Recognise anyone?

http://www.tecom.ae/press_centre/press_releases/

 

Andrew spotted this while browsing the DIC website this evening

Personality clash

Me: You had some issues with her personality, didn’t you?

Andrew: Yeah, I didn’t like her.

Me: That would be the problem.

Reason we will not regret departing Dubai #32,556

Amongst the mail waiting for me when I returned from Ireland was the first Statement of Account we have received from our mortgage company in two years. According to the statement, we have paid off a sum total of about US$ 200 over the course of twenty four months.

When I signed with Tamweel, I was required to write 36 post-dated cheques to cover mortgage payments for three years. Four months after finance was released, I noticed the cheques were not being cashed.

For a while, I considered ignoring it in the off-chance that Tamweel wouldn’t notice that they weren’t collecting payment from one of their clients. Turns out the off-chance was more a probability and I should really have gone with that option. Instead, I called Tamweel.

“Terribly sorry, terribly sorry, Madam,” they said, before emptying the entire bank account and licking it clean. Since then, Tamweel has collected payment with a regularity and precision that would inspire a Swiss physicist.

However, according to our Statement of Account, we have made only 17 out of 24 mortgage payments - but WAIT! – please, the fun doesn’t stop there. ‘Delay Payment Charges’ have been applied every month, along with a munificent amount of interest.

Fresh from my holiday, I approached Tamweel with applied graciousness, tranquil reason and vast potential for forgiveness. The Love lasted a long time. No really, I’m talking MINUTES.

Tragically, over the course of four weeks, The Love has disintegrated into a bloody feud involving lots of clenching, cursing, and whispered threats of retribution delivered with little flecks of foaming saliva.

You want a pretty picture? Look at a Monet.

Last week, Tamweel emailed me an amended Statement of Account. According to this document, we now owe Tamweel roughly twice the original finance value.

I immediately rang Customer ‘Service’, so furious that I could barely speak. This can be a distinct disadvantage on a telephone call, but in this instance I’m not sure talking would have made any difference WHATSOEVER.

“What’s that noise?” said the infuriatingly cheerful Customer Service Representative.

“The popping sound? That would be my blood boiling.”

It was actually me pounding my fingers on the table. But hey, lying is hardly as bad as trying to bilk innocent homeowners out of tens of thousands of dollars.

We’re still waiting for resolution. Last we heard from Tamweel, they are unable to remove the delay payment charges from their billing system – but no problem! They will simply adjust the rest of the figures so the outstanding balance is more accurate.

Not accurate, you note; we can only dream. MORE accurate

Bat attack

We decided to bike to DIC last night to watch the Rugby World Cup final. We agreed that I would cycle behind Husband with my flashing rear light and reflector jacket. In return for covering his back (as it were) Andrew would not perform any wheelies/sudden stops/stunts of any nature.

He totally reneged on the terms of the agreement, but then I should have known better: Andrew just can’t help himself. Look! I’m cycling backwards! On one wheel! On my head! Woohoo!

He is the only person I know who can leave skid marks up the pavement WITH A BICYCLE.

After the match, we were getting ready to cycle back home and Andrew had a faraway look in his eye. I could tell he was looking forward to playing chicken with cement trucks on his Mongoose.

Just outside DIC, he went to cycle down a flight of three steps. At the top step, he touched the front brake; the back wheel reared into the air and Andrew sailed over the handlebars in slo-mo. He executed a commando roll at the bottom, finishing the manoeuvre on his feet. Thankfully he didn’t sink his choppers into the pavement; there was nothing dented apart from his ego.

I couldn’t stop giggling but fifty seconds later I took a spill myself trying to do a wheelie up the pavement. Instead of taking the mickey, Andrew solicitously picked me and my bike up off the road and brushed me down. Not even a hint of a snigger; made me feel awfully guilty. I’m sure it was intentional

Now that our gym membership has expired we do quite a bit of cycling in the evenings. Andrew’s lack of illumination doesn’t affect his kamikaze style of progress. It is not unusual to hear a crunch as Andrew crashes into a concrete block, low wall or prickly bush, followed by a muffled ‘OOF!’ as his nuts hit the handlebars.

The other night, we were just outside our house when there was a dull plasticy ‘THUNK!’ I looked up just in time to see Andrew spinning off his bike and coming to rest on the low wall dividing our entrance from the neighbours’.

“Did you see that?” said Andrew. “That bloody wheelie bin-”

 

“Don’t tell me. It leapt out and got you, right?”

 

“YES! We should really house-train it.”

He often cycles off the pavement to negotiate the shrubbery.

He was attacked by a bat a few weeks ago and is increasingly paranoid at the prospect of further bat attacks - although if you ask me, he should be more concerned about low-flying obstacles

Nostalgic Middle Eastern snapshot #22

For the first time in ages, we went to the beach with Danny today and he brought his kite. Dan’s kite is no shabby paper box with bows on its tail. NO, it is a Man Toy: a three-tiered miracle of lightweight aerodynamics.

