Skip to main content

Best of British: how Brit mummies survive in Dubai

British expats are invariably cheerful due to having left the gloomy weather, Gordon Brown's foolishness and increasingly high taxes behind. British mummies are generally especially cheerful due to them usually being in Dubai on their husband's visa, which makes it a bit tricky for them to find employment. Not having to work and being able to enjoy a tax-free salary is a heady combination for many British wives, most of them having been forced to toil whilst juggling overpriced and inept childcare for years in the UK - thanks of course to the Labour party's outwardly family friendly policies which are, in truth, a pile of cobblers designed for nothing more substantial than a media-friendly soundbite or a flurry of tabloid headlines.

British Mummy is the one running towards the school gates looking slightly flustered with her Boden skirt tucked into her knickers. Her Birkenstocks are designed for comfort rather than style, but hell, she loves them anyway, plus they show off her lovely tanned feet - she can't quite get used to the novelty of all this fabulous sun after a childhood dominated by grey skies and drizzle 95% of the year.

BM's lifelong addiction to milky tea, choccy biccies and Cadbury's Fruit & Nut may make her publicly bemoan her muffin top and spreading thighs but she secretly adores her heaving cleavage. BM takes great pleasure in her vast collection of Marks & Spencers lacy 'boulder holders' and can often be spotted wearing tops designed to show off her assets to their best advantage.

Brit Mum has heaps of friends due to her ability to drink like a fish, ready access to an arsenal of dirty jokes, complete lack of guile and the fact that she can never stick to a diet (the resulting lack of deprivation makes her much more fun than other more weight-obsessed nations). She is one of the girls, but equally at home with the boys. She can be counted on to roll her sleeves up and get her hands dirty: her natural habitat is manning the PTA cake stall or sorting through jumble for the Christmas fair. She is the one person you want to be standing next to you when the sh*t hits the fan: not only will she come up with a practical solution (that Blitz spirit lives on) but can also be relied on to find humour in the direst of situations.

BM is naturally sexy, despite (or perhaps because of) her childbearing hips, flushed cheeks, visible roots (she's usually got something more pressing to do than spend hours at the hairdresser), chipped toenails, slightly wonky teeth and visible bra straps. After all, the ability to laugh and be comfortable in your own skin, however unmanicured and crinkled it may be, has a powerful aphrodisiacal effect on the more enlightened male of the species. Rule Britannia!

Comments

Clara said…
I'm a british mummy and I was a wee bit offended when I started to read this (I never wear birkenstocks and there's no place for boden in my wardrobe thanks very much) but otherwise you've got me down to a T. Especially the Cadbury's addiction and the M&S bras! Thanks for the compliments YLM. I'm going to show your blog to my hubby and tell him he should be grateful to be married to a sexpot like me!
Oh my word! This all plays so true for me! Do I know you????

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…

Champix

Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …