Estamos aquí!

We´re here!








Yeeha! We flew to Madrid a week ago, to stay in the very comfortable Hotel Agumar on Paseo Reina Cristina, which I had booked online the day before through expedia.com. That saved us €18-23 a night on their regular rate, so let me recommend the expedia service!

The hotel is in the Tringulo de las artes, which means that, although P. Reina Cristina itself is nothing to write home about, it’s in walking distance of the Prado, the Centro Reina Sofía (modern art) and the Thyssen-Bornemisza, a donated private collection which apparently fills some of the gaps in the Prado collection: apparently, the Prado collection reflects the tastes of successive monarchs, rather than a sustained effort to build a representative national collection. We managed some of the Reina Sofía last weekend, but there’s no rush to pack it all into one trip – because we live here now, and can go back as often as we like! Ha!

We extended our hotel stay a couple of days (which is why I know the difference between the expedia rate and the regular rate.) while we looked for permanent accommodation. After seeing some teensy-weensy unfurnished flats at the kind of rates you expect in a capital city, of which our favourite (owned by a bank) would have involved a twelve month bank guarantee, or six months’ rent as security, we decided to find something furnished as a temporary measure, to give us time to get to know the city properly.

Habibi found the in-Madrid.com website a few months ago, which is why we know that the Madrid Players don’t play for Real Madrid. In-Madrid.com has a section advertising flat shares and furnished rooms.

Habibi downloaded the current ads, and I composed a standard email which I could then amend according to whether the ad was for a flat (piso) or a bedroom (habitación) in a shared flat (piso compartído) and whether said habitación was individual or doblé, or we could do one or two rooms on our budget. For the entertainment of anyone who speaks español, I enclose my best efforts:

Hi there.

I saw your ad in In-Madrid.com. My husband and I are looking for a room for a month, while we look for other, more permanent accommodation, and your room sounds ideal. Is it still available, and if so, can we come and see it? We can come today.

We are a professional couple, English, and fully house-trained!

This is my email address, but I have to go to a locutorio to check my email. If you would like to call me on my mobile, my number is 123456789. Could you let me know what rent you are asking?



Hola.

Estoy buscando un habitacion para mi, y mi marido, para un mes. Somos profesionales, limpias y responsables.

Es su habitacion tambien disponible? Podemos visitar hoy. Este es mi email, pero es mas facil si usted puede llamar a mi movil, nombre: 123456789. Que es el precio, por favor?


Hasta luego,


Mama Pata

P.S. I apologise for the errors in my Spanish!

The next step was to phone the people who didn’t give email addresses. Trepidation: replying to ads (anuncios) in in-Madrid and Segundomano (daily small ads mag) submitted in español……ulp!

Lots of pauses and repetition, (and answerphone messages! Never thought about having to leave messages!) plus deep gratitude that those who answered the phone a) were generally patient and good-humoured, and b) could, in some cases, speak English!

We ended up looking at this place, in the area we wanted, at 10 o’clock last night, after the very kind keyholder finished work. Done deal. Went for a drink round the corner afterwards to celebrate. Turns out he used to work in Saudi and Britain – and he’s French, by the way – so we had plenty to talk about.


Today (Thursday, August 9th)we packed, checked out of Hotel Agumar, handed over a month’s rent for this place, took possession of FIVE keys, and moved in. And it’s lovely. A couple of hundred years old, small and quite noisy, but perfect for us for now.

Two negatives: there is a knack to opening the street door, and we were stuck out in the sun for nearly 10 minutes improvising wrist action and tactical pulls and pushes, before a neighbour appeared and demonstrated The Knack. Huh. I’m going to practise after sunset.

And (Neg2) we’re not sure where the light switch is in the lobby, which does a pretty good impression of Stygian gloom as soon as the fine Mediterranean solid wood street door closes: Habibi tripped with his hands full and hit his face on the stairs. He’s fine, if somewhat grazed and bruised, but it was horrible at the time. If only he’d tripped over a goat or chicken, it would have the makings of one of those jolly place-in-the-sun anecdotes, but unfortunately, central Madrid is notably lacking in farmlife, so no publishing deal so far. But no sticking plasters either, so not too bad.

Anyway, tenemos un piso exterior, pequeño, mucha luz, suelo parquet, con televisión, amueblada, , baño con ducha, cocina equipada. A cinco minutos a pie de Metro y parada de autobus. €800 gastos incluidos. And, just for the record, somos gente limpia, y responsable. (We have a nice furnished flat, €800 a month, all in).

It´s a sign......









piso pequeño y bonito







.....with really good....








...security.....













Greetings from our bit of Madrid!

Techie!

Technomoron makes good! I am in Sunny Scunny helping my Daddyo set up his blog. We're struggling with the profile pic, but basically, it works. Yeeha!
....................... need tea......... :)

Flu with deadline

have flu and horrible chest thing -
also have Flukit, cough medicine, antibiotics-
am totally disgusting swamp creature snuffling & hacking in disorderly nest of bedding and tissues -
am very soory for self and grateful for Habibi -
if survive combined effects of lurgy and medication, will be lurgy-free by 03.30 takeoff a week today -
otherwise could go cargo -
either way, good to go - snrghlfngggghrflnghgh......

totally irresponsible to take lurgy to public place for long leaving do yesterday -
so nice but next victim(s) will be cursing that bloody woman in a few days' time.
Oh dear.

so much to do, so little interest

better tomorrow

Thanks, Dad.

This weekend we...

.....went out for lunch on Friday at 2. John did Lamb. With beetroot. And gem squash. Never liked beetroot before. Never had gem squash before. Yum.
Cheryl made The Trifle! .......returned from lunch on Saturday at 12.30 a.m. It was a very fine lunch!
........oh ...... and we packed a bit.

......Actually, I packed a bit, in between cups of tea and forays into Blogger & Facebook, while Habibi got on with his novel - 48,500 words so far - woohoo!

Mudbath

No, it's not me. Whoever she is, she's having a very good time!

Packing

Home

Sweet

Transit Camp

It'll be fine.......

Aesthetic Prosthetics

This has been a very special month. My darling senior students were graduating on the 2nd in cap & gown, and then: The Prom!

High School proms are an American institution, and though they might now be a feature of English school life, they certainly weren't when I was at school.

So, I decided to make this my Prom, and then set out, in what I laughingly (LOL!) call my mature years, to get ready for a wonderful night out among these young, talented, drop dead gorgeous 18 year-olds poised triumphant on the dizzying brink of independence.

Hm, there was a possibility that I might not quite blend discreetly into this canvas of breath-taking glamour and pulchritude. This might take a little work.

