So, it’s been a busy couple of weeks. I’ve been working for over three whole weeks, and am exhausted. I’m really not wildly keen on early mornings, and everyone in the whole of the Middle East seems to think it’s a great idea to start work at 8am or earlier. The also think it’s a great idea to have gaping holes in the side of buildings on the 21st floor, but at least they make you wear a hard hat, so that will definitely save you on the way down.
I’ve been familiarising myself with foreign working practices – being called Ma’am every time you ask someone a question on the phone, and no-one in the WHOLE country having voicemail. No-one has a proper address either and there are no street numbers. Everyone has a PO Box but if you actually want to visit them you get complicated instructions based on landmarks and roundabouts... 'turn left at TV roundabout, keep going past Heritage Village, and it's opposite the Hamad Hospital, above the Mercedes showroom....'
Mr A has been busying himself with more cerebral matters. Like how small Ahmedinejad really is (he was in town talking to the Gulf leaders) and how delicious the pizzas are at the posh café he takes journalists to lunch in – ‘Sir, how lovely to see you AGAIN.’ He is a regular in the ‘local news’ section of the papers here, was quoted on the front page of an Arab newspaper this week (‘an official source said….’) and got the top of his head onto Al-Jazeera so is pretty much a local celebrity.
I’ve been disgracing myself on the car front. As if the car-man didn’t already think I was totally clueless (though he wound back the mileometer on the car we’ve just bought from him so I don’t know who’s more in the wrong in the grand scale of things), I somehow managed to drive one of his hire cars into the back of a pick-up in possibly one of the most embarrassing car accidents ever. We were in a traffic jam - the pickup wasn’t even moving. Nor were the twenty cars in front of him, or the twenty cars behind me. But in the stress of it being 7.15am, not knowing where my really important meeting was, and trying to work out on the map where the hell I was, I had some kind of brain freeze. Fortunately, apart from a very small scratch on his chrome bumper and my numberplate looking somewhat crumpled, it seems to have been minor. Apart from to my ego, which is seriously bruised. More optimistically, we have bought two new cars, which I’m trying very hard not to screw up. I get to drive the brand new 4x4 while Mr A trundles around in the second-hand saloon. Now that’s what modern marriage is all about. My car smells amazing, has almighty acceleration and everyone gets out of my way as I push through crowded roundabouts. I have been loving the cruising, throwing my environmental principles out the window. You realise you’re in the Middle East when you fill it up with 70 litres of petrol and pay less than £10. We have also finally got a Doha bank account. In fact we have a Priority bank account, which is normally only for people who have £100,000 in their account. Not very likely. But we snuck in and now have a personal banker who is one of the smoothest Lebanese men ever, and invited us to go clubbing with him (guestlist of course).
We’ve been investigating Qatar and discovered a beach on the north east coast with crazy rocks and men riding horses. When bastards on dune buggies aren’t destroying the tranquillity, it’s extremely pleasant. The weather is now sufficiently chilly to require a jumper when the sun goes down, but there are worse ways to spend a Saturday….
We have become friends with a lovely Jordanian guy and took him to watch an Am Dram play by the local drama group, where he was the only non-Westerner and us three were lowering the average age by about thirty years. On another night, we watched Some Like it Hot on the edge of the lagoon, eating fruit pastries and drinking white wine spritzers. We went for brunch at the Sheraton – unlimited food (omelettes, crepes, seafood, chocolate fountain, not necessarily in that order) and prosecco whilst listening to a sincere Russian woman singing old classics in the tightest lime green catsuit you’ve ever seen. The other musical entertainment is at another hotel – a Phillipino band murdering rock standards in their black and metal stud outfits, with a female singer wearing more make-up than is necessary. At home, I’ve been discovering the joys of So You Think You Can Dance? as a meagre substitute for Strictly Come Dancing, and going to a yoga class where the call to prayer from the mosque next door makes for atmospheric meditation.
I leave you with an excerpt from one of the local paper. I could send one of these every day… “An Asian expatriate has been arrested and sentenced to two years' prison on charges of indulging in black magic and witchcraft. After losing his job, the man posed as a religious personage capable of "driving away evil spirits, curing sick souls and dispelling evil eyes". He recited verses from the Qur'an and gave amulets. One sufferer made an official complaint after several visits to the fraudster; the police swooped into action and confiscated many suspicious items in his room. On being cross-examined, the magician confessed to his crimes.” This is nothing compared to the incisive radio news headlines: ‘The Emir His Highness Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa al Thani received today a letter from the French President, Nicolas Sarkozy. The letter was delivered through diplomatic channels and set out bilateral relations between the two countries and how these could be improved in future.’
