Ouch!

Two things this week have left me in pain :-(

Most recently I caused my calf muscle injury to flare up by jumping into the Embassy swimming pool - hurt almost as much as when I first did it. Back to limping!

A day before that I had a minor skating accident - again I think I asked for it. I was skating to the end of the DQ and back, and on the way back there's a road that is currently closed to traffic - as if there are roadworks going on.

I could see that the road wasn't actually dug up - just a stretch about a hundred metres long with plastic barriers at each end. To go around would have meant a long detour so I decided to be a rebel and skate through the "no-go area". I rolled up to the plastic barriers, and on through, since there are gaps in them big enough for a person to get through. However it wasn't until I'd just gone past the barriers that I saw - right in front of me - a chain that was tied to trees on each side of the road - about waist height.

I had no time to stop but at least I saw in time to take some sort of evasive action, otherwise it would have looked like a scene from an old WWII movie, where the escaped prisoners stretch a wire across the road to snare a passing Nazi motorcyclist. But I saw it coming, albeit too late to actually stop in time, so instead I grabbed the chain and attempted to kind of roller-limbo under it, while still gripping it with both hands. This kind of worked I suppose because I didn't get cut in half, but I did fall on the road, managing to twist around on the way down to take most of the impact on my kneepads and wristguards... oh yes, and my ribs!

I'm getting too old for this.

We're off to Bahrain for the weekend, this time driving our own car. At least the sandstorm season is over so I don't need to worry about greasing the car up with Fairy Liquid!

She's a poet and She knows it!

I guess it should come as no surprise that my offspring should display a talent for writing (well, one of them anyway), considering the literary prowess of their father (blush).

We received a letter the other day from Young Writers (a vehicle for Forward Press), informing us that a poem Abigail had submitted in a young writers competition supported by her school has been chosen for inclusion in a new book of children's poetry, A Pocketful Of Rhyme - Little Laureates.

I'm so proud!

I'm sure some of you (well, those related to me at least) will want to get a copy of the book when it is published this August, so I'll post more details about availability when I get them.

In the meantime, here is Abigail's winning poem:-

I Could Become...

I could become a bad teacher
I'd laugh at all the kids
Give bad students housepoints and merits
For smashing pens with no lids

I could become a bad shopkeeper
I'd scan all the items wrong
I'd steal all the customers PIN numbers
And scream, "It's all gone Pete Tong!"

I could become a bad writer
I'd doodle all over my books
I'd lie about World War 3000
Make the characters dangerous cooks

I could become any of these things
Is that for what I'm meant?
But I don't mind what I become
As long as I''m happy and content!

Abigail Neal, Age 11. British School Riyadh

Chris's Taxi Service

It's a common parent's complaint these days that they spend more time running around after their children than they do living their own lives. Guitar lessons, ballet lessons, boy scouts, swimming club, birthday parties... you know what I mean.

I thought that would ease up a bit when we came out here (there's not much to do in Riyadh), but quite the reverse has happened. The expat community - and the school in particular - puts on a wide array of activities, and when you add those to the usual birthday parties and the fact that the end of the school year is approaching (with many kids jetting off to their home countries for the summer), it all adds up to a bit of a social whirl for the children, and serious taxi duties for me.

Actually I'm exaggerating a bit because we've got some very nice friends with whom we share lifts, and the Embassy drivers do their bit too. In fact, I've got nothing to moan about really, but hey - since when did that stop me?

Anyway, here are a couple of recent photos of said social whirl in progress.

Elliot (right) "jammin'" with the rest of his band - suggestions for a name on a postcard plelase - and showing off the electric guitar he got for his birthday a couple of weeks ago.

Abigail and her best friend Alix dressed to impress before
the School Disco.

I can walk! Now... where's me skates?

Finally, after two weeks of ice packs, support bandages, ibuprofen gel and a footstool with a cushion on it, my leg is on the mend. I can put more weight on it, need to limp less, I'm walking almost normally now so... time to get my rollerblades out of the cupboard under the stairs!