From frog to prince, from sow's ear to silk purse(?!), from Shrek to - er - handsome Shrek - there are precedents for this kind of transformation, but most have involved a fairy godmother and the suspension of disbelief. I would need help.

I would need to go shopping. I would need to go to the beauty salon....... and the hair salon...... and the cloth soukh....... and the tailors.... teehee!

Now, I am not usually very interested in make-up, jewellery and shoes; and shopping just does not do it for me at all - unless it involves Magrudy's, Borders or Virgin. However, in the last six weeks, I have discovered - nay - unleashed! - a whole new side to my character: and it is entirely frivolous. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Pass the gilded invitations, the platinum card, the diamond mine: the diva has arrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiived!

I blame that nice young lady at the beauty salon, who constructed and painted the most wicked long nails for me, a full four days before the Prom. Four days in which I couldn't wash up in case I chipped my Nails. Nor, as I soon discovered, could I fasten my shoes, or all my buttons, or pick up small objects, or turn pages easily, or write legibly. And if you've had an email from me in the last few weeks, you wouldn't believe how long it took to achieve typo-free communication before I learnt to tippety-tapdance across the keys!

The restrictions were mildly frustrating, til I realised how incredibly strong these things are, and how tough nail polish has become.

Oh, it was so much fun waving my fabulous manicure at admiring colleagues and students at school, and I found that my gestures expanded as the days passed, as I half-consciously exhibited the little work of art at the tip of each finger.

Of course, two weeks after The Prom, it was The Omars.

And the invitation said 'Look Divine'.

Cancel the planned trim to lengths commensurate with packing up a department and an apartment and doing ...... erm.... normal life! And get down to the mall for some new nail polish!

One can hardly wear the same clothes for a fortnight; but when one's Nails are a Feature, how can one wear clothes that clash? Clearly, one must have either a new wardrobe, or some new nail polish. Naturally, one does recognise the dangers of excess: polish it is, m'dears.

(Habibibaba is, of course, breathless with gratitude and admiration at my demonstration of uxorial rectitude and thrift.)

And now, in pictures:

Scary Nails

Prom Nails

A New Obsession
Hahahahaha! Somebody stop me!

Omars Nails (dahlings)

- and now -

Packing Nails....... (actually, Removing Drawing Pins from Wall Display Nails) sigh....
Back to normal, then.

...but just below the surface there lingers.......

a Diva......

When did you last see your blog?

Um, May 19th. A month ago!

So, where have I been?
At work.
At home.
At the high school prom.
At the drama group Omars.
On Facebook..........

And what have I been doing?

Having my hair done.
Having my nails done.
Having my teeth done.
Shopping for silk clothes and satin cloth and goddessy gauze.
Shopping for shoes, accessories and jewellery.
Shopping for make-up and nail polish.
Having a ball.
Researching the novel.
Writing the novel.
Writing applications.
Writing references and testimonials (for other people!)
Saying goodbye.
Getting hugged.
Looking forward to leaving Dubai.
Feeling wistful about leaving friends, colleagues, students (interchangeable terms).
Starting the hand-over to my successor at work.
Swapping plans with departing friends and colleagues.
Issuing invitations to mi casa, when I 've got one.
Discovering Facebook as a really good way to avoid losing contact in the blur of ex-pat leaving.
Planning goodbye breakfasts, coffees, lunches, dinners.
Emptying bookcases.
Sorting Stuff.
Taking stock.
Focusing.
Anticipating.
Feeling happy, excited, liberated.
Talking to my family in Europe, where I shall soon be living.
Missing blogging, and bloggers.

We're leaving soon,
Bye bye............... :D

Magritte and me

And Bjork, Tina Brown, Goldie Hawn and Voltaire! All born on November 21st.

All Scorpios,

and therefore

'a unique mix of playfulness and passion. Although [we] can light up a room with our sunny personalit[ies], [we] are also determined, deep, and ambitious. [We] will often deliberate on a problem for some time, and then ignore our analyses and jump into a decision impulsively. Our desires are deep, and [we] want to experience life on all levels. No one can rightfully label [us] superficial!'

(Ok, enough of the []s!)

Also, there's the little matter of 'Sun Conjunct Toliman.

This fixed star has a Venus-Jupiter influence, and suggests we have a great love of freedom, we make friends easily, we possess strength of character, we have refined tastes, and we are tenacious and determined. Enviousness is a potential downfall when expressed negatively. Our spiritual growth is important to us, and we revel in learning the lessons of experience and of life itself.'

And,

'Our progressed Sun enters Aquarius at age 60. The ages of 59 to 61 mark a critical turning point in the development of our personalities. We become more humanitarian, somewhat detached, and independent. Some may become self-righteous and fixed during this phase, while others learn to detach themselves from situations and loosen up. We kick up our heels and enjoy life with a certain level of detachment and confidence that we hadn't discovered before this time.'

Furthermore,

'Born on the 21st day of the month, which reduces to a 3, we radiate warmth, enthusiasm, and good cheer, and others are instinctively drawn to us. We enjoy people immensely, and we light up a room when we enter it. We are entertaining and charming conversationalists, always ready for a good time, and we thrive on conviviality. Factoring in the 11th month of November, we are number 5s, suggesting that we are multi-talented and we have an unmistakable independent streak.'

Hmmmm........... It doesn't sound bad, does it? My mother always said I was wonderful. I like the bit about turning 60!

Just one thing. There's a breakdown of levels and types of attraction. Here's Habibi and me:

'On-again, off-again attraction. This is a complex connection, and you make an odd yet interested (ing?) couple. April 17-21, June 17-21, October 20-24, December 20-24'

Double Hmmmm........... Sounds like married life to me!

And where did I find all this? Drop into Cafe Astrology, fellow traveller, and see for yourself!

Then again, there's this version, but it obviously only applies to men!

On the other hand, given that I'm job-hunting at the start of a new life (and Hilaroscope is a Spanish website - Is it a sign?!?!?!), perhaps I should consider their recommendations, you know? Get out of the rut? Forget conventional wisdom, and pursue something I have a real affinity for?

How to maximise my potential, that's the question.

Politician, banker, entrepreneur or assassin?

I'll have to think about it.

Me and Magritte

I came across a print of 'The Human Condition', by Rene Magritte, in a textbook recently. I can't say that I like it, exactly, but it strikes me as a a visual metaphor for blogging. I did an online search. Voila.




















Here's a variation, which reminds me of Edward Hopper's sunnier work.













I liked these very much.


































And how about this as a cross between a medieval painting, and a Harvey Nicks Christmas window?

A la Recherche des Taxis Perdus

I find that the process of leaving feels similar to the process of settling. Our imminent departure re-invests the now familiar landscape and personnel of daily life with all the vivid detail it had in the early years; storing faces and places, stirring memories and inviting comparisons. We’ve been here almost thirteen years, and in a few weeks we’ll be gone. Coo!

