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

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

As Abu Dhabi gears up for the Grand Prix, I am preparing for what is possibly my biggest interview ever. Tomorrow morning I will be in the Royal Suite at the Emirates Palace Hotel interviewing the fourth in line to the throne; Prince Andrew.

I met him for the first time two nights ago at the opening party of the Fairmont Hotel here. He was much more attractive and charming than I imagined. My friend Amanda was horrified that she had missed out on curtseying the first time she met him so asked if she could do it this time.

“Why on earth would you want to do a thing like that?” laughed the Prince.

“When else is she going to get the chance?” I asked.

I took full advantage of royal protocol, the words ‘good evening your royal highness’ rolling off my tongue as if I said them every day. I felt like Deborah Kerr in The King and I.

The prince then took me to one side and we had a chat about the role of the media in the Middle East. All very grown-up. Obviously I told all my friends who were watching in awe that he was asking for my phone number.

Abu Dhabi is the place to be right now. Last night my stepchildren went to see Beyonce. This evening, while I dine at the The British Embassy, the kids and Rupert will all be at Jamiroquai. And the race hasn’t even begun.

Meanwhile here is a picture of two boy racers to whet your appetite. And if there is anything you ever wanted to ask Prince Andrew, leave me a comment here.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

Today is a public holiday so Bea came with me to work. This is what she wrote, she called it ‘My first blog’. Here she is relaxing after work in a wig with her sister (Bea is on the right).

how working in an office is like?
well my parents work in an office and i think it’s good but you gotta know what to do !

So my mother works on the magazine that only comes out on saturday’s.

And my father works on the newspaper which comes out every morning.
So my mother works hard everyday off the week to make the magazine as good as she can and my father also hase to word very hard in the week .
But they both write books my father has writen 3 books and my mother has writen 5 books but she is working on a story book which will be called lost in france .
it’s about a mother with three kids they have two twins ones called charlotte and ones called emily and the little boy edward and the mother sophie so they moved to france and had a little house and were making wine and the kids went to school and one day the father came and said you can’t work here and they neeeded to go but they decided to stay in france because they liked it there .
and then for dooing the newspaper you ‘d have to write about hotels and acciedents like the sky news but on a newspaper and my father is a very good person he writtes coloms in the newspaper.
For the magazine it’s the same but it’s fashion and dresses and shoes and boots and jeans and tops .But my mother is a very important person she writtes blogs in the magazine.
but they both also have a little wepsite and have a million blogs on that ,like helena frith powell .com

satutday 2009 september.

Copyright: Beatrice Wright 2009

When I was last in London I had lunch with an editor I work for at the Daily Mail. Thankfully the credit crunch has not yet hit Derry Street. As we sipped our champagne he asked me if I ever read Allison Pearson’s column in the paper.

“Yes,” I replied.

“And what do you think?” he asked.

“I think how much more amusing I could be.”

And how much more amused. It has to be said, hers is a dream job. Apparently she earns around a quarter of a million pounds a year for a weekly page and has a full-time researcher to help her. She gets to write about anything she wants to and millions of people read what she has to say. But I don’t resent her, in fact I think she’s rather good. And she did write that very funny book (with cop-out ending though) called I don’t know how she does it.

“What do you think of Liz Jones?” asked my editor.

I almost had to down my champagne in one. This is a woman I really do resent. I find her futile, irritating, boring and totally self-obsessed.

“I hate her so much I won’t even click on her stories online in case her rating goes up,” I told him.

For some reason the powers that be at the Mail think otherwise. They have turned her into a star; their star. She always has some drivel in there, invariably about her. Her and her ex-husband, her and her horse, her and her underwear, her and her move to the country. Today the top slot online is dedicated to a story about her and her assassination attempt. Yes someone tried to shoot her (not me, I promise). Actually they shot her mailbox. She was in New York at the time (like you are) so in no immediate danger.

But why have they decided this talentless woman who seems to live through the press a la Jade Goody is someone worth turning into a star columnist?

“Why not me?” I asked Rupes.

“You’re too posh,” he told me. “Drop the Frith. I know, call yourself Wright.” (His surname)
He has a point. I remember being on some morning breakfast show once when one of the other participants turned to me and said “nobody likes a toff”.

I am not a toff. And anyway, even if I were, now that an Old Etonian is about to become Prime Minister, surely they are all the rage?

But while I wait for my chance I figure my best bet is to write a hugely successful book along the lines of Allison Pearson’s and then take her job when she retires. Either that or wait for the mystery mailbox gunman to strike again….

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

So pity me. Here I am packing for a press trip. It will be arduous. It will be terribly hard work. And it will be tedious. Where am I going? A mathematics conference possibly? Or the annual-train spotters jamboree in Hull? No….I am going to the Chic Shopping Outlets of Europe.

Yes, such is my dedication to my job that I have agreed to spend six days staying in luxury hotels across Europe while I write an article about the best shopping opportunities available there. The organisers are promising up to 80% off designer clothes and accessories. But obviously that won’t interest me. I am there only because I have to be.

The fact that my research entails detailing just what you can buy for 200 pounds in each location makes the whole thing even more of a task.

How will I ever get through this week….?