If I can walk with a slight limp and only inflict moderate pain by inadvertently putting too much weight on the wrong muscle, skating should be a similar experience shouldn't it?

My first real skate was on Saturday, two weeks and a day after I tore my left calf muscle playing barefoot 5-a-side football at the Embassy's Family Fun Day. I - perhaps foolishly - choose a time when I'm alone at home; who am I going to call if my leg drops off or something and I'm lying in a heap in the middle of the road, under the 45 degree Sun and with mad arab drivers swerving to try and clip me round the ear with their wing mirrors? But I'm getting carried away... nothing like that's going to happen is it? Although no expert I'm a pretty fair skater now, having graduated from the "Windmill of Death" home correspondence course in proper rollerblading technique, AKA the internet. Yes, I know what I'm doing. I'll take it easy the first time out, paying careful attention to any unusual signals my bruised and overworked nerve endings may care to send brainward. I'll stick to the quiet back roads and stay close to the house so that I can bail out if it starts to hurt.

All of this goes through my mind as I'm strapping on my skates, knee and elbow pads and helmet. I lift myself up to standing position (in the lounge), and bob up and down a bit, testing how it feels to put a little weight on my leg in the usual knees-bent skating stance. I haven't used the muscles in this way for a while and not at all since the injury, so it does feel a little weird but not really painful, so I taxi out of the lounge, turn right into the hall and step out into the courtyard. Leaving the air-conditioned house in Riyadh is a little like entering a sauna. When you open the door a wave of heat hits you in the face, it's intensity taking you by surprise. I also sometimes get that when I open the oven door to check on the roast potatoes, which I don't get very often because I don't cook much, and then usually I don't use the oven, but I digress...

The first challenge - getting to, opening, going out of and finally closing the front gate - goes fairly smoothly, although I did stand up too straight as I approached the gate and my right skate wheels slipped out in front of me, resulting in my giving the gate an underserved good swift kick. Now finally out on my own personal 2.5km-long network of skating track, which the locals have nicknamed, "The Diplomatic Quarter", it's time to put my recuperating left leg - and my memory of how to skate for that matter - to the test.

I start off slowly, gingerly, and there's a little pain in certain positions but it's no worse than when I'm walking. I skate up the hill to the top of our road, then stop to listen to my leg complaining, but it's keeping quiet for now, so we carry on. Like a rower with only one good oar or a supermarket trolley with a dodgy wheel, I'm finding it hard to go in a straight line. I guess my left calf muscles are a little atrophied because I'm pushing equally hard with both feet but skating round corners. This trip may be even shorter than planned if all I can do is skate a big circle.

I'm only going to do about 15 minutes today - half my usual workout. I try some parallel turns, crossovers, and stopping with the heel brake. It's clear that my new-found skating brilliance hasn't deserted me after it's forced fortnight off, but it's also clear that my leg's starting to ache now so I slowly limp-skate back home, my right leg deciding all by itself to give that damn front gate another good kick on the way in, just for good measure.

Up 'n' Over

There is a walled courtyard around our house, and the car is kept in a carport that is part of this courtyard, with a wooden trellis roof that is covered with a climbing plant. This does a pretty good job of keeping the sun off the car when it's parked at home. The carport area has an electrically-operated up 'n' over garage door that you can open and close by either pressing a wall-mounted switch in the carport or by using the wireless remote control that I keep in the car.

The other day Karen had just started cooking dinner - Friday Roast, leg of lamb, Yum! - when we realized we had no potatoes. Friday roast wtihout roast potatoes? I don't think so! So I leap up from the sofa, grab my car keys and stride out of the door in search of spuds, to Karen's farewell cry of, "Hurry up!".

I jump into the car press the remote to open the garage door, then start the engine while the door is opening. Into reverse, release the handbrake, and start to edge out into the road when I hear (and feel) a rasping, nerve-jangling screeching sound of metal on metal.

Yes, I've reversed to early, while the door was still raising, and hit the door with the roof of the car. I now have a scratched roof and a manually-operated up 'n' over garage door. :-(

...got the spuds though...

Do you prefer your Kulfi leaded or unleaded?

A funny thing happened on the way home the other night...

