Shakespearean Christmas

I found this on the internet, here.

Not to be outdone, here are a couple of my own efforts...

O come, king of Naples,

Shipwrecked on this island 

Along with your brother, son, and others besides 

Because of a Tempest conjured by me, Prospero. 

Ariel will stop slaughter; 

Your son will wed my daughter; 

And Caliban will get plastered with Stephano.

---------0---------

Away with the fairies, 

The mischievous Puck

Bewitches two couples

In the woods where they... 're stuck.

And meanwhile, a rehearsal

Ends in chaos and dread

When Bottom develops

An asinine head.

----------0---------

"Emperor is Saturninus."

So says Titus Andronicus.

Queen Tamora loves a Moor. A 

Tale of revenge goes thus:

O...

Human sacrifice and rape;

Murder; hands to mutilate.

Romans willing; Goths for killing.

Baked in pies Tamora ate.

]}:-{>

Bait and switch

“And of course, insurance is extra. Additional drivers are extra. Satellite radio is extra. GPS is extra. If you don’t pay for fuel in advance and you bring it back less than brim full, we’ll charge you the GDP of Latvia to gas it up. And all quoted prices are plus tax, so that we appear 6% less villainous.”

Such are the delights of car rental in the United States, where most domestic customers have their own motor insurance that covers rental cars when they’re away from home.

Way back, I used to trot along to Hertz in Dubai to book and pay for car rental up front, in advance, and in full. Then, arriving at Hertz at Washington Dulles airport, I was handed a car and everything was paid for. Sadly, this arrangement has now gone away. When I tried recently, Hertz in Dubai could only book a car; I’d have to pay when I picked it up, and I wouldn’t be told how much the insurance would cost until I got there.

Result? Not fancying spending any time over a barrel, Beloved Wife got on line and booked and paid for everything, including a second driver and fully comprehensive insurance.

At Hertz at Dulles, the first thing we learned is that ticking the ‘Additional Driver’ box didn’t add His Goatness to the insurance, and to do so would be an additional $91 for the week. Plus tax. Secondly, the motor insurance paid for covered only the vehicle, and would we like additional cover at a mere $12 per day, plus tax? Nope. Would we like to pay for a full tank of ‘energy’ at below pump price and return the car empty? Yes, we’ll have that, and we’ll bring the car back on the last traces of hydrocarbon fumes.

Finally, because Beloved Wife had picked a sub-compact car, because it was cheapest, would we like to upgrade to something more sensible than a Fiat Cinquecento for two grown adults and their luggage?

“Nah… we rented one of those last year and it was just fine. They can ford 15 inches of water, you know…”

“But a more realistic car is a mere $10 a day extra. Plus tax.”

“Fiat 500, please. No additional costs, thank you. We’ll be just fine. We’ll drop the back seat to get our luggage in.”

Ms Hertz finally relented, and told us to collect our car from Bay #1. The car turned out not to be a Cinquecento, nor a Yaris, but a Chevrolet Sonic. This vehicle is still technically a sub-compact, and compared to a Toyota Tundra it’s minuscule, but the Sonic has an enormous boot and four doors, along with satellite radio and a cruise control, all of which are optional extras at additional cost at the Hertz desk. And we had our own GPS too, saving a further $5 a day. Plus tax.

Here, then, is the Bait and Switch: offer a ludicrously tiny car, then attempt to get the customer to pay to upgrade it. As they didn’t have any Cinquecentos, Hertz had to upgrade us for nuppence.

Incidentally, after we returned the car, coasting down the ramp on the last teaspoon of fuel, a fellow customer shared his experience with us. He was offered a bigger car because of his luggage, and only later discovered the additional cost.

]}:-{>

Lederhosen

At a recent party, I trotted out my usual excuse for not taking my motorbike on to a racetrack: “Dubai Autodrome’s rules require full leathers. I don’t have full leathers; I can’t find any leathers in my size.”

“Ah, but you’re off to Germany for the UAE National Day long weekend, a country where many large gentlemen ride large motorbikes, and rather a lot of them also enjoy beer.”

Beloved Wife wanted to visit the Christmas markets and purchase more glass tree-bling, and she really, really needed a short but total break from work. Now added to the list of Things to Do in Germany was a quest to insert my unorthodox shape into a set of motorcycle leathers. I’ve tried this before: witness my previous futile attempts in the USA.