Within a short while, a group of children gathered beneath the kite, shrieking and jumping as the kite swooped and glided just above their heads. It was a beautiful, misty tableaux: the kite dancing against the perfect blue of the sky, the minarets of a mosque in the background, the children’s laughter. If you strained your ears, it was almost possible to hear a heartbreaking soundtrack swelling to a magnificent crescendo.

Right up to the moment Dan crash-landed the kite on a kid’s head.

He was showing off, executing loop-the-loops and playing the kite inches above the beach. He put it into a nose-dive, a manoeuvre he had been practicing earlier, whipping up the kite a millisecond before it seemed it must plough into the sand. However, this time he took out a six year old.

Dan put down the controls and sprinted over to the child, who appeared more bemused than hurt. When we saw the parents jogging purposefully towards Dan, Andrew and I pretended we didn’t know him - we even considered moving our towels a few yards down the beach. I’m wondering whether Andrew and I should ever have children, since we couldn’t stop laughing.

There followed a discussion with surprisingly little parental shouting, arm-waving or kite-vandalism involving smashing it repeatedly against Dan’s torso before dismantling the spars for use as a weapon.

“What happened?” asked Andrew upon Dan’s return.

“I accused the kid of trying to sabotage the kite.”

“You what?” said Andrew.

“He was very apologetic.”

“What did you say to the parents?” I wanted to know.

“Told them they should keep a closer eye on their children.”

Whiff of fried motherboards

Sorry about the lack of posts; I have had the usual issues with my muse. She appears to have eloped with Andrew’s imaginary friend, and the two of them are shacked up somewhere in the desert with a bottle of Tequila.

 

To date, I have successfully put off writing for a quantity of months that almost qualifies as ’several’. However, it’s the end of the weekend and I’ve completed my weekly ration of Killer Sudoku puzzles, finished reading my book and annoyed Husband to mild/severe irritation. The only thing left is either sitting on the sofa sniffing my hair, or getting stuck into a post.

 

By the way, my hair smells great. I’m still digging the novelty of being able to smell it; up until now, I’ve had to resort to smelling Andrew’s and he’s not that generous about it. Anyway, his hair emits a vague whiff of fried motherboards. I’m looking forward to being able to chew my hair; it’s not quite long enough, but I should be able to devote a large part of December to that employment. (Andrew’s hair is too short for more than snacking on.)

 

Last time I wrote, I was planning a daring escape from the Middle East involving bags of freshly laundered cash, parachuting off the roofs of speeding cars and adapting innocuous implements like paperclips, sunglasses etc into deadly weapons.

 

So, that went well

Have I got all my legs?

Shortly after I returned to Dubai, Andrew and I went on a two-day cruise to The Mussandam on the East Coast of Oman. It was one of those trips we’d always talked about, so we were delighted when Fitz and Belle organised the trip. At least they semi-organised it: there were only eight of us on a boat that slept twelve.

We set off from Dibba in the evening and lay out on deck watching the shooting stars. The Middle East lays on a spectacular night sky. We spent two fabulous days snorkelling, kayaking, reading, sunbathing and chilling. It is the most incredible area, although shamefully there are signs of pollution. Many of the tiny bays we came upon were littered with plastic bags, bottles, glass, tissues and rusted cans.

On the second day, we were on deck when we spotted a pod of dolphins. There were about ten of them, fins lazily louping across the surface of the water.

“Where are you going?” called Andrew as I charged down the steps to the dive platform.

“Swimming with dolphins!”

I dived into the deep blue. As I struck off towards the last sighting, I envisioned myself as: Dolphin Rider! - Similar in concept to Whale Rider, but with more skill involved and kinda edgier.

Andrew followed me in a kayak which, 500 metres away from the boat, felt like a much better idea. Every time we lost track of the dolphins, we would float around until we spotted them again:-

“Over there!”

“Quick! Can’t you swim any faster?”

I thought dolphins are supposed to be naturally curious, friendly and sociable creatures, but this lot were rather surly. Still, it was all great fun for a while. Until I saw a single fin coming at me, dark spike stabbing out of the water.

It’s the first time I’ve ever had a plankton-eye view of a fin cutting towards me, and I have to say it made me realise that, prior to that moment, I had had no real concept of the meaning of Fear.

“Er, And-rew,” I said, treading water uncertainly. “Did you see that fin? Over there. Looked like it was heading straight for me. Did you notice whether it soared through the water as if attached to a playful mammal? Or did it submerge stealthily, as if targeted on its prey?”

Speaking more rapidly than usual, Andrew said: “Do you want to stay in the water and think it over, or get in the kayak RIGHT NOW?”

“What, you serious?” I said, eyeing the ripples left by the submerged fin. “I mean, it’s pretty unlikely to be a shark, surely? And even if it is, there’s such variety of fish around that it’s bound to be well fed. And anyway, sharks in these waters are supposed to be small. So I’d be in no real danger even if it were a small to medium sized well-fed shark - which it probably isn’t. Right? Right?”