We'd been out at a barbecue at a friend's house on Al Hamra compound, and were on our way back to the DQ at around 11.30pm with Barry and his family in their HUGE Ford Expedition, when Barry realized he was running low on petrol. A couple of minutes later a petrol station came in to view, so Barry swept onto the forecourt and pulled up by a pump. The Indian forecourt attendant received instructions to "fill 'er up", then just as he was putting the nozzle in the tank, another Indian man in overalls ran up to Barry's window waving a piece of card, which on further inspection turned out to be a laminated dessert menu such as you get in lower-budget Indian restaurants, with photos of all the desserts on offer. I was in the passenger seat and had been gazing out of my window so I hadn't noticed the guy approach, and only turned around when I heard the laughter and as I did so Barry handed the menu to me, as if to say, "look, whatever next?". I took one glance at the menu and said, all dead-pan like, "Coconut Surprise please", then returned to my window-gazing. My car-bound audience were highly amused!
It seems like wherever you go and whatever you do here, you're never far from an overall-wearing Indian man offering everything from a car wash to a lemon sorbet.

Family Fun Day

Karen's now on the committee of the Wadi Club (the Embassy's social side), so was therefore involved in organizing it's latest social event for the expat community.

The Family Fun Day took place last Friday and was a great success; less great for me, but more of that later. Karen and her colleagues had come up with some great ideas for entertaining activities for the children, and we'd spent most of the previous weekend shopping in Toys R Us for the various prizes and games we had on our list; frisbees, water pistols, hula hoops etc.



On the day we had to arrive a couple of hours before the 4pm opening, still a little bleary-eyed from the barbeque we'd hosted at our house the night before for 30 people, including ten children. We spent the two hours helping to get everything installed, working, and ready; bouncy castle, table tennis, giant snakes 'n' ladders, treasure hunt, water polo... you get the idea.

"Where does this bit go?"

Karen provided much of the the creative input, including organizing the treasure hunt - treasure included.

"On your marks..."

4 o'clock and the guests start to arrive. I think we were expecting around 120 people in total, and it didn't take long for the pool area to be bustling with activity and chatter. Two of the P.E. teachers from the British School were there to officiate in the water-based competitions; water polo and (inflatable) dragon races.

I'm not sure why but a voice in my head had told me to wear my swim shorts, "just in case". Good advice as it turned out, because when the water polo was getting set up Karen (not my Karen, another one) came up to me and asked if I would be one of the two parents to volunteer to go in goal. I immediately agreed and "bagsied" the shallow end - who wants to try saving goals while treading water in the deep end for 30 minutes! Well, Barry as it turns out. He was the slower of the two volunteers! :-)

"Now I want a good, clean fight."

The game kicks off and is very exciting, with parents cheering on from the poolside. Barry and I try to make it entertaining by alternately pulling off spectacular saves and letting goals in with pathetic comedy dives. Between the referee and the two of us we "managed" to make it a 6-6 draw, necessitating a climactic penalty shoot-out. This time we played it straight and the scores were still level after five penalties each: Sudden Death! The first couple of penalties were saved, then the opposition's second attempt missed. Next up on our Blue Team was Elliot, facing Barry. A goal now would win us the match. He feinted to the right, then to the left, then shot the ball to the right. Barry lunged, got a hand to the ball but too late to stop it hitting the back of the net - We Are The Champions!

Next, the Dragon Races. Can't remember who won each heat but here are a couple of photos.

"Come on the Yellow!" Karen looks ready to dive in if things go pear-shaped.

Abigail takes the lead

Elliot (dark trunks) with his schoolmates

After our Fish 'n' Chip supper the next organized event is 5-a-side football on the tennis court. I don't play football any more and am in no shape to start - seriously at least - but they're short of players so I step up again (by the way, it's 45 degrees centigrade). We're on an artificial tennis court surface and I'm only wearing flip-flops, which are useless for playing football, so I decide to cast them to the sidelines and play barefoot.