We previously went to München in 2010 and enjoyed the snow. I was admonished in the blog comments by one of my online motorcycle friends Martín, who writes the ¡Tengo Hambre! (I’m hungry!) blog because we came and went without giving him a chance to meet over a meal of beer and sausages. This time I dropped him a line, and he agreed not only to meet for breakfast and bring a friend and work colleague, but to drive us over to Munich’s motorcycle accessories souq.

Hearty breakfasts and a gallon of coffee later, we arrived and discovered that Hein Gericke had very little in the way of leathers, and certainly nothing in my size. But not to worry, because about three doors down was Spätzünder, emporium of motorcycling clothing and accessories.

I was impressed by the huge display of bike gear, and particularly by everyone’s patience while I tried on almost all the racing and touring suits in the shop. The pile of leather that was too tight across the shoulders, too long in the leg, too heavy to wear except in winter, or the wrong colour soon formed a mountain that my shop assistant Luigi was going to have to deal with once we’d gone. Martín, Simon, and Beloved Wife sat patiently and chewed the fat, while I eventually located a zip-together two-piece that I was happy with. Speaking of ‘fat,’ by some miracle it’s a good fit, with plenty of ventilated panels and is only slightly too long in the limbs. I also picked up an undersuit which is easier to wash my sweat from, and a spine protector. And I discovered that I’d be able to buy a replacement visor for my helmet too.

I am so pleased at the customer service I received from Luigi – which is why this bit reads like an advert for the shop. The story gets better, with about 12% knocked off the final bill, and then paperwork that should enable recovery of the 19% VAT. For unknown reasons, having had the paperwork stamped at the airport, we have to mail it back to Spätzünder to get the VAT credited back to the card. Beloved Wife’s other, non-motorcycle-related purchase had the VAT returned immediately at the airport.

Thank you for your service, Luigi. Thank you for transporting us around Munich, Martín. Thank you everyone for your astonishing display of patience.

There you have it: The Goat went to Bavaria and bought some leather trousers. Now there’s no excuse for not attending a motorcycle track day apart from the usual real one involving cowardice.


]}:-{>

Unpleasant surprice

Holiday season will soon be upon us, and Beloved Wife spent some time on line, researching options for air travel to Foreign Parts. The favourite plan appeared to be to visit her parents over Christmas, and one of the most cost-effective ways to do so was to fly via Munich.

I'll let that sink in for a moment. Separate flights: from Dubai to Munich, Munich to Washington, then home again home again joggity-jog. Cost of all four flights: around AED4200 per person.

These flights are scheduled for every day of the week, and it stands to reason that it costs the airline exactly the same in landing fees, passenger handling, luggage handling, extra take-off fuel, etc., whether our stopover in Munich be four hours or four days. The only additional costs that I can identify are use of the baggage carousel, and having someone inspect our passports. And these costs are borne by the airport, not the airline. They're presumably funded from landing fees and therefore paid for anyway.

I tried many variations to get a stopover in Munich, but every one of them totalled up at the same cost, to within AED100 or so.

Why, then, does stopping in Munich on the way west cost AED8250 per person? That's almost twice as much money for exactly the same effort. Anyone would think that Lufthansa didn't want people to visit Germany, to stay in German hotels, ride on the German rail network, drink German beer and Glühwein, eat German Wurst, or buy German Christmas ornaments; in short, spend money in Germany.

So we won't be stopping over in Munich after all.

]}:-{>

Stalwart fellow

An Alvis Stalwart. Not a Fiat 500

According to reports on the British telly, 2012 was the wettest year since 2000, and that was the wettest since records began. Beloved Wife and Goat arrived in a damp but mild Blighty just before Christmas, and headed from the Heathrow terminal by fun-bus to collect the extremely Budget rental car. And the rain started.

The Goat has picked the cheapest available car from a rental firm that he’d actually heard of, and ended up with a Peugeot 107 (which is identical to a Citroën C1 apparently), a minuscule five door hatchback suitable for five adults and their luggage. Human adults, each carrying more than an iPad? Probably not. They wuz havin’ a giraffe, innit? As it turned out, neither Budget nor Avis could find a Peugeot 107, having left it behind a waste paper basket, and thus offered a free upgrade to a Fiat Cinquecento. Joy: only three doors, but a tarmac-rippling 1200cc powerhouse instead of a mere 1000cc from Peugeot-Citroën.

