Eureka!

The last two pieces of the bureaucratic jigsaw have now fallen into place. The booze licence arrived on Saturday and yesterday I finally got my driving licence. Not without one last pass through the wringer though.

I collected the paper from the Abu Dhabi Medical Board, duly ratified by three doctors, that I'm fit to drive, and went to the driving licence department. 'System crash' he said, 'come back tomorrrow or maybe this evening Inshallah'. I didn't want to go back tomorrow - it is nearly 100 miles away - so went back later after my meeting. They were open again but there was a bit of an undignified scrum to get a ticket (sod the British sense of queuing, you have to push) and then a 2 hour wait. When it was my turn she told me to go and take the eye test again and then get another ticket for another 2 hour wait. It was a bit of a struggle to stay calm. What was the point of taking 3 months to get an eye test when they weren't going to believe what it said anyway? No point arguing, so I went to do the test but told her I wasn't queuing again and would be back directly.

The optometerist was very friendly and I had no problem with the vision test. Then the colour test. 'What number this?'. '12'. No problem, I've memorised these after all. Then, disaster, they've shuffled the pack and I can't see them! That's it, I thought, I'm going to have to hire a Sri Lankan house boy/driver like lots of our neighbours after all (Janet is quite keen on this anyway!). Unlike last time, however, that wasn't the end. She showed me four coloured cards which I easily identified and she signed the form as 'fit to drive'. Once my papers had been taken away and scrutinised twice more by senior officials I was finally given a licence. And that, I promise, is the last word on the subject.

Now that I can buy a car the question is what. Whilst I fancy a Chevy Lumina or Dodge Charger, I've promised Janet that I'll get a 4x4 for safety reasons. Tonight I'm off to look at Ben's favourite, a Hummer.

The booze licence is important, and not just for buying it, since this is a Muslim country. It's OK for tourists to drink but if you're a resident then strictly you need a licence. This was in today's paper:

A couple began their appeal yesterday against a one-month jail sentence for kissing in public in Ramadan. The Australian man and the Filipino woman were kissing in a coffee shop at night when a man asked them to stop. When they refused the man called the police. The couple were also fined dhs1,000 for each for drinking alcohol.

In another recent case a British man was taken to court, not for being drunk but for "drinking beer at a Bur Dubai pub". Quite amazing

Ding Dong Merrily Dubai

The title is shamelessly plagiarised from The Sun who are praising Dubai for showing how to celebrate Christmas. Really they are just launching a festive jingoistic campaign and don't mention that Dubai is stuffed full of expats doing their Christmas shopping. Someone said to me that Dubai is a Muslim country until there is a business reason not to be (like the Duty Free warehouse, the pork counter at the supermarket ...) and that rings true most of the time.

Anyway, our tree is up and the festive season has kicked off with Lucy in a carol concert at Rainbows. Tonight we're off to do our Christmas shopping at Dragonmart - friends and relatives can expect a few 'Made in China' labels in their stockings.

It has been a terrible week to be an Englishman abroad following the most abject defeat I can ever remember in the Ashes. I was depressed about it, but how much harder for my friend Jim in Australia. Whilst looking for something to cheer himself up on the net he came across this defining what it is to be an Englishman, written by George Santayana, a Spaniard, whilst in England in 1922.

Instinctively the Englishman is no missionary, no conqueror. He prefers the country to the town, and home to foreign parts. He is rather glad and relieved if only natives will remain natives and strangers strangers, and at a comfortable distance from himself. Yet outwardly he is most hospitable and accepts almost anybody for the time being; he travels and conquers without a settled design, because he has the instinct of exploration. His adventures are all external; they change him so little that he is not afraid of them. He carries his English weather in his heart wherever he goes, and it becomes a cool spot in the desert, and a steady and sane oracle amongst all the deliriums of mankind. Never since the heroic days of Greece has the world had such a sweet, just, boyish master. It will be a black day for the human race when scientific blackguards, conspirators, churls, and fanatics manage to supplant him.

Jim goes on to say, in his own words, "An Englishman in exile has roots in the old country which are deep and true and in these difficult times it is important to return to them for sustenance; oh, and don't forget to pull your hat down over your ears and wear sunglasses, go out after dark only and take the phone off the hook till it all blows over, sometime in 2009 the mocking laughter will die away I think..." Amen to that.

Rugby Sevens

One of the highlights of the expat calendar is the Dubai Rugby Sevens. For most of the year it's just a large area of desert which is home to the Exiles Rugby Club and the Country Club where Janet goes to a toddlers group with Max. Then, a couple of months before, it's transformed into the world's largest temporary stadium holding 30,000 people.

It is extremely well organised. The difference between similar events I've been to in England is marked - the toilets are immaculate and the food and drink is good and varied (not a burger van in sight). There's plenty to do for the kids, which is just as well as they're not interested in the rugby.



Highlight of the day for me was when Australia were beaten by Portugal (the rugby equivalent of Accrington Stanley) followed by the commentator telling us what a good day England had had at the second Ashes test match.






One of the good things about having visitors is that you get to do things that you would otherwise consider too 'touristy'. Last week I took Janet's parents on a desert safari to a place known as 'Big red' 45 minutes out of Dubai towards Oman.

I didn't have high expectations but our Indian driver, Nadeem, took us on an amazing rollercoaster ride over big clean sand dunes. Most of the things he did beggared belief and completely contradicted all the advice given in my 'UAE off-road explorer' guide book. I can still hear my Mother-in-Law anxiously saying 'please slow down so that we can admire the view' whilst I was grinning from ear to ear.

The rest of the safari was a bit hackneyed - sheesha, local dress, henna painting and belly dancer - but at least the food was good.