Admin chores (yawn)

Posted on February 13, 2012 by Helena

One of the best things about living here is that there are people to do most things for you. When you go to the petrol station, a nice man (yes, it is always a man) fills up your car. At the supermarket, there is a packer to do your packing, at home you have a housemaid, or la bonne as the French call them, and possibly a cook as well as a driver.
The driver will deal with everything to do with your car, from taking it to be serviced to washing it. La Bonne does all the washing, ironing and cleaning. The cook shops for food and cooks. And between them all they run around doing errands such as collecting dry cleaning and depositing children around town.
But there are some chores it seems you can never leave behind: admin chores. I am inundated at the moment with pesky paperwork relating to our house purchase in France, as well as sorting out the children’s visas now that Rupert has changed jobs. I am not allowed to put them on my visa (being a mere woman), but I am of course still allowed to do the paperwork.

Not only do I have about a million forms to fill in for the French house, but we have to come up with all sorts of bits of paper from bank statements to salary slips and even our marriage certificate. This place is notoriously bad on the admin front, but I have to say it has nothing on the French system. Just looking at the list of admin chores ahead of me made me almost want to give up on buying la belle maison and never go to France again. But not quite.

The new Lampard?

Posted on October 3, 2011 by Helena

Last week, in fact most weeks, was dominated by sport. First Leo became a class rep at school and proudly shared with us the suggestions he is going to make to improve the life of his classmates.

First up, change the astro-turf pitch to grass. Second, create a cover over the football pitch so you can play during the hot summer months.

“Do any of your suggestions,” I asked him, “not involve football?”

He thought for a moment and then said: “Good point.” I’m sure we will see some rugby and cricket suggestions too.

Last night we watched Chelsea v Bolton. Frank Lampard scored a hat-trick. There are few things that make Leo and I happier than Lampard playing well. For Leo he is an integral part of the Chelsea team he first fell in love with a few years ago, along with John Terry and Didier Drogba. For me, he represents a side of football that I love and that you rarely see nowadays.

Lampard, who played his 350th game for Chelsea last night, comes from footballing stock – his father played for West Ham. His best friend is John Terry, the Chelsea and England captain. When he scored his hat-trick, he held up three fingers and looked to the sky, a gesture he has taken to since the sad death of his mother a couple of years ago. He is what I would call a proper bloke and you get the impression that his team is like his family, not just a place he earns lots of cash.

On the other end of the scale you have spoilt brats like Tevez, the Man City player who refused to play last week. Boys who are paid more than the GDP of some small countries and behave like divas. They take the soul out of the game and their teams. Say what you like about Abramovich, but he has kept the spirit of Chelsea alive, even if he has pumped millions into it.

It will be a terribly sad day when Frank (now 33) finally retires, but maybe there is a young boy out there watching, who loves Chelsea and longs to be the new Lampard? Just as soon as he’s sorted out the astro-turf issue.

Three in the morning stress

Posted on August 12, 2010 by Helena

I suppose if you have to be awake at 3am there are worse places to be. I am sitting on a rooftop terrace in Paris with an (albeit limited) view of the Eiffel Tower. Our hotel room is a tiny attic room at the rather oddly named Hotel Wo on the rue de Stockholm close to the Gare St Lazare. I feel like a character in La Boheme. My tiny hand is frozen, even though it is summer. We are almost a week into our holiday.

The Swiss Alps were perfect – totally glorious. If you ever have some (serious) money to spare then go and stay at the Tschuggen Grand Hotel in Arosa. We were there writing a travel piece for the paper and I cannot think of a more charming way to spend four days. I think I even slept through the night at least twice.

This nighttime waking is nothing new of course. But isn’t it extraordinary how annoying it is and the stupid things you lie awake worrying about.