The Goat flattened the rear seats and shoehorned both suitcases into the back of the Fiat, and then set off with Beloved Wife and her new GPS (Clarissa II) attached by suction cup to the windscreen. New Clarissa had some interesting ideas. Instead of the most obvious route from Heathrow to Plymouth, which is along the M4 to Bristol and then M5 to Exeter and A38 to Plymouth, Clarissa decided that the A303 was cheaper, shorter, and would burn less fuel. The Goat was too tired to argue, and so the A303 it was.

In the dark and in the rain, the bendy comedy roads were a rude awakening for a Goat who’s not driven in the UK for nearly two years. But he reminded himself that these were the conditions on every driving lesson he ever took, way back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.

Somewhere between Yeovil and Taunton, the increasingly-erratic Clarissa decided that a jolly around some tiny country lanes was in order. They got smaller and damper until one lane involved a rather deep puddle. The Goat figured that as the grass verges were visible, the puddle could be forded. Onward! More narrow bendy roads, no other traffic, no signs of civilisation. No, wait, a village (Ottery St Catchpole, or something) with a church and pub, and then more lanes and another puddle. This time, the Goat had seen red tail lights ahead, and he figured that a main road must surely be near. The puddle got deeper and deeper. It was time for bottom gear and slipping the clutch. Beloved Wife held her breath. The only sound for hundreds of metres was the bubbling of a submerged exhaust, a revving Fiat engine, and mumbling that “If I have to get out and push, I’m gonna divorce him.”

A nearby upturned wheelie bin indicated probably 15 inches of water, and the rest was creeping through the door seals and soaking the carpets. Clarissa declared that a right turn was in order at a T junction, but as this was in the direction of a river, the Goat turned left in the hope of finding higher, and more to the point, drier, ground. Beloved Wife breathed again as the Fiat shook itself dry and drove past the back of a “Flood. Road Closed” sign.

The Fiat 500 Stalwart performed faultlessly before, during, and after this incident. Fifteen inches (which is 381mm in Centigrade) is well beyond the design parameters and the warranty, one suspects. A filthy tide-mark halfway up the doors was soon washed away by the rain, but the leaves and twigs remained stuck in the car’s teeth for the whole holiday.

Foul weather continued. The national news carried stories and video showing that the main West Coast rail line had been washed away in Devon (again), and a landside near Swindon had effectively killed all rail services between London and the South West and Wales. The Goat’s decision made months previously to rent a car rather than rely on public transport had been vindicated.

A quick shout-out to Tiger Treats of Looe, a traditional sweet shop recently purchased by some of the Goat’s very old friends. This was part of some pre-Christmas tourism, that also included the magnificent Burne-Jones (yes, that Burne-Jones, and constructed by William Morris both associated with the PRB) window in St Germans church. Tiger Treats specialises in liquorice, and the Goat insisted that they be cleaned out of Spogs, that are otherwise inexplicably Not Coming In Dubai.

St Germans church. The Burne-Jones window

Following Christmas presents chez Nanny Goat, everyone trooped over to the Goat’s sister and family for dinner, which was predictably huge, unsurprisingly excellent, and was followed by the inevitable tryptophan coma.

A brilliant plan to drive up to Dartmoor for a brisk Boxing Day walk was thwarted by the unutterably foul weather. There were crazies running a lap (or more, who knows?) of the road around a full to overflowing Burrator Reservoir. Beloved Wife wanted warmth and dryness. This was first provided by Fiat, and then by the local cinema. On the subject of cinema, the Goat drove over Sheepstor, which is where some scenes from War Horse were filmed. Beloved Wife was not too fed up of water to see Life of Pi, a film involving a tiger and the entire Pacific ocean.

Burrator Reservoir, full to overflowing

Beloved Wife and Goat took the Goat’s youngest nephew to see The Hobbit the following day, before leaving to see various of the Goat’s other old friends. Thank you for your hospitality, everyone. At random, the Goat took Beloved Wife to Winchester to see the oldest pub in England (since 1030AD, allegedly) and the even older cathedral. And they also seized a brief respite from rain to visit Portchester Castle (since about 200AD)

Portchester Castle

The nave of Winchester Cathedral.
Given that it was Sunday and all the wards and protections would surely be in place, the Goat still managed to get in. He's Lawful Good after all.