The match gets under way, with one adult and four children on each side. Play goes well for about ten minutes, apart from my lungs being about ready to burst. Then suddenly another player passes to me, I'm in the open and about 20 yards from the goal. I start dribbling the ball towards what I'm certain will be our first goal on the scoreboard when suddenly POP! , someone kicks me in the back of the leg. I turn around, hopping, to see who the culprit is, but there's no-one there. That's when the pain starts. I think I've got cramp in my left calf, but the usual treatment of stretching the muscle makes the pain worse. I then realize that the popping sensation was my calf muscle tearing. By this time the pain is pretty bad and there's a group of people standing over me, then Karen (mine this time) comes over and helps me hop/limp back to the pool to lie down on a sun lounger.
A bag of ice is sourced from the bar and the pain starts to ease, then the Ambassador comes over to find out what's happened, and promptly nips back to the Residence to return with Deep Heat cream and Ibuprofen gel, for which I was very grateful.

Even though the ice pack was doing little to ease my suffering,
I still manage a cheery smile for my concerned fans.

As I write it's Sunday evening, 48 hours later, and I still can't walk properly. But, I'm doing all the right things - ice, compression bandage, keep it rested and eleveted etc., and it's getting better, slowly.

I'm determined to be back on my Rollerblades by the weekend.

Half-century!

This blog posting is just to say that this is my 50th blog posting!

"...And there was much rejoicing."

Dubai Weekend

"... but at least it's a dry heat."

I wish I had a pound for every time I've heard that phrase this year. Whenever someone exclaims how hot it is here in Riyadh there's always someone in earshot who reminds you that it's a dry heat. It may be true but it doesn't necessarily make the complainer feel any better.

Riyadh's central position in the Kingdom gives it a dry (low humidity) climate, whereas the Eastern and Western provinces are much more humid. The same is true of the United Arab Emirates, a country to the East of Saudi Arabia and the destination for our latest weekend away. When we arrived in Dubai we quickly realized the benefits of "...a dry heat", since here it's just as hot as in Riyadh (around 42 degrees centigrade), but now we also have 70% humidity to go with it. By the time we'd queued for 5 minutes outside the airport for a taxi we were all soaked with sweat, and as I stepped out of the air-conditioned taxi on arrival at the hotel my glasses steamed up and I had to take them off to find my way to the lobby.

Dubai is the second-largest and most populous city in the U.A.E., with approximately 80% of it's 1.1 million inhabitants being expatriates. There is an explosion of development going on in the city, with hundreds if not thousands of skyscrapers and other ambitious property developments under construction at the same time.



It is said that about one third of the world's cranes are in Dubai and I'm prepared to believe it. Everywhere you look (up) there are cranes nursing partially-built residential towers to their full stature. You can almost feel the wealth here; development originally funded by oil riches has provided a modern, glamorous tax-free focal point for doing business in The Middle East, and companies from all over the world are flocking to set up shop and take advantage of the opportunity. If you have some money put away and are looking for an investment I reckon you could do a lot worse than buying a property in Dubai.

Our hotel

We're staying at The Oasis Beach Hotel on Jumeirah Beach and close to Dubai Marina. We had reserved two double rooms but once the check-in clerk saw our Diplomatic Passports he upgraded us to a two-bedroom apartment in the newly-built Oasis Beach Towers, just across the street. Even though it's probably only a 30-second walk to the Towers a golf buggy is waiting for us as we leave the hotel and we all sit in it for the 20-second drive around to the front door. Our apartment is on the 22nd floor of the 46-story left tower (looking from the beach) and is very nice indeed; huge living room, kitchen complete with all appliances, utility room with washing machine and tumble dryer, and two large en-suite double bedrooms. From our living room balcony we can see (looking left) the beach and ocean, and in the distance the Palm Jumeirah - a massive man-made island development in the shape of a giant palm tree, and one of three such "palms" on the coastline of Dubai.

View to the left out of our apartment window

View to the right!

We spend most of Thursday at The Wild Wadi - a water park situated on the beach between the Jumeirah Beach Hotel and the Burj al-Arab hotel. You pay once to get in - as with most theme parks - then you go on whatever rides you want all day, as many times as you want.