Just now I was worrying about, in no particular order;
how I am going to lose the two kilos I have inexplicably gained since leaving Abu Dhabi
how we will make it to the Eurostar and then on to Wales all in one piece with all our luggage (including Leo’s scooter) intact
how the girls are getting on with my mother, or rather how my mother is coping with their endless energy
why they didn’t eat the sophisticated cheeses my father tells me my aunt was offering them, insisting instead on eating supermarket cheese – is this a terrible defect?
what to wear tomorrow (today)
where to live if we ever leave Abu Dhabi
will I have more snotty emails and calls from the (only) summer tenants we have at Sainte Cecile – it seems the house is rebelling against their presence and keeps shutting down the electricity and/or water supply at regular intervals
if my husband will ever stop snoring
is my book is good enough
will I ever finish it

So it was much better to come out here and enjoy the beautiful view. Amazing how chilly it is. And how peaceful without the sound of my brain whirring. Now I just need some gloves.

Fear of Flying

Posted on June 3, 2009 by Helena

Not the book by Erica Jong, but real fear. After the Air France crash I have it even worse. And it was pretty bad to begin with. It is just one of those things I have always hated and always dreaded. At one stage (when I was about 19) it got so bad that the thought of getting on a plane would ruin the prospect of anything I had to look forward to once I got to where I was going. In fact when we first thought about moving to Abu Dhabi, one of the things on my ‘disadvantages’ list was the fact that unless I was going to Oman, leaving the country would invariably involve a plane. Unlike France where you can get most places in Europe on a train.
Happily I have got over a lot of my fear. But since this latest crash it has come back, if to a lesser extent. Actually it came back when we flew from Ireland to London on my recent European shopping trip. There was horrendous turbulence. And then when we went to land the plane lurched horribly from side to side before we touched down. I thought I was a gonner. Everyone else in the group was so hungover they didn’t really care. For once I wished I had stayed up drinking all night.

This latest episode has freaked me out. The thought of just dropping from the sky with more than 200 people to a murky death is just too awful. That feeling of total powerlessness and terror would just be my idea of total hell. I mean in a lot of situations there is something you can do, or at least try to do. If you are falling out of the sky your options are limited.
The bad news is we fly to London next week. I am already nervous about the flight, however much I am looking forward to getting there. Maybe I should invest in a copy of Erica Jong’s book (which I first read about a zillion years ago) for the flight and try to think about something else….

Please sign this petition….

Posted on May 20, 2009 by Helena

Whatever your political beliefs, I can’t imagine any of you think she should be locked up because some idiot swam across a lake to visit her…if you cut and paste the below link you should end up in the right place.

http://www.avaaz.org/en/free_aung_san_suu_kyi/97.php/?cl_tta_sign=6df31903e6b3419193e3e4debf9ebebb

A French experience

Posted on May 6, 2009 by Helena

Yesterday was a busy day. In between checking my amazon rating, I interviewed Christine Ockrent, who is Belgian but one of those women you always think of as French because she made her career there. She was, among other notable things, France’s first female news anchor and also the only journalist to get an interview with Saddam Hussein during the first gulf war.

She was late due to lunch with a Sheikha and so I waited with her entourage of French women in the Business Centre at the Emirates Palace Hotel. There is one thing I had forgotten about French women. They all smoke. I couldn’t believe it. There I was innocently working out what to ask Madame Ockrent when suddenly I was being fumigated.

“Oh, do you mind the smoke?” said one.

“Well, I’m not mad about it, ” I replied.

“Oh, sorry,” she said making a lame attempt to wave her poison in the other direction.

What is the point I wondered, in asking someone if they mind and then carrying on? ‘Oh do you mind if I sleep with your husband?’ ‘You do? Oh well, try not to notice would you?’

Anyway Madame Ockrent was extremely interesting. She is now CEO of France 24 and here to launch the extended Arab version of the channel. She has done pretty much everything I always wanted to; including reading the news on national TV, writing books, working as a foreign correspondent all over the world and getting major scoops.

And, as far as I know, she doesn’t smoke….

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.

Fat attack…..

Posted on December 14, 2008 by Helena

So this is it. It has finally happened to me.

They say when you move to the UAE you gain what is affectionately known as the ‘Dubai stone’. I won’t be doing that, I thought smugly, sipping my grande latte (full-fat milk, natch). Oh dear. And double dear. Now I have.

Too many lattes... I only noticed it yesterday. We were at the beach. I went to the loo and caught sight of myself in the mirror. “Hmmmm,’ I thought. ‘I look rather large, must be the cut of the bikini or the light or maybe there is something wrong with the mirror.’

