In any case I can’t wait to see them, although I worry I won’t be able to speak French any more.

Last night Rupert and I tried to think of the highlights of 2009. Very tricky. Especially after a long Christmas and not much sleep and a lot of wine, but we came up with…..

Olivia winning the two-hole championship and setting a club record

Bea winning the raffle to play with Rafa and Federer

Leonardo getting engaged but not knowing his fiancee’s name

The Savoie this summer (especially watching Wuthering Heights at Norrie and Mary’s and dinner at Mrs Wasta’s with the “talking bush”.)

Our trip to Rome (and especially making friends with my aunt again and watching the children discover ancient Rome, as well as seeing my parents who are thankfully just the same as always).

Interviewing Prince Andrew

and lots more, but the silly thing is one can never remember.

So what are my hopes for 2010? I hope I will get to do lots more interesting interviews and that the job will continue to be fun. I also hope that at some stage I will be able to do a full forward bend. I hope that the children will start to be a little easier to manage and not quite so demanding/difficult; mostly the girls, Leo is pretty easy to deal with most of the time and a joy for much of it.

And I hope inspiration hits me for a book because right now, despite encouraging comments from lovely readers like the one from Nina on the previous blog, I am not really sure what to do next. The novel does not look like it’s a goer and non-fiction is tricky with a full-time job. Added to which, you don’t really make any money from books. So maybe it’s time to stop and do something else? Seems strange to give up on the one thing I always wanted to do, but as Rupes says, at least I did it.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 200

I realise that Bea gets most of the column inches on my blog, but I have a few updates on Leo.

A few evenings ago we were invited to the Swedish ambassador’s residence to celebrate Santa Lucia. This is a Swedish tradition, a festival of light, where children wear candles (or lights nowadays I think it is, much safer I suppose but not as romantic) and sing beautiful songs. Traditionally we wake our parents up with coffee and cakes singing. Every school has a ‘Lucia-train’ as it is called and being chosen as the Lucia is a huge honour; like being a prom-queen or winning a beauty contest.

So there we were, listening to the lovely Swedish voices in the moonlight. I was almost in tears the nostalgia was so much. After two songs Leo turned to me.

“Mummy,” he said. “Is this going to go on all night?”

“Why?” I asked. “Don’t you like it?”

“Not much.”

I’m not sure he is really in touch with his Swedish side.

The bad news is that his best friend at school, Oscar, whom Leo describes as “just like me, only with less hair”, is moving to another school. He is leaving the French system for the British system. He will have a school uniform and play cricket. I am so tempted to move Leo as well, but is it mad to pay double the school fees so he can play cricket and be with his friend? Also it would mean the end of his French I fear….but on the other hand, the thought of Leo in a school uniform is just too divine. And I think he would be very happy; he is definitely more English than anything else.

Next year I might try taking him to the embassy carol concert instead.

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

I love it here it’s great .
Today we are arriving in rome by train it’ gonna take us an hour to get there so wev’e arrived and we went to the taxi station and got a taxi from our appartement and we thought that it would be wonderful but when we get there daddy doesn’t like it that much.
I think in my mind I hate it it’s horrible we have to sleep here ….But now I got used to it .it’s a little bit big and it’s got a kitchen and we sleep there in the kitchen on a bed sofa it folds into a bed .Mummy and daddy’s room is a proper room with a big bed for two and a desk a draw a mirror a CD player |I don’t know if it works that well and 3 chairs one big one and 2 little ones from the kitchen witch we call our room mine and leo’s there’s a little door to the dressing room and another little door to the bathroom .And another door to Mummy’s and Daddy’s room it’s good the appartement but we share it with an old lady but it’s fine daddy’s says that she passes to much and we can hear her through our transparent door but we have curtains on them and then shutters we have that on both doors .Then we went out to lunch with one of daddy’s friend I ate penne with tomato sauce then we went to Fontana de trevi and mummy took 2 photos of me and leo then we went to get and Ice cream I had chocolate mouse and melted chocolate in a pot with a spoon leo had nutella in a cone and mummy and daddy shared one they had a cone to they shared an armond and vanilla .

Then we went to piazza de spagna and we went on every single step on the way down we counted them they have 120 steps in total it took two minutes to count them and then we took another taxi and went home to the appartement but before that we went down stairs to go to the super market and got a little bit of food for the kitchen then we arrived back me and Leo unpacked the shopping and mummy went out to get her hair done and we stayed in the house colouring then mummy came home and said the hair dresses aren’t open on Monday’s now we are going out for dinner.

By:Beatrice wright 9 years old
Date :30:09
Time :8:45

We are in Rome, which I have decided is my favourite city. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Rupert told the children as we landed. “It took two days.”

“That long?” said Leo. He’s obviously got too used to Abu Dhabi.

The day before yesterday the unimaginable happened. My aunt, who has not spoken to me since Ciao Bella came out, asked to meet us at Piazza di Spagna at midday. When I spoke to her it was like nothing had happened. Like she had never been upset by the memoir and we had been in constant touch over the past four years and not totally silent with any necessary messages passing through my long-suffering mother.

I slept badly the night before we met. I was nervous. I planned all our outfits (well maybe not Rupert’s). The morning of the meeting we spent in Trastevere discovering some hidden museums with real gems like frescoes by Raphael. Then we went to the botanical gardens. As we were leaving Leo spotted a fountain. “Take a picture of me,” he demanded. I did as he asked and watched in horror as he fell in.

So now we had half an hour to get him a new outfit (including new shoes) and get to Piazza di Spanga for the important reunion.
We raced to find a taxi and asked to be dropped off on Via del Corso where there is a Zara. Fifty euros later we were rushing towards the piazza when I suddenly remembered I was wearing trainers.

My aunt would probably not speak to me for another four years if she saw me wearing trainers away from a tennis court. Happily Rome is stuffed full of shoe shops. It took me about three minutes from spotting a fetching pair of suede boots in a window to running onwards to our meeting wearing them.

I got to Piazza di Spagna at 12.10, 10 minutes late. You can always rely on my aunt to be even later, so thankfully she was none the wiser.

I am happy to report that it all went even better than I expected. Maybe there is a lecture she is storing up for me but so far all I have had is praise for the wonderful children and affection. My uncle Bertrand is as lovely as he always was and the children are mad about them both. We had the most glorious time going to an exhibition of Roman paintings and today she took the children to the Roman Forum.

It is lovely to be back and I think I finally know where we will move to once our Arabian adventure is over. But I will keep Leo away from the fountains.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009