When we first arrived here from England, everything was new, strange, and full of promise, and I soaked up all the details of my new environment. Riding through Karama, Satwa and Jumeirah with a tourist map open beside me, en route for the personal landmarks of Habibi’s office, Habibibaba’s school, the British Council, Magrudy’s, Jumeirah Beach and Creekside Park, I took in the grid layout of compounds and apartment buildings, punctuated by pastel-toned villas plonked on sandy lots like shopping bags dumped on a kitchen floor; I squinted at street signs, perplexed by the incomprehensible numbering system, and intrigued by the complexities of names like ‘Al Ittihad Street’, ‘Al Wasl Road’ and ‘Khaled bin Al Waleed Street’. What did ittihad and wasl mean? Who was Khaled bin Al Waleed? What a sense of achievement came from getting my mouth around these, and being understood! Then there was the next level, learning the ‘real’ names, all based on landmarks or a concentration of activity: Irani Hospital Road, Bank Street, the plant souk, computer souk, Bidet Roundabout, Budgie Roundabout, Defence Roundabout, Satwa Racetrack etc. One day, to my surprise, the straggling web of one-way streets resolved itself into a mental map of a familiar town that was quite lot smaller than it had first appeared – the way a film always seems much shorter, the second time you watch it.

Since then, of course, the town has expanded into a city, and outgrown pet-names. Ramada Roundabout has become a crossroads, Abela Supermarket, whose memory lingered as Old Abela Supermarket through a couple of incarnations – Habitat & a Natural Health Supermarket – conjures up a time and atmosphere, rather than a T junction on Al Wasl Road, and as for Defence Roundabout, notable for its distinctive cruciform, and a definite military……. absence….., that’s Intersection 2!

We’ve also seen the closure of the small private cab companies and one-man operations, and the development of a centrally controlled, metered taxi network employing thousands of men to work twelve-hour shifts. I’m a big fan of road-worthy, air-conditioned vehicles, and most of the drivers are nice guys, but you don’t get the best out of a driver who’s underpaid, tired and stressed. I used to sit in the front seat because I like an unobstructed view and I like to chat, but these days, it’s more like riding shotgun. Unfavourite experiences on a 10-12 lane highway at 120 km/ph: tailgating; ‘precision’ overtaking, mobile phone use; the driver with one hand on the wheel and the other supporting his eyelids; having the radio on really loud to keep him awake.

Ah, I remember the olden days.

Taxis were safer back then, when they couldn’t get out of second gear without the engine falling out. I remember acetate silk roses, velour dashboard covers and gilded plastic tissue box covers offsetting the general grime of the interiors. Wind-down air-conditioning. Concave seating. Maroon vinyl and transparent plastic. Grey sheepskin on the back sill. The family photos tucked behind the sunshade. I remember conversations with men who’d been here for years, about home, family, and other taxi drivers (‘Too many Irani’ confides the Afghan; ‘Too many Afghani.’ the Iranian grins.). I remember the richly textured olfactory adventure of hot rubber, hot oil, ancient vinyl, carbon monoxide, mildew, My Shaldan in Citron, Rose or Strawberry, and the accumulation of years one man’s sweat, cigarettes and lunchbreaks. Vive la nostalgie…….

Digital Photography 101

Step 1. Purchase DC (Digital Camera).

Step 2. RTFM (Read the For-Heaven's-Sake Manual).

Step 3. Insert B (Batteries)

Step 4. Select S (Subject).

Step 5. Research VP (Vantage Point).

Step 6. Monitor AC (Atmospheric Conditions).

Step 7. When AC appear optimal, place self and DC at VP.

Step 8. Press small button to switch on DC.
(If this step fails, go to nearest supermarket and buy the expensive B this time. Repeat Step 8.) (Cheapskate.)

Step 9. Point DC at S.

Step 10. Shoot.

Works every time.

(Actually, I had a little help with this one.)

Foreign Movies

I failed to mention Marion Cotillard who played Fanny Chenal in A Good Year. Gorgeous and talented.




What brings her to mind again is a piece in the newspaper about the French language film La Môme (La Vie En Rose in the US - opening in June, but previewing now) It's a biography of Edith Piaf, with Marion Cotillon apparently wonderful in the title role. I like Edith Piaf. I shall watch this movie when it comes out.











I've been looking out for Spanish movies - from Spain rather than Latin America - in Virgin. Penelope Cruz is not just a pretty (sorry - I mean drop-dead gorgeous) face. She works in Spanish, English & French: I know this because Virgin has at least two French language films with her in - and no Spanish ones at all!

And while I'm here - I really enjoyed Sabah, a grown-up Syrian-Canadian variation on My B.F.Greek Wedding. Written and directed Ruba Nadda, it stars the Lebanese actress Arsinée Khanjian who, in addition to being an established talent in her own right, is married to director Atom Egoyan. I'm going to look out for all three of those names in future - but I've promised myself - and Habibi - not to buy any more DVDs or books for the remaining 10 weeks (TEN WEEKS!) of our sojourn here.

Up to this point, though, I thought that all Arab movies were slapstick comedies featuring rubber-faced moustachioed men leaping about in their dishdashas. Actually, that's not true, because there are lots of Arab movies on satellite, but they seem stuck in a timewarp to me - though I'm probably tuning in to Arab Classic Movies.

Still, it's good to see a mainstream English language movie based in Arab culture: after a dozen years here, the arab-western mix is part of my way of life, so I really appreciate some straightforward cinematic storytelling that reflects this. Sabah is not, of course, an Arab movie: it's a cross-cultural piece which inevitably brings to mind other movies about immigrant identity and culture - such as Bend It Like Beckham, MBFGW, and Bhaji on the Beach; but we need cross-cultural film-makers.

I haven't lived in the Middle East, in this extraordinarily cosmopolitan town, for a dozen years, just to put all my experience and discoveries in a box marked 'Foreign' when I go back to Europe. These are not postcard memories to be brought out for visitors, but part of who I am, as English as I am. And I want to see movies that address that.

Uh-oh. Blogging past my bedtime again.

A Good Movie

We just watched Ridley Scott's latest: A Good Year, which has had reviews of the 'nice, predictable, old-man's-going-soft' variety.







It's got Russell Crowe - usually a good sign.





It's got Albert Finney - usually to die for - and Freddie Highmore - also a good sign.




Also Tom Hollander, who I really liked as Mr Collins in the Not-the-BBC Pride & Prejudice.
And Archie Panjabi, who I've never seen before, but will look out for in future.
And Didier Bourdon, Isabelle Candelier and Jacques Herlin as the entertaining live-in force-to-be-reckoned-with. (I've read all the Spanish-based versions of this story!)

