Chronicles of a Trailing Spouse...

Almost 3 year old is finally flirting with the idea of using a toilet. He first showed an interest a year ago but is now starting to get serious and moving the relationship on to the next stage. First thing in the morning he comes downstairs, removes his nappy with a flourish, and takes himself off to the toilet to have a pee. Unlike his brothers, who at his age happily sat on the toilet to have a pee, he insists on standing ‘like daddy’, which is tricky given his short stature and means he needs to slightly elevate himself onto his tiptoes. On completion of this morning ritual, we dutifully applaud and hug him and he happily basks in the praise. So far so good. The problem is, roughly three hours later, he'll wander off into a corner, again remove nappy and take a dump on the floor. If I'm not in the room, he will go and fetch toilet roll and anti bacterial spray and go to work on the mess. Usually, by the time I realise what's happening, he looks like he's...

I need a cleaner. What had been the selling point of my new house has now become the bane of my life. Prior to moving in I had been heard airily proclaiming - ‘ oh, it’s lovely, all open-plan downstairs, lovely and bright! And since it’s smaller it will be sooo much easier to keep clean’ . WRONG! It’s a bloody nightmare because whereas in my last place there were a labyrinth of rooms to chuck things into, in this place there is nowhere to hide. The lovely open spaces are filled with piles of washing, school bags and paperwork. Open-plan is the kiss of death unless you have enough storage to match the size of the room or you are uber organised. Having a cleaner has a good effect on me, it keeps me on the straight and narrow. In my previous house I had one and on the days that she visited I would spend the morning tidying up, cleaning toilets, generally making her job a little less difficult. And mysteriously, what might take me days to get through she would have finished i...

I was born a month prematurely, and that was the last time I was early for anything. Even then, it was an elective cesarean so I wasn't even responsible for this uncommon punctuality. I am terminally late for everything: when it comes to time-keeping, I enter the realm of ‘magical thinking’ where an appointment for 12.30pm, 15 minutes drive away, means I leave the house at 12.25pm. This sounds like straightforward bad manners but it's more complicated than that and is rather a combination of a misplaced optimism, a tendency to blur uncomfortable facts, as well as a need to be in crisis mode at all times (I have the same philosophy with money). The result is that I’m permanently late, harassed and apologetic. I have cunningly set all my clocks 5 minutes fast which is a pointless exercise since I merely make a mental adjustment whenever I look at them. This tardiness is a common trait in my family where no holiday was complete without missing either a ferry or a plane. So...

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...

I have a favourite dress, I bought it in an Italian store in Al Whada mall in Abu Dhabi. I visited this dress every week until it went into the sale whereupon I pounced on it and purchased it immediately. It's silk, empire line and very flattering. I don't know if it's just being in my thirties, but I find clothes shopping more and more difficult as I get older. In my twenties a trip to Grafton street meant agonising over every single shop where invariably I wanted EVERYTHING!! These days I wander into the high street stores and feel like there's a big secret that nobody's let me in on. I can't relate to fashion any more. It's all smock tops and ugly frocks. It seems to me that most of what is in the shops went out of the shops twenty years ago. Why anyone would want to revisit the fashion of the 80's is beyond me. Indeed, finding an outfit for my recent  80's themed party was easier than finding something nice to wear for a normal night out. I...