The Wild Wadi with Jumeirah Beach Hotel in the background

The Wild Wadi's all about getting wet; from the large pool complete with wave machine to the adventure park for smaller children, from the surfing ride to the Jumeirah Sceira, all the rides are water-based which makes it a great place to spend a few hours in the heat and humidity.





Our first ride is the Master Blaster - a collection of uphill water rollercoasters and downhill slides that take you right around the park and which you can join and leave at multiple points - kind of like a hop-on, hop-off tour bus. I spend half my time on the ride being impressed by the engineering that provides water jets powerful enough to propel an adult sitting in a rubber ring uphill at speed, and the other half concentrating on keeping my bottom up so I don't bang it on the bottom of each slope.



Another feature of the park is Juha's Dhow - a part climbing frame, part adventure playground aimed at younger children. The best part of Juha's Dhow is the huge water bucket at the top of the mast, which every minute or so tips over to totally drench all who are foolish enough to be standing in the way.

Jumeirah Sceirah!

But for those who like their thrills high and fast there's only one place to go - the Jumeirah Sceirah (not sure how the second word is pronounced, but we chose "scarer" for reasons that will become apparent!). It's a 33m high water chute that you go down feet first lying on your back, and it propels you to the en of the chute at the bottom at 80km/h. Karen and Elliot took one look and walked off in the other direction, but Abigail and I wanted to go on it so we followed the twisting and turning path to the ride's tower, and climbed what seemed like a hundred steps to get to the top. Abigail went first, following the lifeguard's instructions to cross her legs at the ankles and fold her arms tightly across her chest, then down she went, down the long downhill slide with two humps along the way. The lifeguard and I watch the guard at the bottom of the chute until he waves his flag, signalling my turn! Time to blank out any fear and apprehension, assume the position, and just go! It's all over in about 10 seconds and is very thrilling, but once I slide to a stop at the end of the landing zone and stand up I feel a sharp pain in my posterior area. Abigail's got the same thing and it's the pressure of water using your backside as a brake pad to bring you from 80km/h to a halt in about three seconds.

Needless to say Abigail wants to go again!, so off we trot with me picking up the rear - in more ways than one! Back at the top of the stairs and we're queueing behind two men whom I recognize as brits, middle-aged father and late-teens son, both looking very apprehensively at the top of the slide. I say to Abigail, "Can I go first this time?" and they both instantly turn around and the older one says, "H-h-have you been on this before then?" "What's it like?", whereupon 11-year-old Abigail gives them a blow-by-blow account of what to expect with a big smile on her face, thus rendering useless any excuses they may have been thinking of trying to use to bail out at the last minute.

The Burj al-Arab from the Wild Wadi

Evening, and from the hotel we take a taxi to The Madinat, a large complex comprising a hotel, over thirty restaurants, bars, and even an indoor souk (market). After an early and excellent dinner at Trader Vic's we catch a gondola and cruise round the Madinat's network of man-made canals to the lobby, where another taxi takes us to the Mall Of The Emirates.

The first one came true didn't it? Got my fingers crossed for the other two!

The Madinat's canal system

The Burj al-Arab, from the Madinat

The Mall Of The Emirates is a huge shopping mall with the biggest Carrefour supermarket I've ever seen at one end, and a 12-screen multiplix cinema and bowling alley at the other. Oh yes, and also Ski Dubai (more later). No weekend away from Riyadh is complete without a trip to the cinema as you know, and we're hoping to see The Da Vinci Code, which had it's "worldwide" release the day before. We know the critics have panned it and it's apparently dire, but all of us except Abigail have read the book so we're determined to sit through it, if only so we can criticize it afterwards. Drat and Darn! It's not showing in Dubai til the end of the month! So much for a worldwide release. We end up seeing Mission Impossible III, which I quite liked despite being too near the screen (which I hate), and Karen slept through most of it.

Friday morning is spent again in the water, firstly at the beach where the waters of the Persian Gulf are crystal clear and almost as warm as a bath, then we move to the hotel's large pool, complete with poolside bar.