It's got French light, French stone, French je-ne-sais-quoi, an entertaining screenplay and some satisfying camera-work. Yeah, of course we were fairly sure how it would end - but it was fun watching it work itself out.

We liked it.

Another animation from YouTube

The Great Esc. For all the laptop addicts!

Kiwi

Kiwi!

sniff

Thanks, Brodie

Law and Justice on Sexual Abuse

This is a comment (slightly tidied up) which I posted in response to another blogger's comment on the howl of anguish and rage that I posted yesterday in the UAE Community Blog, and subsequently wrote about here:

It has been established for decades that people in positions of care or authority who sexually abuse children find strategies - psychological or physical - to prevent their victims from speaking about it.

Even if the judges were not aware of this, surely it is relevant that a grown man, resident in the girls' home, used a knife to get what he wanted?
Surely it should be recognised that the man who is capable of using a knife to force four adolescent girls in his care into incest and adultery, as they are defined here, would have no hesitation about intimidating them with reminders of the legal penalties for 'their' actions, should the authorities ever find out?
Surely, in a region which places such emphasis on female honour, there should be some understanding of how ashamed these girls would feel, and how reluctant to speak of their shame to anyone?
And surely, someone should have given serious thought to the climate of apprehension, shame and fear that this man must have created in that household, and the cumulative effect on those girls as they saw their turn coming, across a span of twelve years?

Doesn't the combination of an abusive stepfather, a helpless or complicit mother, and a wall of silence surrounding the birth of eleven children suggest how helpless and hopeless these girls must have felt?
Shouldn't all this raise serious doubts about how much choice, control, and therefore culpability can be ascribed to them?

With hindsight, would the youngest sister still report her stepfather to the police?
Do the four older girls think that their new 'freedom' is worth the cost?

The sentence of death by stoning will no doubt deter some potential offenders from sexually abusing children in their care. Unfortunately, there will always be those who think that they can get away with it; and now they have a new weapon to encourage silent submission: eighty lashes if you tell.

Therefore, I will hope for a review of the law through which this case was prosecuted, and the drafting of guidelines for judges who have to rule in such cases, these guidelines to be informed by proper research into the effect of longterm intimidation, and physical and/or sexual abuse on adults and minors.

Thoughts, anyone?

Death and Lashes

Yesterday I read a Gulf News article about the tragic outcome of a fire in Sharjah. It states that the mother panicked, and dropped the children from their 8th floor apartment in order to save them. One died, and one is in hospital.

This Emirates Today front page article of the day before explains that the reason she couldn't get out was that her husband, as was his custom, had locked her and the children in when he went to work. Apparently this is a common practice. He'd changed the lock too, without telling, or leaving a duplicate with, the watchman.

That poor woman has enough guilt to live with, Gulf News. She didn't panic - she threw her sons down to the crowd below, saving one. Maybe if the police had been there in under half an hour, or the fire brigade in under forty five minutes, things might have been different. (Shades of the recent Al Attar fire which started at about 4.15 a.m. but didn't attract a fire crew til 6 or 7 - What is going on in this country of multiplying high-rises?) Maybe if her husband had not locked her in.

Today there was this.

I don't hold with stoning, for reasons I'm too sad to go into after these stories. But if I'd met the judges who sentenced those girls, in the half hour after I'd read the second article - assuming I could stop crying long enough to see straight - I think I'd have cast a few stony opinions.

Both of these men were cast in the role of protector, the ultimate authority in the lives of the 'their' women and children. Yet when they abused their authority, one deliberately, one through fuzzy thinking, both the judges and the Gulf News writer - one after long deliberation, and the other with a, perhaps thoughtless, choice of words - assigned blame to the protegees.

Female children should have the protection of law.
Male and female adults should have equal status in law and practice.
Male and female adults should be prepared to give, take, and accept equal responsibility in personal relationships, especially when it comes to raising families.

Then we can start dishing out equal blame for crime and stupidity.

Damn!

As a formula for the day-to-day business of living with each other and raising a family, mutual respect, consultation, consent, and compromise may be a pain in the ass at times; but it does spread the load, and provide a check for the more foolish decisions that one tired or over-conscientious person might come up with alone. Like locking up his wife for her own protection.

As for the law.

And those who interpret it.

Well.

I'm looking for an upbeat one-liner, but I've broken my rose-tinted specs. Sorry.

3 Rs and a Screwdriver

I've been a bit busy lately, with

Reading: an interesting mix of fact and fiction as research for

Riting: The Nobble. It exists as research notes, a family thicket, a timeline, and a few - um - scenes. This may take some time.....

and Rithmetic:

One million aches: 1 megahurtz

Basic unit of laryngitis: 1 hoarsepower

Time between slipping on a peel and smacking the pavement:
1 bananosecond

1 million microphones: 1 megaphone

2000 mockingbirds: two kilomockingbirds

1 millionth of a fish: 1 microfish

1 trillion pins: 1 terrapin

1 million billion picolos: 1 gigolo

10 cards: 1 decacards

10 rations: 1 decoration

10 millipedes: 1 centipede

2 monograms: 1 diagram

8 nickels: 2 paradigms

2 wharves: 1 paradox

(OK, so the last bit's just padding, but it's fun. Some of these appear on a Teacher's Day-to-View calendar, but you'll find more here.)

Actually, there's not been much writing either, except of the Application-Form-plus-CV-and-Supporting-Letter variety. I used to think that a CV was a simple record of what one has been doing. Pshaw! What a foolish notion!

As any CV-writing website - and there are several out there - will demonstrate, a CV is a delicately balanced tool with as many potential variations as a screwdriver, and the jobseeker must choose the appropriate one in order to gain access to the potential (pause for swift intake of breath and adjustment of tone to reverential) employer.

Hmm... Screwdriver: connotations of DIY, shaken-not-stirred, breaking-&-entering, taking-&-driving-away. Sometimes I am troubled by my subsconscious........

OK I don't want to jerry his Jag, roger his Rover, or do anything at all to his Beemer. I just want an interview.

So I'll stop worrying about (a) Slotted, (b) Phillips, (c) Pozidriv, (d) Torx, (e) Hex key, (f) Robertson, (g) Tri-Wing, (h) Torq-Set, (i) Spanner

Thank you Wikipedia ..........and.... I'd better go hone a new metaphor....... I mean key.

So, first read over your CV file, which you have of course diligently reviewed every six months since you completed your education, sometime in the last millennium. (You haven't? Well, pshaw to you too!).

Now, what exactly do you want to do with it? (Sorry. What is your objective?) Do you want to apply for a job in the same field?......... in a different field?............ apply for a particular job vacancy?

