Just What We Need

I've spent the last couple of days waiting for my bank card to be delivered so I've not been able to get up to capers, hence have nothing interesting to say about my own life.

Apparently there was some kind of shindig back in Blighty yesterday and I figured that what the World needed was someone else to talk about it. Especially someone who was several thousand miles away and didn't watch it.

Being perpetually cynical I'd been wondering why people were so excited about it (it's the wedding of two people you're never going to meet) or the minor details (how many people can actually recognise who designed a dress? I saw it, it looked like a dress to me). Equally I couldn't really see why people were getting so angry about it (it's someone else's big day, stop whining about class politics and taxpayers' money). I could only really understand people's lethargic indifference.

But then I saw an interview with Boris Johnson who said he'd got them a tandem, shortly followed by the PM saying he'd got them some photos of Anglesey. This set me thinking, they had something like 1,000 wedding guests most of whom probably don't know them that well. They must have got some terrible gifts. I find it difficult enough buying people that I know well something that they'd genuinely like - Wills and Kate's bedsit must be absolutely heaving with unopened pasta makers.

And imagine all that feigned politeness. So many absolutely genuine "You shouldn't have"s. As in "Thanks Sultan of Brunei, A gold-plated orang utan, just what we needed. But you shouldn't have, we'd've been happy with Amazon vouchers." or "Thanks Nan, a ridiculous title which means my wife isn't going to be a Princess. You really shouldn't have."

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Lately I have mostly been drinking things shaped like grenades. Add your own punchline.

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Dan and Rachel - No. 2. Congratulations.

[REMOVED]

Eight nights, eight beds, only two of which were in the same town. Shatterooed. And I'm supposed to be all refreshed following my revitalisation weekend.

But what a weekend. I had loads of [REMOVED]. Soon as I was off the train I had [REMOVED] in my mouth. So much [REMOVED]. At least two [REMOVED] everyday and normally far, far more [REMOVED]. [REMOVED]tastic. Short of riding round in a [REMOVED] [REMOVED] draped with [REMOVED] [REMOVED] pulled by [REMOVED] [REMOVED] [REMOVED] and [REMOVED] with [REMOVED][REMOVED] and [REMOVED] [REMOVED] scantily-clad [REMOVED] [REMOVED], I'd say it's the most [REMOVED] you could get in a weekend.

On a slightly tangential note, the thing that seemed to fascinate people the most this weekend is that the local version of the Simpsons Movie removes all references to [REMOVED]. As in no Spider[REMOVED]. As in the plot and most of jokes didn't make very much sense.

NOTE: THIS POST CONTRAVENES LOCAL DECENCY LAWS. SOME WORDS HAVE BEEN REMOVED BEFORE POSTING.

If I met me now, I wouldn't talk to me

I'm in a Segafredo in Abu Dhabi International, about to get a flight with "The Best Airline in the World for the Second Year Running." I'm wearing a suit. I'm carrying a computer and two mobile phones.

It's two weeks since I last consumed alcohol.

Last time I did something like this I was wearing shorts and the nearest thing I had to electronics was the chip in my passport.

Who have I become? Next thing you know I'll be reading Clive Cussler and taking photos of shopping malls.

A Day in Dune

Digging a car out of a sand dune on a remote road in the middle of the desert as the night sets in. Box ticked.

Now you may think that a series of rash decisions led to that

predicament but you'd be wrong. A couple of us had tried to go and see the World's Biggest Sand Dune TM - the only thing around here vaguely resembling a tourist attraction. Turns out it was further away than we thought. It also turns out that the sand that had blown across the road was far, far deeper than we thought.

Stuck fast, we were. Still it didn't take us more than half an hour to get the car out. Some camels watched us. they didn't offer to help, the bobble-backed bounders.

Up The Creek

I'm back in Dubai - I'm nothing if not a hypocrite.

So how did this happen, I don't hear you ask. After being so sneeringly dismissive of the city last time I was here just about everyone I spoke to said 'but you didn't go to the Creek, of course it was just shopping malls and taxis if you didn't got to the Creek.' So, never being one to form an uninformed opinion on something (cough) I'm now in a hotel by The Creek and I've got to say, get over yourselves - it's just a river. We've got loads of them in England - two in Chelmsford alone. What's the big deal?