Eventually, early in 2013, the rain stopped for a couple of days. The Goat returned the rental car to Avis, who made no remarks concerning compost in the grille, and purchased Oyster cards to use on London’s public transport. Beloved Wife’s treat would be a London visit, including going to see the excellent show Wicked. And more Pre-Raphaelite art at the Tate, as it turned out. A bonus was a saunter along the banks of the Thames and Lambeth Palace; the walk from Green Park to Victoria turned out to be longer than expected, even if views of Buckingham Palace are better from ground level than from the Victoria Line.

Lambeth Bridge. Lovely weather for DUKWs

One thing that was surprising was how mild the weather was. Most of the population was in winter coats; the Goat and Beloved Wife found sweaters more than adequate to keep warm. How can this be, given the thinning of the blood and intolerance of cool weather that years in the Gulf are supposed to produce?

And Clarissa? Clarissa has been reset to devise either the "Fastest Route" or "Shortest Route", and none of this "Route that drowns fewest polar bears" nonsense.

]}:-{>

Christmas in America

There is far, far too much to write about in one blog post about What I Did Over Christmas, so I’ve split it into chapters.

Beloved Wife and Goat definitely wanted to travel away from the middle east over Christmas, and certainly wanted to be together for at least part of the time. The selection process finally boiled down to her family for Christmas, and meeting ex-Dubai refugees for the New Year.

Having more leave than the Goat, Madame set off a week earlier from Dubai, only to be bumped off the Emirates flight. How is it that the punter complies with every crossed T and dotted I of Emirates’ terms and conditions, turns up at the airport in good time to use her non-refundable, non-changeable ticket, only to be told that they’ve sold about 50 seats twice and no you don’t get to travel today? Compensation offered was a future free cattle class flight from Dubai to New York (and presumably back again). I’d have held out for business class and probably ended up with nothing more than a flea in my ear.

The Goat travelled a week later, ostensibly via United but actually by Qatar Airways, United and some minuscule jet-powered cigar tube that was late because of snow in Denver. The return journey involved larger aircraft and a whole different selection of airports.

Delays meant that the Goat was finally collected by Beloved Wife at 03:30 on Christmas Eve. He collapsed unconscious chez in-laws an hour or so later, but was up again a couple of hours later. Curse you, jet lag! You confuse the body and the mind. Beloved Wife suggested an early morning snoop around the local McMansions to see the festive bling adorning the houses.

From the sublime...

...to the hilariously ludicrous

Christmas was a fairly low-key family affair, with stockings, presents, food and drink. There were some splendid gifts that Beloved Wife had obtained during her recent trip to Kathmandu, including scarves and carpets. And this goes part way to explaining these three wise men.

Magi

Also books and booze. The Goat was going to be unable to bring the splendid bottle of vintage port from his brother-in-law back to Qatar. It would have to be consumed on American territory. Oh lackaday.

The rainy weather cleared up over Christmas and the temperature dropped. The numbers don’t look very scary, but 26 is frighteningly cold for Gulf residents when it’s in Fahrenheit.

Pre-arranged plans for after Christmas involved a road trip south, ultimately to Key West, which is about as far south as it’s possible to drive within mainland USA. Father-in-law said that we should borrow his car, a Toyota Avalon, mostly on the basis that it was big enough for the luggage and the passengers CJ and J that we’d be meeting in Miami, and it might even be reasonably economical unless the 3-litre V6 engine were thrashed. Like with rigidly-enforced 55, 65 or 70mph speed limits that was ever going to happen. As it turned out, the 22 miles per gallon on the car’s computer soon rose to 25, then 28 and more. At one point it even got to 31mpg, and remember these are those titchy American gallons.

The GPS was already pre-programmed with south-east USA, and as for voice prompts, Clarissa explains it all.

The non-negotiable appointments were to drop off Christmas presents with relatives in Jacksonville and meet CJ and J in Miami at a particular hotel near the airport and travel with them to Key West.

Perhaps the Goat could buy some motorcycle apparel in Daytona Beach.

Orlando is halfway down Florida, so it seemed sensible to drop in there. A trip to Universal Studios seemed to be in order.

It was surprising to note how much warmer the daytime temperatures were than even north Florida. 70F/21C. Cold at night, though, dropping to around 45F/8C.

Near Orlando is Cape Canaveral, so that’s a also a good place to visit.

Onwards, southwards and westwards. Key West is very much the End of the Road. Actually, Mile Zero of US Route 1 is in Key West, and is something of a tourist attraction. It’s right next to Ernest Hemingway’s house.