Does your CV fit the bill? Yes?

Brrrrrrringggggg! Go straight to style*.

(Er, what?

Later*.

OK.)

If not, what's the problem? Underqualified? Overqualified? Too young? Too old? Unemployed? Fired? Gaps? Inexperienced? Criminal record? No degree?

Don't fret. Be positive. It's not just what you've done, it's what it says about your character, strengths, and potential value to the employer lucky enough to land you. It's not just what you say, it's also how you say it. It's not just what you put down, it's how you lay it out.

Et cetera!

And now, balanced precariously as you are between optimism about your innate fabulousness, and anxiety about the intricacies of the above, perhaps you would like to consider whether the appropriate style* for your CV is: Chronical, Targeted, Combination, CV, Inventory or Functional?

_____________________________________________________________

OK. I've stopped.

Speaking as someone for whom the term career might have been invented (Consider it as a verb rather than a noun.....) I present a bit of a conundrum for a prospective employer with formal procedures and conventional expectations. I have been involved for an extreeeeeeeemely long time in community work, community arts and arts education; sometimes it's been paid work, sometimes not; sometimes freelance, sometimes on contract; but always productive and satisfying. Add to that the fact that, for over a decade, virtually every project or contract has come via referral, and the CV has been something of a formality; and it becomes apparent why, this close to my 50th birthday, I find myself consulting websites on how to fill in a CV that conveys all of the above as energetic, multi-faceted, etc. rather than...... something less marketable....

It's actually been a very interesting exercise. In common, I think, with most people, I find networking and self-promotion quite unsettling, but I do understand that if you don't lay out your stall properly, potential customers will pass you by. When it comes to creating what I sincerely hope will be an effective CV, it's at least as stimulating as a sudoku puzzle - and I like sudoku! What gets me is not the listing and highlighting, the boxing and bordering, and the honest business of selling the product (me!). It's the gimmickry of goal statements and what I shall call dynamic jargon.

Habibi regularly receives emailed CVs (or biodata - not a term I'd heard of til I came here)

......

OK: tangent time!

(It did not bother me that a company that I used to work for counted its employees as 'work units'. It was a big, well-run, 24/7 company, and no-one ever actually called me Work-Unit 2222 to my face. However, quite apart from the fact that the term 'biodata' does not strike the ear with either the self-confidence of 'CV' or the gravitas of 'curriculum vitae', it says 'Work Unit' to me.

It says that the person who puts this term at the top of her written representation of herself has been conditioned to see herself as a mere cog, a drone. That kind of conditioning would also explain the whipped puppy eagerness of the 'goal statements' which pant across the page, scattering 'Pat me! Pat me!' promises in all directions.

I'm out of practice. This is coming out sour, and, I think, disingenuous. If you come from a relentlessly competitive background, an employment culture of survival of the fittest, and have seen both the rewards of success and the price of failure, then of course you will have absorbed the attitudes, and the language, which such a culture generates. But it can be counterproductive if recruiters from other cultures read it through their own cultural filters. My English reluctance to sell-sell-sell would probably play as arrogance or complacency to a recruiter from an aggressively go-getter culture. Let the Games begin!

Exit Tangent now. Do not pass Gravitas. Collect Jargon.)

...As I was saying, Habibi regularly receives emailed CVs (or biodata!) couched in extraordinary language, much of it mishspooled. I've already dissed goal statements (In the tangent. If you skipped it - sorry!), but let me get to what I'm calling dynamic jargon.

I have two sections entitled 'Responsibilities' and 'Achievements'. Fine. So I'm responsible for this, that and the other, and have achieved the other, that and this. Yes? No!

But it's true!

Yes, but it doesn't convey your energy, your focus, your achievements!

......m-my ..responsibilities....?

Such as?

Erm, administration, stocktaking, bareback-riding, disembowelment..

No, no, no! You must be more dynamic!

?

#$(%^&!!!! (sigh) Have you considered - enabling? facilitating? maximisingoptimising?

I -

inititatinginstigatingimplementingintegrating?!

Actually I -

Incubatingresonatingtabulating?!

?!

Inflitratingexculpatingcoruscatingmasticatingsyncopatingadumbrating! Calibrating! Amputating! Mutilating! Flagellating!

VACATING!

- I beg your..... Where did she go?

So, dynamic jargon. I know it's just the current convention, and presumably it indicates some level of professionalism to HR personnel awash in a CV sea, but I suspect that it started off as someone's strategy to make sure she stood out from the crowd. Now we all have to do it!

By the way, I shamelessly cannibalised fairly typical advice from a variety of sites. The one I recommend, and include some terms from, is CVTips.com. They are not to blame for the way I used said terms: I really did need guidance on how to put a CV together, and theirs is the most straightforward and thorough of the bunch. There are some typos here and there, but the advice is realistic, and free, and they have templates in different styles and for different purposes. Don't hold any of the above against them!

circulatingpropagatingcelebratingvalidating...hallucinating..medicating

Shameless Plug Part Ducks

(For SPP1 see Habibi's blog!)

I haven't blogged lately because 1: I'm job-hunting, 2: The Novel is beginning to show signs of possibly maybe almost starting to come together, 3: kinda busy with work, and 4: Romeo and Juliet is on this weekend, so evenings are far too busy and interesting to leave any time for actually writing about them. (Isn't it a pain when real life interferes with the really important stuff?)

So, here's some gen on the DDG production of R&J, from an Emirates Today interview with Jordan Baker (Romeo) & Saskia O'Neill (Juliet) -

Valentine’s Day is only just over. But romance is still in the air. And what better way for all you die-hard lovers to keep that fire alive than treating your partner to one of Shakespeare’s most famous love stories.
Following the successful productions of Run For Your Wife and Treasure Island, The Dubai Drama Group is back in what is set to be its most exciting production yet: Romeo & Juliet.
Ever since auditions for the first production of 2007 ended in November last year, the cast, as well as the rest of the crew, have been busy preparing for the show, which will take place tomorrow and Saturday.
And after being treated to a sneak preview of the show, it was obvious the group has definitely made an effort to create an entertaining play – not an easy feat, considering they all have to juggle full-time jobs or school.
Romeo & Juliet is a tragedy concerning the fate of two young “star-crossed lovers” and it should be familiar, let’s face it, everybody has seen at least five minutes of the Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes blockbuster.
In this production, the starcrossed lovers are played by Saskia O’Neil and Jordan Baker, and despite quite a significant age difference between the two – Saskia is 16, while Jordan is 26 – their professionalism shines through during rehearsals.
So what made them decide to go for the parts?
“Well, I saw the advert for auditions at my school, and I decided it would be fun to join,” says Sasskia.
“However, I guess I was more interested doing backstage work as I didn’t think I’d be ready to take on a full-on role.
“My teacher convinced me to go for it – I auditioned and I got the part. She is also in our group – she plays the nurse in Romeo & Juliet.”

