The Time of Starvation and Binge

Well, we all sloped home in our sharp linen suits, Panama hats and culturally inappropriate breastful dresses. Searching for a seasonally overcharging  taxi through the streets which had now been taken over by the celebrants of the Time of Starvation and Binge...there was no place for us at the abandoned and deserted pool side bar once the Tanzanian muscle made their discreet presence indiscreet and made it clear that the Last Drink must be surrendered as the silvery crescent moon had peeped coyly into view. 'See you in a month' smiled the Filipina bar staff as they joined the scrum to get to the airport for the first time since 2005. It was bizarrely, unusually quiet as the adherents to the Faith had all gone off serenely home or to the mosque to do their thing that we infidels do not have the wit, inclination or imagination to be part of. Same species of mammal but coming from very different worlds. I blame religion but that's for another time...or perhaps not, there is already way too much division even within the ostensibly same set of beliefs. As my fondly feral Yr 8s used to say '...er...duh..' 

At home the TV was on and some of the 4,691 unwatchable (to me at least) channels were being desultorily flipped through as one of the party wanted, curiously I thought,  to watch the Mecca Channel of which I had no idea I was the proud possessor - you might have it too. Quizzical I was for sure, as you too would be for this is the Koran wielding Middle East where no bingo or gambling of any sorts is allowed, and rightly so perhaps. So I thought albeit most fleetingly momentarily that this would be one of those very late-night ones on one of the many unwatchable Freeview channels hostessed by a bored, tired and success-lite unglamour model with an aura of lingering career bitterness who would be urging sad and / or drunken or maybe vulnerable and definitely deluded folk to part with their pitiful amounts of money via a piratical premium  phone line - the sort of thing which should be outlawed too but doubtless such corporate viruses give Dough Ball Dave and clubbable chums a friendly donation. Right Dave?

Not 2001 live from the Mecca Channel - probably on Freeview somewhere

Anyway I digress. No, foolish old moi, this version of the Mecca Channel showed full on live action footage of multi-thousands of the embearded Faithful  praying at an obelisk like thing from 2001: a Space Odyssey which is what I ignorantly mused, of course it was full on religion around the mystical Kaaba.  Even as an infidel it was fascinating and powerful too but also, for me very disturbing to see so much humanity  bowing down in what appears to me to be pre-medieval submission and supplication...but what do I know...? *


The praying and chanting was intercut with explicit hard core war porn from Syria and all sorts of righteously angrily voiced commentary and brutal font subtitles which made me wish I had been taught how to say more in Arabic than the initial Year 7 MFL rubbish in which you get to ask what someone has in their pencil case. How often has anybody ever had to use such pointless language beyond the second week in Year 7? Do something about that G*ve....on seconds thoughts don't, you're an unqualified one-eyed damaging fool.

Anyway to those stumbling across this as they seasonally say hereabouts Ramadan Murbarak.


*...er... I actually do know that Carols from Kings is far easier on the ear but never mind.

...(predicatbly) what a load of balls

Yep, well done to Murray, it might get a monkey and his mother off his back but replacing them are a swathe of dislikeable and objectionable folk crying out to give him a gong for winning a few tennis matches and thereby scrape a bit of kudos by association. Give him a break at least wait until he finishes his career and perhaps does something worthwhile thereafter.

Lurching into Lockdown

Well...the end of the world inevitably lurched  proudly into clear view or so it seemed in this backwater area of deluded Expatland - the rumours of the last eleven months had hardened briskly morphing into the black scab of an unspeakable degenerate truth. The world ends Tuesday 6.30 pm.

To compensate for this irredeemable impending disaster, for that is what it is, desperate (but enjoyable)  Bacchanalian  Dante styled orgies were hastily and lustfully held in the bars and hotels at the weekend and, as the rabid realisation took hold red-veined, gout hobbled Johnny Expat of every hue, blotch and addiction battered down the armour plated door of Al - Oddbins for desperate entry and stumbled and scrambled feverishly  grabbing armfuls of whatever remained on the soiled shaky shelves and broken-doored fridges...even the Pakistani Shiraz and the traditional fermented Azerbaijani aged and fermented dog testicle.

Scenes of feral despair at the booze shop

Licenses had been begged, borrowed and blagged as the whole of jaded Expatland cashed in its monthly ration in a 48 hour frenzy. In the 50 degree heat and humidity queues of Soviet proportions doubled round the block, the shelf-stackers and sales staff struggled to hold back the pulsing crowds needing judicious amounts of pepper spray and freely wielded electronic batons from the Nubian muscle to hold back the eye bulging fearful fretting license waving souls aghast at the incipient Horror.


The crowds were mercilessly kettled and removed by the dead hands of the law and the shutters slammed and sealed at 7.00 to a bitter chorus of ululating, wailing and sobbing. It was truly a brutal sight of degrading desperation, futile frustration, and middle-aged middle class junkie despair as the hour of tomorrow's end of the world  moonrise Horror gets ever and forbiddingly closer.