On a serious but happy note I am thrilled to read that the Iranians are going to free Roxana Saberi. Shame President Obama can’t step in for the thousands of other women languishing and suffering in their notorious jails. But I suppose one is better than none.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

The lovely designer I met last week told me she has wanted to be a clothes designer since she was eight years old. I too, as a young child, had very fixed ideas about what I wanted to be. Up to the age of around 10 I wanted to be a vet for wild animals (since they have no vets), then I wanted to be a film star (like you do) then a writer. Never when asked the question adults invariably ask children ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ did I not know.

My children have no idea. I am longing for them to show some (any) consistent interest or passion for something. Here is a list of all the things they have tried over the past five years or so: art, judo, football, horse riding, rugby, ballet, tennis, jazz dancing, hip-hop, piano, violin, guitar, swimming, gymnastics and golf. Apart from Leo (who is mad about anything which involves a ball) they have shown no real aptitude or liking for anything. Maybe I have exposed them to too much?

But as a parent all you want to do is let them try as much as possible so they can see what they’re good at. Olivia’s violin teacher suggests she is so good at arguing she should become a barrister. I am not averse to that idea, but was rather hoping he might declare her fit for the role of First Violin with the Vienna Philharmonic.

Bea has said she wants to be a singer, but gave up guitar as soon as she had the chance. So she’s obviously not that serious about it. Knowing poor Bea she will just become what Olivia tells her. Leo will I hope become a sporting superstar so I can spend my twilight years on the sidelines of a cricket pitch, tennis court, rugby field or whatever.

Whatever else it will be interesting to see where their true passions lie. I just hope it’s not polo. Unless Olivia does become a barrister. Then she can pay for the ponies.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

There is an exhibition of photographs by Henri Cartier-Bresson at the Emirates Palace Hotel. We went along, partly because he was brilliant, but also because we are ever-so-tenuously related. He was my uncle Bertrand’s uncle. I met him a couple of times in Rome when I was a teenager. I wish now I had been more aware of the man and his Leica.

I love the idea of the defining moment – the concept he described as the time when you take a great photograph, capturing the essence of something. Since we saw the exhibition I have been on the look-out for defining moments of my own.

I saw one yesterday. I was at a traffic light, a worker was crossing the road in the midday heat wearing a selection of rags on his head to keep the sun off and dirty clothes. His eyes, as they looked towards me in my air-conditioned car, seemed almost lifeless. There was no hope in them, no interest, I don’t think he even cared if he got run over. Behind him four lanes of expensive air-conditioned cars whizzed by.

In a photograph he would have been static in front of all these moving monuments to riches he will never have. I didn’t take the picture, I didn’t even have a camera with me, but the image has stayed in my mind, just like so many of the Cartier-Bresson photographs we saw have.

Life here is always interesting. Today I am going to interview the opera diva Angela Gheorghiu. I am half-scared that she will throw a shoe at me for asking the wrong question (another defining moment) and half excited. Last night I interviewed Dannii Minogue. It was my first interview with a pop star. She was sweet, with vast fake eyelashes and pink satin dress, but it was a little like talking to someone’s teenage au-pair. In fact I found it quite hard to think of what to ask her, especially as I had been told to stay off certain subjects, like Kylie’s breast cancer. But if there was a defining moment in the interview, that was it. She mentioned the cancer, and tears welled up in her eyes.

I had a verbally defining moment from Leo yesterday on the way back from football.

“Mummy, when I grow up I am going to be boss,” he said, and then he paused. “But if you’re a boss, you can’t really go to the beach.”

That boy has his priorities well sorted out. Let me know if you come across any defining moments.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

Not that I am normally one to grumble but…

Due to my back still being sore, I have not been doing much exercise and so am getting fat

Work changed the whole mail system and all of our emails were down for two days, some lost forever

School Fees are going up by at least 25% from next year

I have had a horrible sore throat for three days

Someone sent me a picture of himself aiming a gun on Facebook (bye bye Facebook)

Next week will be better I’m sure. I am having lunch with the author Amitav Ghosh, as well as meeting the Swedish crime writer Henning Mankell. They are going to be here for the Abu Dhabi Book Fair. Tomorrow my working week starts with a facial. I am researching an article into how to stay young in the sun. As opposed to how to stay fat and grumpy, which is me right now.

End of rant.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008

Yesterday I really did have breakfast at Tiffany’s. I was invited to an editor’s breakfast to promote the launch of their flagship store in the UAE at the new Dubai Mall. It was not a bad way to start the day but then it got better….

Fast forward (literally) to 2pm and I find myself in a red Ferrari speeding through the Atlantis tunnel at an undisclosed speed. It was an amazing feeling; we put the windows down and Tim (the owner of the car and the car-club I am writing about) put his foot down. The feeling of power was phenomenal, the speed a mixture between scary and exhilarating, the leather interior exquisite. It was one of those rare times when the reality is better than the fantasy. I even recorded the sound on my phone, but have no idea how I can download it here.

Following the Ferrari, I went to interview a matchmaker who matches Indian and Pakistani families for marriage here. He was very entertaining, and single. Which is odd for a matchmaker. Rather like a shoe designer wearing no shoes.

Today it is my belated birthday treat, a day at a spa. I am looking forward to it enormously, of course, but cannot believe I am going to miss Federer/Safin in the Oz Open. I can’t think of anything I would rather do than watch them, except maybe go for a drive in a red Ferrari.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009