Old and New Dubai together on Jumeirah Beach

We meet Gerard - a colleague of mine from Novell Middle East for a nice, leisurely, but sweaty outdoor lunch in the hotel garden, then he kindly gives us a list back the The Mall Of The Emirates so we can do a bit more shopping and visit Ski Dubai.

Ski Dubai is the third-largest indoor ski resort in the world and presents a welcome opportunity to feel cold air on your body. We've only got a couple of hours and have never ski'd before, so now's not the time to start.



Instead we visit the Snow Park where, after donning your ski jacket, trousers and boots you can walk in the snow, have a snowball fight, and ride the various luges and toboggan slopes while to the left the skiers ssssshhhhhh to a stop at the foot of the ski slope.



We felt a bit daft at first wearing winter clothing that God knows how many others before us had worn that day, but everyone's in the same boat and we even see Arab men & women with black Puffa-style coats on over their thobes and abayas.



The best of the rides available to us in the Snow Park was the Snowtubing slide. You grab yourself a large rubber innertube and then stand on a travelling walkway that pulls you up to the top, then sit down in the ring (just like in Wild Wadi!) and slide down, spinning round and round as you go.



After a little more shopping it was time to return to pick up our luggage from the hotel then leave for the airport to catch the flight home. Dubai is a fantastic place to visit and in our short time we only scratched the surface of things to do, but the humid climate would put me off wanting to live here. Come back Riyadh, all is forgiven!

"High" Tea

While you're waiting for the Dubai Weekend story (I'm bigging it up aren't I? It'd better be good!)...

One of the "must do" things in Riyadh (and let's face it - there aren't many!) is to have Afternoon Tea in The Globe Restaurant. If you recall from my early posts the Globe is a ...well... globe at the top of one of Riyadh's two skyscrapers: The Faisaliah.



We had put off visiting the Faisaliah tower until recently, instead focusing on the Kingdom Tower or, to be more accurate, the Kingdom Centre shopping mall at its base.
A couple of weeks ago we could deny our curiosity no longer and paid the Faisaliah Mall a visit: shiny, nicely designed, full of designer shops and very expensive. They've even got a Harvey Nichols!

Anyway to get back to the point of the story...

We'd heard from others at the Embassy that Afternoon Tea at The Globe is very nice, and as with most things in Riyadh the only way to find out about things is to ask as many people as possible, then average out all the answers and you'll be pretty close to the truth. Official websites are useless, there's no point asking locals or the attraction-in-question's staff, and at time of writing TimeOut have yet to be convinced to produce a Riyadh edition, so all you've got to go on is the opinion of other expats and Embassy staff.

Phone call to The Globe:-
Me: Hello, we're thinking of coming for Afternoon Tea...
Them: Yes?
Me: Are children welcome?
Them: No, no children
Me: Oh, and are women permitted to take their abayas off in the restaurant? (I'd been told they could)
Them: Of course not!

Chats with various friends:-
Me: Have you been to The Globe for Afternoon Tea?
Friend: Oh yes, it's very nice. Get there around 5.00 and watch the sunset!
Me: They told me they don't allow children in for Afternoon Tea!
Friend: That's not right, We've been a couple of times and took the children (their children are younger than ours). Just don't tell them you're bringing children.
Me: Do you think I need to reserve a table?
Friend: Oh yes definitely, it's very popular and always busy.

So, averaging all that out we need to make a reservation, omitting that we intend to bring children, and we'll suss out the abaya situation once we're inside. I call and make a reservation for four "people" for the following Saturday afternoon.

Come the day and we arrive at The Faisaliah, Elliot and I in smart casual attire and Karen and Abigail with nice outfits on under their abayas - just in case. The guard at the Globe Reception Desk at the base of the tower leads us through an airport-style security check - X-Ray machine and walk-thru metal detector - before taking us up to the Globe which is reached via two separate lifts; the first takes you up to the 50th floor then a second one takes you the rest of the way.





