A busy busy week.
Saturday.
It is Saturday morning, the equivalent of your Sunday morning. The sun is shining – the sun is always shining – but it is not so hot so as to need the air conditioning on. Ergo, it is quiet, just the low level hum of the buildings’ breathing. Heidi is still asleep and I have no hangover. I am drinking freshly ground, coal black Arabic coffee. And I am smoking. Last night we watched the devil wears Prada, and then went to bed.
I am listening to The Good The Bad And The Queen, recorded live at the Round House. This 50 minute mp3 represents Messer Albarn's latest foray into and quest for pop immortality. And it is not bad, not bad at all. It is not something I have purchased. It is something that I simply sought and was subsequently rewarded by finding. The internet, I feel, is messing with millennia of philosophy, because truly, if you seek, you will find. I would like to thank Cristobel at this juncture for explaining Bit torrents to me and revealing the locations of several founts of apparently limitless cool things. As I type, I am waiting for Jonie Mitchell to coalesce on my hard drive from who knows where and who knows whom.
I write this in the media suite, formerly known as Mary and James room. This room serves both as our den and our office. Our living room, despite having Dinar lavished upon it, is still fundamentally not where you want to be when watching a film. There is only one sofa, and that is small. So the DVD and the second TV have been set up in here, along side the computer for the purposes of receiving new playing favourite music. It is comfortable and it is light. It is becoming my favourite room in the house.
And now, with heavy eyes and deep sleep pallor comes Heidi. She has travelled the great distance from one bed, to this bed. Say hello, Heidi. Hello Heidi, she says...
I’m not sure how this is going to work. We have talked about writing a joint entry that covers this week, but Heidi can’t be arsed to type, she wants me to type and she’ll dictate…
She starts with a big, wide and deep yawn as she stretches a bit.
Monday
Howdy folks, have been top Bahraini ones this week further confirming our status over the past few days as nearly Bahraini. Firstly, let’s talk about wine and cheese and going with the Al Khalifa. On Monday we were invited to a free wine tasting, in the yacht club no less. Our invitations came from A and E a local boozerama
Heidi has given up; she had a go at typing but could only manage a sentence.
So it’s back to me. Monday night we are hob-nobbing it with ruling family. Well, with one low level member of the ruling family. Going by the name of Nassar, he was resplendent in a stripy T stretched over a steroid case torso and arms that looked like they were inflatable. His tiny head was shaved and shiny and he had an eye for the expat lady.
This wine tasting evening was organised by African and Eastern and I was invited by a bloke we met at the POSH party a few weeks ago. It was South African wines and they were good. What killed me though was not the wine, but the five different types – and colours – of sambuca that were on offer. There was white, green, red, blue and finally black. Each was slightly different and slightly stronger than the last and I kinda fell into this macho thing with a security guard ex-marine from Heathrow and, although I held my own at the time, I suffered badly in the morning. Heidi, meantime, just watched me with a smug smile growing on her face, knowing how bad I would fell come the morning.
Tuesday
Not much got done the next day at work. The bosses flexed their muscles and send round a missive reminding us of our requirements as employees which served mainly just to annoy people and was multilaterally ignored.
Wednesday
Imagine my joy! My boss comes in and asks whether we would be interested in going to a VIP screening of the new Bond film. When is it? Tonight. Imagine my woe because tonight Bahrain are playing Kuwait for a place in the Asia Cup next year. But, joy once again because the kick off is at six and Casino Royale is not showing ‘til 9. We can do both. Further, Eathar wants to go to the footie too, so we will be chauffeured around the island.
Work goes slowly that day but I get stuff done. Heidi comes to the office and meets everyone. She describes Rebecca as even louder than she is, even louder than Cathy is. I do not disagree. We get in Eathar’s car and we speed to the stadium. I say speed, because when the engine was running, Eathar’s mustang – the Stang – flies along and speeds that neither Heidi not I are comfortable with, but the Stang’s engine has a predilection to cutting out whilst travelling at tremendous speed. As such, and three times, none of them convenient, the car dies and we drift without power, up an on ramp, around a round about or my personal favourite, backwards – relatively – as we are trying to over take a bus.
But we make it to the ground and park Bahraini style – anywhere and not really looking to see if we are blocking anyone else. WE have missed the kick off, but we are not the only ones. There is still a stead stream of stragglers mooching toward the gates. Entry is free and the security is random. I am not searched, just waved on through. Heidi’s bag is searched and Eathar’s is not. We zigzag up concrete ramps toward the noise of thirty thousand men. It quickly becomes clear that I am in the stadium with the only two women present. We get seats right down the front by the goal that Bahrain are attacking and a quickly rewarded with a penalty being given which is neatly converted by the captain. The stadium is grand, but obviously designed to be multi purpose and as such has the scourge of any ground – a running track separating the fans from the pitch. And Christ knows what they were expecting but there are pre-Hillsborough fencing between us and the track.
The crowd is made up of teenage boys, shebabs – and their slightly older brothers. There are children here but they are more interested in running and jumping over the concrete bench seats than watching the game. There are older men here too, chewing on their bags of pumpkin seeds and nuts. The floor is littered with the shells and the husks. Everyone is smoking.
When the second goal goes in, the goal scorer comes and climbs the fencing right in front off. Behind us the drums start up and the singing intensifies.
The second half is slower and we have to leave anyway to beat the inevitable car park crush after the final whistle. As we are leaving, Kuwait score and we are worried, but the score remains 2-1 and Bahrain are through. Kuwait, one of the higher ranked teams in the region, who only needed a draw, will be staying at home next year.
From the ground, we travelled to Dana Mall. This was another mall ticked for us because we had not been there before, and what a mall it is, resplendent in authentic 80's plastic swirls and twirls. There is not an awful lot to Dana Mall other than an over sized food-court and a slightly out of place cinema.
I can't be arsed to finish this now - sorry - it is now Wednesday you see. Suffice to say, the VIP screening was cool, but what passes for VIP's over here is distinctly questionable. I mean, they let us in...
the new bond is good. go see it.
take care ya'll.
XxX