“Niamhie-” said Andrew, using The Tone. I looked up at his face, and realised that he was frowning – which for Andrew suggests severe inner turmoil. I swarmed into the kayak, yelping as imaginary jaws with four rows of razor sharp inverted barbed teeth snapped closed on me.

“Careful-”

“Did it get me?” I said, glaring around wildly. “Have I got all my legs?”

“Well, I can count two – did you have more? Niamhie- I can’t paddle with you on top of me-”

“Is that better?”

“No - get OFF!”

Back on the boat I was much braver, to the extent that the story assumed legendary proportions wherein Andrew and I fought off a shiver of sharks with a paddle and a pair of speedos.

Much later, the Captain informed us we’d been chasing after a shoal of tuna

Mussandam

Sunset in Mussandam

 

Belle

 

You can see why I fell for him

 

Rock formation

Learning from past mistakes

Previously, my average public transport success rate was inching up to around 80%, but it took a bit of a knock on the Irish trip. Of course, there was the disaster at Stansted when I missed my flight to Ireland after standing in the wrong queue for an hour.  

Then I caught the wrong train to Dublin, where I was admittedly over-confident. After all, trains are much easier than airplanes. There’s less mucking about: no check-in, no baggage check, no cavity search. Often, you don’t even need a passport, which considerably reduces my potential margin for error.

 

And of course, I had LEARNED from past mistakes.  

 

Unfortunately, not enough . . . because we come to my return flight to Dubai. Again - and I appreciate that you might find this hard to believe given the incidents above - there was a surfeit of confidence happening. After all, I was equipped with a library of Hard Lessons, including:-

(1) Make sure you double-check the flight date/time, preferably prior to the flight;

(2) A driving licence is not accepted as a substitute for a passport;

(3) Get to the airport before the flight;

(4) Stand in the right queue; and/or

(5) Read the ticket;

(6) Bring the ticket;

(7) And don’t leave it in a phone booth;

(8) Or anywhere else (I haven’t actually LEARNED this; it falls more under the category ‘Near Misses’)

(9) Make sure your residency visa hasn’t expired

In fact, I figured the only lesson left is to ensure I have a visa for countries requiring one, and there’s plenty of time for that one.

That morning, I was up at 06:45hrs, packed some final bits and pieces and bade farewell to Róisín’s boyfriend, whose flat we were staying in. It was around about then that I checked my bag for passport presence and . . . it wasn’t there. You might say the presence was poor to non-existent.

Hard Lesson #10: relative proximity of passport. (Ok, so I actually learned that on a business trip, but it was over 10 years ago so it was about time for a refresher course.)

We guessed that the most likely location of the passport was Róisín’s flat, at which point I spent five minutes running around in circles screaming, which gave Róisín an opportunity to waterproof her new Ugg Boots. Seriously. I was wearing a hole in Tim’s welcome mat, going: ‘We might be able to make it to the airport via your house in time if we leave now, I mean NOW in the immediate sense of the word,’ while Róisín sprayed her Ugg Boots: ‘Just a second, I need to do the heel’.

Then we exited the door at a gallop. Róisín’s sense of time is rather Irish; she was confident we’d make the trip from Clapham South to Walthamstow Central in twenty minutes, including a stop-off for coffee.

An hour and 3 litres of cold sweat later, we arrived at Walthamstow Central and charged a taxi.

“You forgot your passport?” said our driver, slapping the steering wheel. “That’s a joke. Ha ha! Very funny.”

“You know, firstly,” I said, chillingly, “I’m not finding it all that funny, joke-wise. Secondly, I think it’s technically more a cliché than a joke.”

“Why didn’t you check your bag before you left the house?” enquired our driver.

“Good question,” said Róisín. “Niamh?”

“You should always check your bag before leaving the house,” advised our driver.

“Thanks for the tip,” I said. “<mutter: Don’t count on getting one yourself>”

“Once I picked up a woman. She was all excited. Going on holiday, you know? I brought her all the way to Heathrow. Then remembered she left her passport at home. I had to drive her back.”

“And?” said Róisín, ever idealistically yearning for the happy ending.

“She missed her flight.”

My passport was on Róisín’s living room sofa underneath a duvet.

On our way back to Walthamstow Central, Róisín rang Tim, who had checked the Emirates flights from London and established that there were seats free on the 14:15 flight. I am strongly encouraging Róisín to marry the man. One second after it opened, I rang the Emirates Service Desk and booked myself onto the afternoon flight.

Róisín didn’t slag me off once. Either the woman can’t recognise an opportunity, or she’s a saint.

The following text exchange with Andrew reminds me why I am blessed to be with him:- 

Me: Missed flight

 

AT: Bugger. What happened? 

 

Me: Which would you believe? (a) The flight was cancelled (b) A flock of rogue sheep took over Heathrow (c) The wing fell off the airplane (d) I forgot my passport 

 

AT: Those dam sheep

I like to think Husband was so thrilled to see me he didn’t mind my arriving at 01:00hrs

Mum ponders seaweed