Meanwhile, Jordan points out that being new to Dubai, acting was a fun way for him to meet new people.
“Three years ago, I moved to Dubai from the United States, and the last time I travelled around, I found that one of the best ways of meeting new and different people would be through community theatre,” says Jordan, who works as a mechanical engineer in the emirate.
“I love theatre, and it was fantastic to be given the part of Romeo – rehearsals have been fun.” What is quite special about the Dubai Drama Group’s production is that it is not your typical “drag along for six hours” Romeo & Juliet.
“We don’t want to bore the audience – we want to entertain,” Jordan laughs.
“Basically, it is a condensed version of the play, and it’s not your typical version.
“You’ve got your traditional play with the Shakespearean English, and then there is the version that starred Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes – we’re performing a version that uses both traditional and modern elements, making it fun for everyone.” It is definitely an entertaining production, and indeed suitable for everyone. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry and then you’ll laugh a bit more. And Jordan agrees.
“It’s a nice cultural change, and we have an international cast – I think we’re 12 nationalities in all,” he explains.
“Plus, there’s good music and a great cast.You won’t be disappointed.”

The Gulf News did an entertaining feature after one of our Friday rehearsals in Safa Park.

There are four shows: Friday and Saturday, 3pm and 7pm. You can buy tickets (50Dhs) at the DUCTAC box office or through Time Out.

Now I must get to bed. Big day tomorrow, forsooth.

An Experiment in Fluid Dynamics, or, How Not to Open a 4L Winebox

1. Place 4L box of wine, preferably, red, on top shelf of open kitchen shelving.

Note: While the shelf unit may be free-standing and empty, a richer experience may be anticipated if the unit is in a corner close to walls and a door, perhaps next to a worktop surmounted by a microwave oven or similar; and the lower shelves of the unit filled to capacity with crockery (bowls are particularly effective) , storage jars, and smaller kitchen appliances.

2. Raise arms above head, and remove cardboard seal from front fascia of winebox, creating an opening.

3. Insert fingers into opening and locate circular plastic valve unit set into foil winebag.

4. Grasping valve securely, pull through opening in front fascia.

5. When valve becomes jammed behind cardboard, pull firmly.

6. When button on front valve gets stuck on corner of cardboard, thus releasing a narrow but powerful stream of red wine over your upturned face, gasp in manner reminiscent of asphyxiating fish, and lower head to enable wine to pour over back of shirt. Do not release grip on valve.

Note: Shirt, though absorbent, will not measurably protect floor, but may be neatly wrung out later, or used in creative tie-dye experiment. (This is particularly effective, if you have had the forethought to choose a shirt of aesthetically pleasing hue, known to tone or contrast well with red wine stains.)

7. With head thus lowered and both arms still raised, use one hand to balance winebox and other to further manoeuvre valve, in order to fully pull it through the opening in the fascia, thus releasing button and stopping flow.

8. When flow unaccountably increases, vocalise loudly, taking care to keep head lowered as in #6. Vocalisation may take whatever form deemed appropriate to the situation: grunts and whoops may serve; shrieks are perhaps more appropriate for freshly chilled white wine, but research in this field is limited, and findings remain inconclusive; profanity may seem appealing, but in this writer’s view has no place in the realm of Science; clear enunciation of the name of a companion within auditory range is perhaps most practical, particularly as #10-12 require the services of an assistant.

Note: Gasping, or the involuntary and abrupt intake of air, is not recommended, due to the potential for an involuntary intake of wine into the trachea, with results which must necessarily be a distraction in the subsequent critical stages of the experiment. The spectacle, familiar in various wine-producing cultures, of the waiter imbibing a stream of the local elixir from a bottle or carafe raised high at arm’s length, requires rather more rehearsal and control than can be claimed in this early experiment.

9. At this point, take note of the fact that the valve is now in one hand, the winebox in the other, and the entire contents of the internal winebag, responding to gravity and atmospheric pressure, are now cascading over the shelf unit and your now dripping form, and bouncing exuberantly in all directions. This indicates the unlooked for separation of valve from bag, and the need for the services of the above-mentioned research assistant. Continuing to employ selected vocalisation technique, until you have elicited a proactive response from said assistant, (See #8) take a firm grasp on the winebox with both hands, and in an instinctive bacchanalian sequence of movement, transfer it first toward, and then away from, you, to end with the box resting on its back on one outstretched hand.

10.At the completion of this manoeuvre, atmospheric pressure will continue to drive the remaining liquid from the winebag, but the earth’s gravitational pull will initially cause it to be contained inside the winebox. However, as the perhaps misleadingly titled ‘winebox’ is not, in fact, designed to contain liquid unassisted, the continuing play of the previously cited forces will fairly rapidly generate a minor vinous fantasia from the now compromised seams and edges of said winebox. If you have continued vocalising through #8-9, your research assistant should now be on hand to observe and assess the situation, in preparation for practical engagement.

Note: Since this is your first foray into applied fluid dynamics (outside the environs of the shower or swimming pool), it is important to remind yourself that there is no right or wrong way to respond. Be spontaneous! Exercise the mysterious creative power of human ingenuity, a power which has engendered some of the most felicitous scientific discoveries, and wonders of civil engineering, even as it continues to baffle scientists!

In consideration of likely feelings of physical fatigue, or the onset of temporary hysteria engendered by the excitement of scientific enquiry compounded by the exercise of an unfamiliar breathing technique, you should now delegate management of the winebox, indeed, of the remaining stages of the experiment, to your research assistant.

11. Having assumed this responsibility, your assistant may elect to adopt a supine position directly beneath the flow, in a manner reminiscent of the waiters cited in #8. As the stream widens and diverges, you may perhaps choose to do the same.

Note: Disregard anxieties that your action might compromise your findings, as there are a number of features of your laboratory space, and, indeed, of this experiment, which may already have invalidated it for the purposes of publication in scientific journals. You can address these when evaluating this important initial work, and preparing your grant application.

Alternatively, your research assistant might choose to transfer the winebox to a large, liquid-proof vessel, and/or attempt to reinsert the errant valve. While this course has much to recommend it, it would be advisable to ensure that the winebox remains on its back.

12. Once you are both satisfied that all is complete, you have a number of options:

• Ignoring the drips and streams of claret on every surface, pour yourself a glass of wine and retire to another room to write up your notes.
  
• Ignoring the drips and streams of claret on every surface, pour yourself a glass of wine and retire to another room to watch the DVD you set up twenty minutes ago .
  
