mothers on the verge

Currently ill with some form of Dubai lurgy. Alpha may be the master of the Man Flu, but I am mistress of the Bloody-Grumpy-Can't-Stand-Being-Ill-And-Boy-Will-You-All-Know-About-It school of sickness.  Will post again when better (and in better mood).

In a flurry of 'can do' spirit this morning, I decided to take on the Frenchies at their own game. OK, so I am probably a little too fleshy to properly pass myself off as ze glorious French Maman , plus my hair is far too frizzy, but I can do the whole floaty leetle trapeze dress with witty lace detailing with the best of them. A slicked-back ponytail hides a multitude of bouffy sins. A touch of powder to simulate the non-shiny visage . Have a bit of a tan already so tick on that one. Finish off with one pair of round-toed ballet shoes and I was there, ready to 'zut alors' with the glamorous Gallic hordes at the school gate. Sadly, it failed miserably. Not one French mother gave me an appoving smile or even flicked their dark sultry glance over my outfit. It was as if I was invisible. Which is all very well when I am dressed in my scumbag Rosbif style rags, but not when I've gone to the considerable effort of tricking myself out in the French femme's nat...

If Dubai was a person, it would be the Infantile Boyfriend. You know the kind, we've all had one - he's that bloke who was always late, never remembered your birthday, took the seat at the cinema with the clear view leaving you sitting behind the giant with the huge bouffy head, never gave you the last most chocolately bit of his Cornetto and never, ever apologised. But however irritated and heartbroken you became at his shoddy treatment, you put up with it because he was, frankly, totally gorgeous -so hot that he left a trail of open-mouthed drooling women in his wake, all of them giving you the evil-eye because they wanted your arm-candy. And when you were with him, despite the fact that he was a major sh*t, you had a whole heap of fun. Infantile Boyfriend, like all self-obsessed juvenile delinquents, can always be relied on to ramp up the excitement factor. If it suits them , of course. Dubai is most certainly infantile by nature - half-finished, ...

Been in a flurry of creativity this week producing screen print designs and taking snaps, hence the past few days of silence on the blog. Also been trying to paint but less successfully as I've got a serious case of painter's block. Funny how sometimes it just flows and other times my fingers feel like strangers to a paintbrush. Anyway, I've put some of my recent stuff up on a sister blog, you can check it out here  if you've got a few minutes to spare.

Always on the lookout for cool stuff at decent prices (in true recession spirit and all that). Just found a new label, Nosovich, an Aussie bag designer who uses unusual fabrics to great effect.  I'll be putting in an order for the pink pig. Retro-fabulous!

Alpha jetted off to Europe this weekend to see a Pixies gig with a gang of old mates, visit his Mum and go to his best friend's 40th birthday party. While Alpha was revisiting his misspent youth, I spent the weekend home alone in Dubai with the kids. The good thing was that the kids were so dejected at being 'abandoned' by their beloved Daddy that their behaviour was miraculously good. The bad thing was that they insisted on sharing my bed ("But Mummy, what if a big bad burglar comes and there's no Daddy here to save us? Please, mummy, pleeaassee etc") then upped the stakes by demanding that our three insane cats join us. Agghhh. Never again. I spent the night on the edge of the bed being kicked in the fanny by the kids while the cats munched my toes. At least, I think it was the cats; it could well have been the Small(er) One, she has a terrible reputation for chomping on people who offend her. Alpha is back tonight. I've never so looked forward to a ...

Read all about it here .

Just a recent interview I finished. Love Bill Cosby championing public libraries. We need more.

Loving the fact that Marge Simpson will be on the cover of the next issue of Playboy (out Friday). Sadly this isn't something we can pick up on the newstands here in the U.A.E. (not that I would be buying it anyway, to be honest) but the idea of a cartoon housewife dollied up in best Playboy bunny style does make me chortle. As is no doubt intended by those clever marketing chaps and chapesses over at Playboy HQ. A triumph for downtrodden housewives everywhere or a waste of burnt bras? You decide.

It's a strange thing, the secret passion grown women have for geeks. Do geeks bring out our maternal sides? Or is it that as we get older we start to realise that the qualities we valued so highly in men during our teens (muscles, stubble, sporting prowess, ability to drink multiple kegs of ale without passing out, own car) aren't that important after all? After all, hard abs + attitude doesn't necessarily = true luv 4 ever, does it? It takes so much more. The thing about nerdy chaps is that they learn humility at an early age; years of having sandcastles kicked over and their heads flushed down the school bogs by larger, meaner boys tends to have that effect. Humility, when applied to relationships, goes a long, long way. Geeks also have a lot to prove, having repeatedly lost the popularity contest at school and suffered through years of sexual frustration as a result; this makes them much more likely to succeed professionally as adults. And women, when they s...