Boy am I glad we booked a table! The place is completely deserted and we are the only customers there. The waiter doesn't react at seeing that we've brought children, nor is anything said when Karen and Abigail shed their abayas. Maybe things would be different if it were busy, but I doubt it. This is Saturday after all (which is Monday here remember), so probably the least popular day of the week to come, but we don't mind since there's table after table of delicious-looking food and it's all for us!



Not quite the cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off served on a silver tray that I was expecting, but still very nice. The tables and chairs are very modern and the food is a self-service buffet laid out around the tower's central column. We order drinks and then make our selections from the savoury snacks: samosas, sushi, vol-au-vents, sausage rolls... I could go on but It's starting to make me feel hungry again.



With the boring savoury stuff out of the way it's on to the main event,



and Abigail makes a bee-line for the white chocolate fountain,



into which she dips a couple of strawberries and marshmallows.




We continue to stuff ourselves for about an hour, and when our stomachs can hold no more our attention turns to the view outside and the promised spectacular sunset.



Downtown Riyadh is not the prettiest sight in the world but you can see how the low-rise nature of the city really makes the two towers stand out. You can also make out the busy King Fahd Highway running roughly North-South between the two towers.

We've picked a very hazy day (we've had lots of sand and duststorms lately), so the sunset is not worth a mention, but after tea we went out to the observation deck and got this interesting shot of the Kingdom Tower reflected in the globe.



I'm sure we'll go back again in the summer, when I hope to have some nicer skyline photos to show you.

Injuries

We just got back from a brilliant weekend in Dubai, but Abigail also picked up a throat infection which she has generously passed on to me, so while the Dubai trip should by rights be the priority story, I'm really not up to it today (sniff, cough). Will try to post it tomorrow, but in the meantime here's a "short".

Abigail, Karen and I all received minor injuries in the last few days, but Elliot remains unscathed. I put this down to our relative levels of physical activity; Elliot's injury avoidance strategy being to do nothing; if you don't do it you can't get injured doing it can you? Makes a kind of annoying sense.
The remaining - and more active - three of us have spent many happy hours arguing whose injury is the worst, the most painful, the worst looking: you be the judge.

Abigail
Stumbled and scraped arm on wall whilst filming a spy movie with her best friend Alix.


Chris
Victim of "Windmill of Death" skating accident in the Embassy compound. Impact absorbed by elbow (10%) and right buttock/mobile phone in back pocket (90%). Nasty bruise on elbow, right buttock and mobile phone unhurt, thanks to quality Nokia craftsmanship. ...Oh, and the additional body fat I have deliberately developed on my bottom to safeguard against just such an eventuality.


Karen
Dropped glass saucepan lid metal-rim-first on bare big toe while cooking. Made a big fuss.


I think you will all agree that Abigail's looks the worst, but I think the more discerning among you will recognise who has done the lion's share of the suffering! Please cast your vote now by leaving a comment (coz you've got nothing better to do, have you?).

Dubai weekend story soon, tomorrow if I'm up to it (cough).

RGBB Ball

Quite strange really - while in the UK recently I found myself feeling homesick for Riyadh. I've lived there only four months but I've spent the rest of my life in the UK, so this surprises me a little, but home is where the heart is, we've settled in nicely and have been made to feel very welcome by the Embassy staff - so Riyadh's home now!

As soon as I get back the party invitations are flooding in. I like to think that the entire Diplomatic community put it's collective social life on hold while I was away so that I didnt' miss anything, but I think they pretty much carried on as normal, the only difference being that Karen would have declined a few invitations.

The day after I got back we attended a dinner at the Ambassador's residence to welcome a new family to the Embassy. Mel is working in the same department as Karen and has moved here with her husband Dave and two of their four daughters. After dinner we were shown Bridget's two new falcons, Noor and Al Wahib, given to her by a Saudi prince, and I thought I was very brave to stroke the big one's breast with my index finger as it was giving me particularly nasty looks. The birds are beautiful and I really must take my camera next time and get you some photos.

The next evening and it's the RGBB Ball, again in the gardens of the residence - the same venue where the QBP and most other Embassy parties are held. RGBB stands for The Riyadh Group for British Business, and I guess there must've been around 300 guests there each paying 275 Riyals (about £40) for a ticket. The night was a fundraiser for ICING - The International Children In Need Group - and all through dinner several ladies were circling the tables selling tickets for the raffle, the star prize of which was a pair of return tickets to London from bmi.

