Chronicles of a Trailing Spouse...

I walked into a little shop today to buy water, and there was a man stretched out asleep on the freezer. I stopped in my tracks, uncertain as to whether I should advance into such a private moment, but the shopkeeper seemed totally at ease with the arrangement so I continued with my purchase while the man snoozed away. It got me thinking how odd some things are here, to my Western perspective. So many things leave me baffled at times. Like for example the way local people who need a pint of milk just drive up to the shop and blow their horn until someone comes out and serves them. Yesterday, I pulled up to a little grocery shop at the same time as a young local man. He started honking his horn while I got out of the car and went into the shop. When I emerged with my purchases a couple of minutes later he was still honking away impatiently. There is a culture of entitlement here in the UAE which leaves me both perplexed and cold at times.  A benevolent government, keen to ...

So we're moving....again. This time to the northern Emirate of Ras al Khaimah where we will inhabit a townhouse half the size of our villa for precisely half the rent. Since we arrived in the UAE we've been on a mission to cheat the outrageous rental costs here and in this latest move, we seem to have done that, albeit with the massive cost of DH commuting a couple of days a week to AD. Moving isn't a new phenomenon to us, we've moved so many times I've lost count. I have a suspicion there is some itinerant blood running through my veins as after a year in any house ennui sets in and I find myself dreaming of a different house, different town, new curtains and just plain wanting to start 'afresh'. In addition, it's an effective, albeit drastic way to spring clean and throw out all the crap, (as students we used to hold a dinner party every now and then for the same reason). This probably stems from a childhood which saw at least 8 moves (for me, for...

It's Ramadan, and that means platters of cakes and biscuits mysteriously appearing on our door step from kindly neighbours. Occasionally we'll throw open the front door to reveal a fast retreating maid or nanny scurrying down the drive but in general we don't know who leaves these gifts which makes thanking them or indeed returning the plate impossible. I'd like to return the favour and have been told that the appropriate response would be a traditional dish or gift from our own country. However, I'm not sure a bottle of Jameson or Baileys will be understood or gratefully accepted in the spirit (pardon the pun) it was given. Pity, they don't know what they're missing. Then I thought (in a rare burst of Nigella esque enthusiasm), perhaps I could rustle up something my mother used to make. However, this too is problematic, not least because a) my mothers' idea of rustling up something was baking scones which could double as missiles and b) my interpre...