Ramadan Lockdown

Ramadan Lockdown and Expat Hysteria

Yes, the supermarkets are getting the Ramadan Kereem garlands out and offering special twofer offers on oil, cereal and other Ramadan Specials - all as tacky as Xmas except, fortunately,  it doesn't start three months before. At this time the students are saying how they are looking forward to the annual fast whilst getting their excuses in early and trying to amend yet more the already foreshortened timetable and reduced expectations.

Meanwhile, in the weird and parlous parallel universe of Expatland the slow burning realisation and developing panic has really set in with vicious circulating rumours that any places to get a nice cold drink, of which there are many all of which will be brutally and coldly closed for the duration. Fasting by proxy? This does sort of surprise me as it is not as anal here as the UAE in which the hotels and booze shop were always happy, smiling and welcoming through the Holy Month. Indeed, unlike the UAE most bars you go to here have a large proportion of local men happily knocking back the industrial fizz. But no, come sunset on 8th July, a merciless Lockdown will take place. Hotel bars and the offy will close....

The offy was cleared of booze by late last week with stocks being desperately air-freighted from India and replenished twice daily as desperate, thristy expats of all stripe were buying up with some (YOU know who you are) doubtless hoping to profit from the impending black market.

Tomorrow marks a new month the retarded booze license when the mean monthly limit  will be reached in a single spastic spree. Sad really for some, but not me, oh no, even the plastic White Mischief Indian vodka will go, as will the equally plastic McGhandi Scotlandish Whisky brewed in Delhishire. Evil, cheap, toxic brews I don't doubt which are probably bought by Dickensian building site owners to keep their serf-like charges (who have no access to nice things) docile and possibly grateful.

The Gulf is an odd part of Expatland which I have seen do strange, disturbing things to a person and their taste,  judgement and usual good sense and moderation. This time of year with the impending annual joyless (for us) Lockdown is symptomatic of a minor breakdown in rationality that sometimes occurs. Others let it drift by them and others become proactive some colleagues will even fast along (or claim to) with their students. They have in other places in which I have worked which always struck me as odd with a touch of patronising as unless of course it is (gulp) me who is missing something...?

Airport Chic

1. Dubai

The cheesy bling infested uber Essex of the Gulf -  Blue Water with planes attached. Buy a lottery ticket (add nationality to stop non-UAE folk from winning....probably) and win a huge V8 blacked out Toyota Turbo Earthraper to go with the other ten you already have. That kind of place. Aspirational and extremely classy.

Building the Gulf States' dream on bugger all a day in 45 degree heat

2. Heathrow

Well, you know, hordes of armed on-the-edge cops in too tight shirts sporting the gay para-military look protecting hordes of us from the bad guys (maybe sponsored by our pals in the UAE, Saudi or Qatar) who would otherwise be doing badness in extreme abundance according to the Daily Mail, The Sun and their friends in GCHQ which makes it all absolutely true of course.

Travelling in style

3. Muscat

Typical hand luggage

Regional feel for a capital city (a plus), full of South Asian workers (not quite so slave like as in neighbouring lands) ferrying white goods in badly packed boxes to send home to show that they have made good really (see also Bahrain, Doha, Abu Dhabi, Dubai). No women or children anywhere.



4. Brunei

Friendly and small but no place for a lengthy stopover unless you have time for a trip to the water village. As of the last time I had to go through there - no bar and only brightly coloured sugary drinks on offer.   

Water Village - really good for a long stopover

5. Schipol

Crap to buy someone you don't really like

Overpriced, selling lots of Chinese made Dutch tat. Clog keyrings - a must. Who still buys dope leaf tat or bags sporting the red light district? However, the refreshing  guilt free Universal Airport Pint is available and it seems far more right there than in most other timezones.








6. Doha


Too well hidden bar / restaurant / shower area which can only be entered if the nostril flaring harridans from Hades on the door let you through crap night-club style.

'How much for the World Cup, Sepp...?'

Doubtless, the copious amounts of semi -slave labour will be used to build a nice new shiny one in time for the 2022 World Cup to show just how great and wonderful the Qataris are.

7. Abu Dhabi (See Dubai for pic)

Bags lost in transit on more than one occasion by Etihad among whose staff I am sure there are no Emiratis well aside who those who collect the large amounts of profit. Interminable prayers which don't disguise its primary purpose which is to extract as much cash from you as possible 'cos shopping is why you go to the UAE apparently. (See Dubai)

8. Manston 

Airports as they should be

Yeah, the airport for me, maybe it's an age thing now.  It is run seemingly, by enthusiastic, smiling happy Yr 10 work experience kids. Like the nice ones I used to teach. They take it in turns to check in the passengers and argue about whose turn it is to try to use the funny machines. Well, they did last I used it.They  just want to show what great fun an airport should be. Not a gun or grim faced psycho around. Off the plane and out of the airport within 15 mins.