Then we got home and it was time to get dressed to go out to a party. I put on an outfit and looked in the mirror. Horror of horrors. Instead of a palm tree, there was a socking great oak. Broad in the beam is putting it mildly.

Rupert confirmed my worst fears. “You look rather….chunky,” he said. He wouldn’t dare use the ‘f’ word. Oh HELP – how can this have happened?

It gets worse. We went to the party and I chatted to a lovely French woman about how I had to lose some weight. Normally I say this in half-jest just so I can hear those comforting ‘oh don’t be ridiculous, you’re so thin’ kind of remarks. What did I get from the super-slim French lady? A stony silence. And she’s RIGHT, I am now overweight. At least I am not thin by French standards. Or my own.

The irony is I am writing a diet book. Ha! They won’t be using me in the publicity shots. Unless I follow my own advice that is. Or maybe I should just go the Oprah route; surrender and buy bigger clothes?

NEVER!

Cyber panic attack

Posted on November 13, 2008 by Helena

It was reminiscent of the moment my handbag was stolen at Geneva airport. While we were staying at Atlantis I logged on to my blog. In the manner of Oscar Wilde I often read my own words when I am looking for something entertaining. In fact no one laughs at my jokes quite as much as I do.

I expected to see the familiar page; something I have grown to love and look forward to clicking on to over the past couple of years. What did I get? A picture of a young blonde woman carrying a rucksack with a message saying ‘welcome to www.helenafrithpowell.com.’

Immediately I feared the worst; a cyber stalker who had wiped out my entire on-line life. All the pictures of the children, the anecdotes, the silly things they have said, the silly things others have said, my crusade against “honour” killings and the Burmese junta, fashion tips, fashion faux pas and, most crucially, all my jokes.

I ran downstairs to where the children and Rupert were eating.

“How dreadful,” he said. “Do you feel violated?”

“Now you mention it, yes I do,” I replied. “It’s rather like someone going through your handbag and replacing it with things you don’t want. But much worse.”

“Phone him and say ‘look you doughnut, give me back my blog’” suggested Bea.

I started weeping.

“At least she’s pretty,” Olivia tried to console me. “They could have put an ugly one up there.”

“Look on the bright side,” said Rupert. “At least it will make a good blog.”

Expired I emailed my lovely web-masters, they started panicking too, which made me even more nervous. Then a few hours later they discovered it was because the hosting of the domain had run out.

So simple but what a stressful few hours. But it did make me realise how much it means to me and how devastated I was when I thought it had gone. Rather fittingly I am giving a speech about blogs on Sunday, the title of my speech is: From print to blog or is it the other way around. Any ideas (and jokes) gratefully received.

Nessun Dorma

Posted on September 10, 2008 by Helena

Here I am again in the middle of the night wondering why I am awake. Yesterday was not a great day. The flat fell through. I would have wept but was unsurprised by the inevitability of it.

Rupert, as always, looked on the bright side. He suggests we use the money we save in rent to join the most beautiful and exclusive beach club here. The children agree. I, sensibly, think we should use any money we save to pay off debts. But then again there will always be debts and just how happy is reducing them going to make me compared with strolling along the beach at the Emirates Palace Hotel in a pink bikini?

So I sat in a chair after the call informing me that we don’t in fact have anywhere to live having just had my eye-brows threaded (cheaper than Harvey Nicks by a long way) and thought; we are back to square one. But then I remembered square one. We were in a horrible hotel, we were dazed (no change there), we had no friends, the children weren’t at school or at ballet or football or rugby (starts tomorrow) and I had no idea where in Abu Dhabi to get my nails done or where Marks & Spencer’s was. We had not discovered the marvels of the various gyms, yoga classes and other things you can do if you live in a city.

So I am trying to adopt a Life of Brian approach (always look on the bright side of life da da, da da da da da) and remembering all the good things about life here; our new friends, the view along the Corniche, the kindness of the people (one man got out of his taxi to let me have it the other day declaring that “you have children, it’s not fair” I couldn’t agree more) and the vast shopping possibilities open to me if we chose to live in a caravan (possibly on the Emirates Palace beach).

But it would help if I could sleep.