• Get out the cleaning materials: it’s going to be a long night.

Egrets in Dubai?

On several mornings now, at about seven o'clock, I've seen between two and ten white birds at the Emirates Mall interchange, on the grassed part inside the loop, where the road from Jebel Ali turns up and over the Sheikh Zayed Road, heading fro the Police Academy.

I thought they might be egrets, but here's a picture of a Little Egret from Kenya, and I think they were smaller. Plus, this is the distribution: Widely distributed including Southern Europe, much of Asia, North and East Africa, Australia and New Zealand. (i.e. everywhere except the Middle East!)

Has anyone else seen them, and can identify them? They're delicate, snowy white, and quite beautiful.

Femmes (et hommes) d'un certain âge..... plus plus!

For a school project I have been looking for representations of life in old age in mainstream films. We all know that in a predominantly visual medium dominated by Hollywood box-office values, middle-aged female characters generally function as background or minor counterpoint to male protagonists. And if you're an actor over sixty it seems to me that you have two character options, picturesque or grotesque - either in a rocker or off it - arf!.......sorry........
Oh, and there are always deathbed scenes.

There are honourable exceptions in the middle years: contemporaries of Kathy Bates, Meryl Streep, Susan Sarandon and Diane Keaton have enjoyed these women's screenwork for decades, and will always want more. English stage actresses Helen Mirren and Judi Dench have broken through good and proper, and Maggie Smith's up there having a great deal of fun, I think. Jessica Tandy - very talented - became everyone's favourite little old lady in Batteries Not Included, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, and Driving Miss Daisy. I can't remember, but I would imagine she was in Cocoon, too, with husband Hume Cronin. Hopefully, the Talk-To-The-Hand generation will get over Lindsay Lohan and the vacuous Hollywood Teen Diet and find their own A-List to grow up with.

Still, but, however, (second cup of coffee, here!) I wish that those of us who can't get to her stagework could see more of Judi Dench's phenomenal range. Unfortunately, casting directors seem to have filed her under T (Terrifying) subset steel magnolia/rose/gardenia, bitch-queen, bitch-goddess. Yes I know she does them so well, but, Newsflash: Judi Dench can do sexy, sparkling, vulnerable and very funny as well as formidable and ferocious; more people should get to see that! It was such a treat to see her and Maggie Smith in Tea With Mussolini, and Ladies in Lavender.

I was struck by a newspaper feature describing this as the Silver Foxes' Oscar season because Helen Mirren, Judi Dench and Meryl Streep are all up for honours. An industry commentator cautioned against seeing this as reflecting a more inclusive attitude within Hollywood, because affluent teens and twenty-somethings remain the target market. More telling is the increasing DVD market: apparently, we creakies would rather stay in than go out, and, being blessed with the patience, wisdom and home theatre systems that come with advancing years, are content to wait for movies to come out on DVD. In fact, it appears that distributors are now trying to take two bites of the apple at once. There have been rows in Germany and the UK recently, with cinema chains withdrawing films because of near simultaneous DVD releases which disregard an unofficial convention of a four-month gap between cinema and DVD release. Good grief, could we grown-ups count for something in big 'ol forever young Califo'nia?

Anyway, I have been trying to find a copy of On Golden Pond (a film I have avoided since its release) for its portrayal of relationships across generations, or Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, or Grumpy Old Men, for their inversion of ideas of what it means to be old. (I don't think they're quite ready for Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson in Something's Gotta Give, or Barbra Streisand's 'relationship counselling' sessions in Meet the Fockers. Plus, getting fired won't look so good on my CV.) No joy.

For those of you who have never had the pleasure of working with 11-14 year-olds, it makes no difference that their actual grandparents are educated professionals with driving licences and laptops, or practise yoga, or come with them on family skiing holidays; nor that they have full use of all limbs, teeth and faculties, and a sense of humour to boot. Oh no. Say 'old man' or 'old woman' to a twelve year-old, and s/he immediately doubles over, clutches an imaginary walking stick, and commences shuffling and hacking round the room, glaring through narrowed eyes at everyone else; the epitome of the Old Man in the fairy story:

(This is actually the commedia dell'arte character Pantalone, the 16th Century stereotype of the grumpy old man!)
















...or the Old Crone of the fairy story.


(This painting is by Atanur Dogan)
















Perhaps I should add that this is an age group for whom Keanu Reeves is old, and who respond to the pop music music of two years ago with rolling eyes and gasps of disbelief - of course, they may have a point about that........ ;)

Anyway, I resorted to the 2003 Disney movie Secondhand Lions, which stars Robert Duvall, Haley Joel Osment and Michael Caine, and which I'd heard good things about but never actually seen.

(spoiler alert!) It turned out to be

..........an engaging redemption movie
in which a rootless boy finds
a family and a sense of himself,
and the old man finds a new
reason to live............

Ok, you can look now!




















Living in the middle east, I had mixed feelings about the content of the story-telling sequences, but given their tongue in cheek Boys' Own Hero style, I decided to run with it. All things considered, this an upbeat and entertaining family film with warmth and humour, and the storyline is bolted together pretty well!
If the core is somewhat hackneyed, Robert Duvall invested it with something more in his role as Uncle Hub. (He made his screen debut as Boo Radley in the 1963 movie To Kill a Mockingbird, which I watched just two nights later. I must find what else he's done.)
I noted, but didn't watch, a feature on HJO (playing Walter) entitled An Actor Comes of Age. I hope that this is the case, and that now that he's older, he will be allowed to break the typecasting and extend his range.
Michael Caine had a pretty good grip on the accent, and a very nice handle on the character of Uncle Garth. I really enjoy his work, from the classic Get Carter to Little Voice to Miss Congeniality, and now this. Lovely. (BTW, if you saw Stallone's Get Carter, forget it. A travesty. No comparison. Michael Caine gives the performance of his career inthe 1971 Get Carter. Go get Get Carter!)

I did find a sequence I could use, so I'm happy.

And finally, girls, look to the future with optimism, and never underestimate the appeal of the older man......

To Kill a Mockingbird

I love the novel.














Last night I watched the film.













Classics, both.

Dal'ouna in Dubai & Abu Dhabi

This is Ramzi Aburedwan, who grew up in Al Amari refugee camp in Ramallah, and won a music scholarship to study the viola in France, where he and fellow students created Dal'ouna in 2002. In concert, as in this photo, he plays the bouzouki.

Last night, Dal'ouna played a wonderful two hour set at Dubai Community Theatre & Arts Centre (It's a mouthful, but the alternative is DUCTAC. Oh, puhlease...) up at the top of Emirates Mall*.