But that's missing the point somewhat. Old Dubai, proper Dubai, is centred here. There's some semblance of history. It dates to a time before shopping malls, when the only taxis were wooden and floaty. You can walk here. Things aren't ludicrously expensive. There's culture

. It is great, rarely has my opinion on a place changed so much. Sorry Dubai for writing such a snarky blog entry before, you're alright with me.

Just in case you're worried that I've been kidnapped and am writing this at gunpoint...

I went to the Dubai museum last night (really good, btw) and it was full of idiots taking photos of the exhibits. Normally this turns me into a ball of frothing rage but it was so full of snapping cameras I felt like I was missing something. If you're in, say, the British museum you might see a few people taking a photo of the Rosetta stone and you think 'that's going to make an unbelievably dull picture but, fair enough it is pretty famous'. Here everyone was taking their photo next to every exhibit. People were literally running between artefacts, getting a photo next to it and then running to the next one. I can only think that there was a competition to see how many museum exhibits you can stand next to in 24 hours because I can't fathom who would possibly want the photos that I saw being taken. "Look, this is me next to a sign saying Dubai in the 30s and 40s. And this is me pointing at a sign saying Dubai in the 50s. And this one, you're never going to guess, this is me pointing at a sign saying Dubai in the 60s. I tell you, I stood next to loads of signs. Bloody love signs me." Really? REALLY?

And breathe.

Operation Desert Storm

Thunder. Lightning. Trees uprooted. Sand everywhere. Heaps and heaps of rain. Well un-desert.

On another note, for the last couple of weeks I've been griping that hotel freebies tend to be a little bit biased against the balder man. Shower cap? Shampoo? Conditioner? What even is 'body lotion'? Why don't they give away useful stuff like shaving foam, toothpaste and deodorant?

And then I realised I was being naive.

Hotel freebies aren't really freebies. They just put them there to show you that they are giving away free stuff, when they're not as 90% of the people using the hotels are men who, like me, don't use shower caps and don't really know what bodylotion is.

The bounders.

Now that I've got The Man's cheeky number I'm doing my utmost to use all the freebies i can: I've filed my nails; I've sewn extra buttons on my shirts; and I'm doing my best to find a use for body lotion - this much I can tell you for sure - It makes rubbish sunblock and horrible toothpaste.

Oh Man

You know you're back to weird travelling when you get fried egg sandwiches for breakfast. I've got nothing against fried egg sandwiches, you just don't get them in places that are "normal".

So Muscat. Not very weird, but just weird enough. A nice bit of variety after the you-know-just-what-you're-gonna-gets of the last few weekends. Hotel of dubious cleanliness? Check. Bartering for taxis? Check. Lemon and chili juice? Check. All good things to keep you on your toes as you walk round a city.

And what a city? Mountains down one side; empty beaches down the other. The centre in a series of rocky alcoves, more like a fishing village than a Capital City. Two thumbs up.

Camel Racing

Who doesn't love camel racing? - I don't mean man vs camel (that would be ridiculous) - I mean camel on camel action. I've seen a little bit on telly and it looks great. I quite like robots, I really camels. Robots on camels. Genius.

Anyway, the hotel's right by one of the big camel race tracks. Whenever we try and leave we have to wait for a line of them to cross the road. How much more desert can you get?

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I think I've discovered the dividing line between backpacking and doing things business class. It's the bidet hose. In shorts and flipflops it rules all; in a suit it feels a bit wrong.

Taxis and Shopping Malls

Dubai's always been a place that's held absolutely no appeal for me, I've always assumed that it would just be full of shopping malls and taxis. But hey, it's probably the second best city I've been to*.

I like the fact that it's designed not just for cars (which is understandable given the temperature for four months of the year) but to actively inconvenience and endanger people attempting to walk. For example, you can't walk from the Dubai Mall metro station to the Dubai Mall without walking in the road - there's no pedestrian entrance so you have to walk down the car park ramp - which shows commitment to the cause. I like that there's no notices at any metro station to tell you that not all the lines shown on the map are working.

I like that in the Dubai mall there's a plaque celebrating the world's biggest piece of perspex.

I like that the buy-on-the-door tickets for the Burj Khalifa are reassuringly expensive. I don't know about you, but I don't feel that I've been up a tower unless I've paid £80 to do it.

Most of all, I like that the hotel I'm staying in pipes slightly too loud piano versions of MOR songs into the corridor - who doesn't love waking up to Chris De Burgh?

*Beginning with D, this year.