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.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008