Alpha, the kids and I went off to sample the myriad delights of  Dreamland Aqua Park yesterday, along with our chums Mr & Mrs R and Little M. It was a smorgasbord of fun, an outing of exceptional enjoyment...except for the fact that I am petrified of being under water and not terribly keen on enclosed spaces. There I was, trying my best to be one of the gang - all of whom are dare-devils par excellence and hell-bent on pumping up the adrenaline levels to the max by flinging themselves down scary watery tubes with scant regard for life or limb - but all I achieved was a full exposure of my Class A wussy-ness. The Family Raft Ride was a hoot (my face remained totally dry throughout, plus I had nice firm handles to cling to), the lazy Dream Stream was a relaxing meander down a waterway with the Small(er) One perched on my lap, even the bigg-ish slides which you go down on a rubber ring was OK... but after that I failed misera...

Still can't find that damned cat . Kids are not speaking to me and have announced an all-out homework strike until pathetic fluffy skinny thing is located. Have tried to lie through my teeth that kitten is having a happy time doing cute kitten things with its mummy and siblings. No dice.  Explained that someone else has probably found it (someone who doesn't already have three psychotic felines and a hotline to the local vet) and is lavishing it with care and devotion, not to mention providing kitten treats and catnip on tap. Firstborn just rolled her eyes at me while the Small(er) One did a surprisingly good impression of a sneer. Have tried bribery. The Small(er) One nearly broke under the temptation of unlimited  Walnut Whips  and Bounty Bars but Firstborn intervened. That child is destined to be the next Arthur Scargill , no doubt about it. Peace is currently AWOL at our house with no immediate hope of return. How ...

There's something in the American character that turns them into a nation of die-hard have-a-go heroes. Dubai American Mom is no exception. She is seriously motivated, which makes her a hurricane of Mom-ness from dawn to dusk. Nothing fazes her - the Dubai traffic is a breeze, being woken up every day at 4am by the call to prayer is a doddle, even Ramadan was easy. Whatever American Mom is doing - from packing little Brad's lunchbox to running the school PTA - she does it with fierce determination. Abandon hope all ye who have been targeted by American Mom; her zeal will pick you up and sweep you along, pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears, and before you know it you will be baking batches of 50 cup cakes for the latest fundraiser and pledging wholehearted allegiance to her cause. Woe betide anyone who dares not to match her in energy and enthusiasm for you will be named and shamed in a heartbeat, and your life at the school gates will never be the same again. Apart from ...

We all know that the British are soppy to the point of stupid about animals. Unfortunately, I too seem to have developed this foolish national trait. Having adopted three insane moggies earlier in the year who have taken over our lives with their incessant demands for food and attention (bit like the kids really), caused heart-wrenching damage to our furniture (er, ditto, only advantage of cats over kids is that cats can't draw on the walls with marker pens), and cost us an arm and a leg in vetinary bills, I would have said that I am totally catted out.  That is, until Firstborn spotted a tiny kitten on our way home from the supermarket yesterday . There it was, a furry bony thing with stick legs and enormous ears, probably not more than a month old, rummaging in a bin by the park. There are armies of stray cats hanging out on every street corner in Dubai, so it's not like it's a big surprise, but something about this kitten touched Firstborn's tender little...

I've only been here since January this year but so far have figured out the following top tips for successful Dubai living: 1. Covering your nether regions Do not wear nylon knickers. Ever. There are no mitigating circumstances, however pretty the pants in question may be. Why? Because it's like putting your bum in a sauna. For hours. 40C heat + 70% humidity = 100% cotton all the way baby. Accept no substitutes. 2.   Wean yourself off the slap A face full of make-up doesn't really work in a country as hot as this. Unless you like looking like a sweaty panda , that is. In which case, go right ahead. 3.   One for the road There's no such thing here as 'one for the road'. Drinking and driving is stupid anywhere but in Dubai it's  suicidal. Not only is the law fierce when it comes to booze in the bloodstream while behind the wheel (think zero-tolerance), driving in Dubai is dangerous enough whilst sober, let alone when impaired by alcohol....

Having worked bloody hard for the past thirteen years, I am now spending most of my time thanking my lucky stars. You see, since we moved to Dubai in January to follow the ex-pat dream, I have not lifted a finger in exchange for financial reward. And boy, do I like it this way. Before we moved, my main concern wasn't finding somewhere to live, schools for the kids or even how the hell we were going to manage to transport all our years of accumulated rubbish. No, it was all about how I was going to manage to set up a Dubai-based branch of the PR company I had started with three ex-colleagues in London last year. Selfish, perhaps, but then you have to be obsessed to have a reasonably successful career in the super-competitive world of PR. One of Alpha's main complaints when we were in London and I was working was that he wished I could put an ounce of the same effort into family life as I did with my job. But I couldn't, because working 60+ hours a week ate me up from the i...