Dinner over, and after Sherard's address it's time for the raffle before the disco gets going. The M.C. calls out the first number... "Orange 8, 6, 2!"



"That's us!" shouts Karen, and sure enough we've got the winning ticket. I trot up the stairs to collect my prize and have my photo taken with one of the officials - will upload it here if I can get a copy.



Our prize? An Olympus digital camera! I say "our" because although it was Karen's ticket I bought them and gave it to her, so it should be half mine really shouldn't it??

We've got five digital cameras now!

Intermission

I know... no postings for a while.

I've been in the UK for the last week on business and to visit my family. The business part was successful but the family part was tinged with sadness at the death of my Aunt, Jocelyn Wright, or "Auntie J".

J was 81 and had been in a nursing home for the last two years, but even though her death was no surprise it was still a shock when we heard the news. She was my mother's older sister and only sibling and had always lived quite near us, so she was a constant figure in our lives for as long as I can remember. I won't share the many fond memories I have of her here. Suffice it to say that, though we weren't very close, I have lots of happy and funny moments to remember her by.

I've extended my trip so that I can attend her funeral tomorrow before flying back to Riyadh on Tuesday, shortly after which normal blog service will be resumed.

QBP

And there was me thinking the IT industry was the spiritual home of the TLA (Three-Letter Acronym)! The Foreign Office in general and the Embassy in Riyadh in particular is awash with the blighters: FCO, DHM, HMA, CLO, ECO, AMO, even stretching to four letters with RGBB, DSFA... the list goes on. I'm constantly having to stop Karen mid-flow to ask, "What does that one mean?"

For the last few weeks all the talk has been about something called the "QBP", which it turns out is the Queen's Birthday Party - the Embassy's National Day of celebration and a highlight of the Diplomatic social calendar, and with this year being Her Majesty's 80th, this year's party promised to be the biggest and best yet.

The Residence entrance

The QBP was held last week in the garden of the Ambassador's Residence and was certainly a glittering affair, with over 700 guests from the Diplomatic and expatriate communities, and of course many Saudi dignitaries including members of the Al Saud Royal Family.

Sherard with Prince Sattam bin Abdulaziz Al Saud

Sherard and Bridget with United States Ambassador James C. Oberwetter and his wife Anita

We were surprised and delighted when - a couple of days before the party - Sherard asked Elliot if he would like to attend as unofficial photographer. Needless to say Elliot was delighted and excited to accept and on the night the Embassy staff arrived at the residence early, the adults to don their red rosebud buttonholes (to identify us as Embassy staff and partners), and Elliot to receive instruction from Sherard on proper use of his very large and expensive-looking digital camera. Elliot's sporting a mop of long hair at the moment but despite that he looked quite smart and presentable, and his mission was twofold: take some official shots as Sherard and Bridget greeted their guests, and then wander around the party capturing some less formal, candid portraits.

Karen and me with some friends

I felt quite nervous for him but he seemed to be quite at ease mingling with Ambassadors, princes, and leading figures in the Saudi British expat community, including several teachers from his school.

Yours Truly with Australian Ambassador Ian Biggs

The guests enjoyed a balmy evening of drinks, exquisite finger foods, a small military band, speeches, and a ceremonial lowering of the Union Jack. Karen and I and the rest of the staff spent the evening mingling with and chatting to the guests, and I only saw Elliot a few times during the evening, but each time I did see him he was having a great time.

Listening to Sherard's address

Some Saudi guests

The event was a great success, in Sherard's opinion the best he's attended, and the next day he sent an email round thanking everyone for their contribution, mentioning, "our excellent new photographer Elliot Neal" by name.

Elliot with Principal of the British Internaitional School Dolores McNamara and her husband Bernie - Abigail's form teacher

Karen and I enjoyed it immensely and were very proud of the way Elliot conducted himself. I hope you enjoy these photos - all taken by my boy!