Party time!

I thought that updating my blog page would be a fairly simple task. Until it opened in Arabic. And where I might be able to muddle through any other language, that just isn’t an option in this case. So, I fiddled around for half an hour, randomly clicking on various links and making all sorts of hopefully temporary changes to my page, before finally managing to get back to English. So, here I am in Abu Dhabi, at possibly the worst time to take a holiday. Eid, that crazy form of bank holiday only possible in a country where complete lack of enjoyment is pleasurable.

            The first clue we had of an approaching fun ban was yesterday afternoon. Of course, they don’t advertise these occasions. Well, not to us Westerners, anyway, who need the odd frozen beer to get us through the tedium of an afternoon in the sunshine lying by the pool. So we immediately found the urgent need to down as many cocktails as we could. Coconut mojitos, yum. And Dave decided that it would be necessary to head straight on down to the off license (not sure of the technical term for a shop that sells alcohol, here. After all, there is no license – the sale of alcohol being totally banned – so ‘off license’ can’t apply). However, after joining the end of an enormous queue of frustrated westerners, all on edge at the sudden announcement on a 24 hour closure of the bars, he reappeared bearing an industrial strength, discrete thick black carrier bag of champagne and red wine. But, because of the binge on fizzy cocktails during the afternoon, indigestion prevented me from indulging. Still, I’m sure it’ll get drunk!

            The bank holidays here, in comparison to those around Europe, definitely don’t involve getting shit-faced and having lots of fun. No. Aside from the lack of alcohol, we’re also prohibited from listening to music. So, the restaurant last night was fun. As you can imagine, I’m sure! A silent meal. And hearing Paul Summerbell ask for a Sprite was an experience I don’t think I’ll have again. Glum-faced and silently we perused the menu, which was down to chicken pie, mussels or sausage (beef sausage, like chewing on plasticine!). No beer-battered cod, or steak and ale pie. We would have had a joke about the sheer glumness of the situation, except the show of enjoyment would have broken a law and put us at risk of jail. So we persevered and celebrated with the locals by showing no happiness, then hotfooted it back to our suite and downed a bottle of red.

            Today is another dry one, until 7pm. Not that I’m counting down. Of course not. The local ladies around the pool are donning their best party attire – full-on black gowns with eye slits. And the men have swapped their keffiyes (headscarves) for baseball caps. The usual display of disgustingly bad manners by the local kids, who are off school, reminds me that strong beliefs don’t lead to respect for others.

            Roll on tonight. Fun times ahead!