None of these pictures are from that concert, but whether they're playing in Dubai, Jerusalem, Angers or Abu Dhabi, you get an ensemble of fine musicians and singers, and an evening of delightful Palestinian music, from soulful ballads, to traditional folk songs, to contemporary jazz fusion.



























You can find the Dal'ouna French language website here.
And here's a translation from the programme:

Dal'ouna's music is ......... a confluence between Palestine and France and a fusion between purely traditional singing from the Middle East and jazzy melting compositions played with classical western instruments (viola, clarinet, flute, guitar, piano) and... traditional Arabic instruments (bouzouki, oud, derbouka, bendir....). The work is not frozen in either traditionalism or classicism: it is on the contrary open to outside influences.

[Since 2000, the group has played in Palestine, or for Palestine in France, Belgium and England.] Most of the concerts take place in Palestine, where, twice a year through Al Kamandjâti (The Violinist) Association, Dal'ouna and other musicians crisscross Palestinian refugee camps, villages and cities. They bring music to children, through music-training workshops and concerts.

If you live in Abu Dhabi, grab the chance to listen to Dal'ouna. This visit has been organised by the Friends of Bethlehem University.

Last night's concert was so good! Dal'ouna's line-up varies from tour to tour, but on this one there's Ramzi Aburedwan himself, Tareq Rantissi on derbouka (an hourglass-waisted drum that you tuck under your arm and rest on your thigh) and other percussion instruments, Ziad Benyoussef on the oud (Arab lute - and if you've never heard jazz lute, here's your chance!), Mohammed Najem on clarinet (and a flute that looks like little more than a length of cane) Mohammed Al Quttati on accordion, and singers Ouday Khatib and Noura Madi.

Highlights - too numerous to list - but musicianship - oh yeah.
The percussionist was amazing. Very serious too. He never left the stage, played a variety of instruments, and played the most extraordinary array of rhythms and sounds throughout the concert.
The clarinettist - well, I've never heard Arab-style clarinet, before, but this instrument was made for those slow low melancholy swoops, and long high notes. If you've heard Fairouz (or if not, Cleo Laine), and you've heard clarinet (Mozart, Weber, Acker Bilk playing Stranger on the Shore), play them in your head, and you'll hear what I mean.
I'm not a fan of the accordion, but in concert with the strings, or playing musical tag with the drums and clarinet, this works: there's a long piece about the sea, in which the accordion trots out the central phrase; reduces it to a dropping pattern of only two notes, to accent a long improvisation, at least an octave below, on the oud; and then picks up again. Some of the pieces are plain old jamming sessions!
Of the two singers, Nour had a strong clear voice which really had the range for these apparently straightforward songs where the chorus routinely highjumps an octave from the verse, and she sang with great simplicity, allowing the songs to shine. She began her first song unaccompanied, and I should have liked to hear more.
Listening to her, I was humming choruses (with the people around me) discovering that these Arab folksongs have melody patterns remarkably similar to their European cousins (as I now recognise them), but with distinctive Arab characteristics in the trills, slides and those jumps. Lastly, Ouday, who was perhaps fourteen or fifteen, with his strong boy's voice as yet unbroken, came on to sing a long, long song of such power and delicacy that it seemed beyond the scope of anyone his age, but with such clarity and integrity that we were all mesmerised.
The singers came and went throughout the set, as did the accordionist and the clarinettist, and the evening rolled on in a finely blended programme of solos, duets, and ensemble pieces.

All in all, though I did not understand the words of the songs, or indeed of Ramzi Aburedwan's introductions to the songs, I had a very good evening out! Just one thing, when I mentioned the two hour set, that's what it was: they played without a break. Take your water bottle in with you if you go tomorrow!

Dal'ouna is on at Abu Dhabi Cultural Foundation on WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 7th!

I'd post a link, but the main Time Out ticket page is down, but so you'd better contact the venue direct:

The Abu Dhabi Cultural Foundation, Old Airport Rd (02 6215300 cultural@emirates.org.ae)

Situated beside Qasr al-Hosn, the foundation is housed in a delightful modern building of Islamic design with arching white colonnades, cool courtyards and restful gardens. The Cultural Foundation has an important library, theatre, cinema, lecture rooms, meeting rooms, an exhibition centre and coffee shop. The centre hosts numerous cultural events, including concerts with international and local artists, classic film festivals, art exhibitions and workshops throughout the year. Open 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. and 5 p.m. to 8 p.m.

So now you know!

Such talent. Such music. Such an important cause. Just go!

*DUCTAC: Great arts centre, very poorly signposted. The entrance is from the top T-Z carpark or escalator, directly opposite the top entrance to Magic Planet, almost completely hidden by an escalator and a fire exit sign................. Here's the Dubai Community Theatre and Arts Centre webpage. I'm good to you!

High Flight

Today I came across this poem in a thread elsewhere.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

of sun-split clouds, —and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark nor even eagle flew—

And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

I have read it several times over the years, and flown on the back of its absolute joy, that sense of being alive that we experience sometimes, but which I for one can't describe without suffocating it in words. (If you've been here before, you know this!) John Magee caught it perfectly.

However, reading down the thread, to discover that this pilot was only nineteen when he died (in a training accident), shocked me; cutting through all the insulation I have assembled to deal with the realities of the nightly news. I sat here with tears streaming.

Perhaps we're never so consciously alive, with our future at our feet, as when we're eighteen or nineteen. Not since we cut our first tooth, said our first word, took our first step, have we so encapsulated the hopes, dreams and pride of those who love us.

Gone in a minute.

John Magee's poem took me to John Magee's parents, holding their boy's poem written on the back of an envelope, knowing there would never be another one; and to all the other parents I've seen crying on the nightly news, whether howling in agony outside a mortuary, quietly accepting their country's flag, or staring blankly into the camera in what's left of a wherever they used to live.

It's a shame the human race has such a powerful urge to kill for what it wants. And such a readiness to die for its beliefs. I wish I had a magical solution to offer as a coda to this sad entry, but as far as I can see, it's often the magical solutions (Let's do it My Way!) that lead to the worst bloodshed.

Instead, here's John Magee's sonnet on the burial of Rupert Brooke, in 1915.

We laid him in a cool and shadowed grove
One evening in the dreamy scent of thyme
Where leaves were green, and whispered high above —
A grave as humble as it was sublime;
There, dreaming in the fading deeps of light —
The hands that thrilled to touch a woman's hair;
Brown eyes, that loved the Day, and looked on Night,
A soul that found at last its answered Prayer...
There daylight, as a dust, slips through the trees.
And drifting, gilds the fern around his grave —
Where even now, perhaps, the evening breeze
Steals shyly past the tomb of him who gave
New sight to blinded eyes; who sometimes wept —
A short time dearly loved; and after, — slept.