An uneventful yet picturesque trip back to Miami followed, including stops for shopping and photos. CJ was desirous of paddling in the ocean, so we all did this in the freezing cold water near Seven Mile Bridge. The one thing that we didn’t find time to do was dive. Beloved Wife and I had packed our qualifications, dive computers, swimmies and masks, but the ferocious itinerary simply didn’t allow a day of diving. Some other time, then. This despite the mid-winter temperature ranging from 80F/25C during the day to 60F/16C at night. No need for coats, then, although wetsuits would have been needed in the sea.

It’s quite a long way from Key West to Miami, but we found the airport and dropped off CJ and J without incident or hassle. Thank you Clarissa. Then immediately another 350 miles to the frozen north of Jacksonville to Beloved Wife’s relatives. Clearly we’d not misbehaved, and had been invited back. The following morning we drove the 450 miles back to North Carolina.

The trip ended up being some 2000 miles, and was faultless except for when the keyless ignition fob failed. Fortunately, it’s familiar technology to the Goat (who has a similar device on his motorbike) and was a simple fix with a new button battery. It would not do to be stranded in the back of beyond and unable to start the car.

A couple of days chilling, relaxing and running errands, before the great air-travel onslaught. Beloved Wife’s arrangement started two hours after the Goat’s, but we both arrived at our respective destinations within an hour of each other. And so did all our luggage, which was a bonus.

Now, about the next trip. Japan, perhaps?

]}:-{>

Merry Christmas!

Put the turkey
In the oven,
Mummified in tinfoil,
With an onion
Stuffed up
Its behind.

Sage and onion,
Roast potatoes;
Put the sprouts on to boil.
Friends arrive,
And ply them
With red wine.

Tryptophan!
Tryptophan!
Ten-thousand calories later...
I’m a man;
I’ve a plan:
Snore through the film on TV.

]}:-{>

München Wurst

So what exactly are the official holidays? With UAE National Day falling on the ever-predictable 2nd December, it was reasonably safe to infer well in advance that Thursday would be a day off. Islamic New Year, on the other hand, was going to be a different matter.

As usual, the date of 1st Muharram would be subject to seeing the new moon on the previous evening around sunset. In the UAE, the astronomical new moon was going to occur on Sunday 5th December at 9:36pm. This is well after sunset and moonset as eny fule kno, therefore the new moon would surely be spotted on Monday 6th December and the New Year holiday would be on Tuesday.

Except the gubmint decreed about three days in advance that the public sector would have Sunday for New Year (making a four day weekend – huzzah!) That same gubmint instructed that the private sector would have Saturday off for New Year. Anyone who has a two-day weekend in the UAE will instantly realize that this is a chiz: having your holiday on a normal weekend.

It is high time that public and private sectors had the same official holidays. Come to that, publishing the holidays well in advance so that we can actually plan ahead might be nice. The date and time of the new moon isn’t magic: anyone reading this is surely connected to the Interwebz, small parts of which are dedicated to publishing the dates and times of movements across the celestial sphere.

On with the story, and Beloved Wife gleefully emailed the information regarding her long weekend. Having failed to get a holiday decision out of De Management, the Goat booked Sunday as annual leave and then booked flights and hotels. Goat and Wife were off to Bavaria! Dust off the winter woollies, and in the Goat’s case unearth a pair of chunky boots. These have steel toecaps and therefore go down well through airport security.

It was going to be more practical to fly from Abu Dhabi to Munich than from Dubai via Istanbul, so Etihad became the airline of choice. We were deposited in a sub-zero and snowy Munich at some obscene hour of Thursday morning. Once we’d figured out the cheapest way to get to the hotel by train, an all-day, all-zone family ticket for €18, we rolled into town past Christmassy scenery as the train filled with commuters. At the Novotel München Messe the receptionist was happy to let us have our room immediately rather than wait until mid-afternoon to check in, so we collapsed for a few hours to recover from the red-eye flight.

München Messe is a new, modern development on the site of the former Riem airport. The Novotel is astonishingly close to a metro station, which made travel in and out of town spectacularly easy, as we discovered once we arose at the crack of noon.

The primary purpose of the visit was to explore the famous German Christmas markets that spring up in clusters all over cities in Germany and beyond. It’s not only glass ornaments and wooden mobiles for sale.

One of the Wurst things that can happen

Street food is also very much in evidence, as are hot drinks. We both spent the days and evenings living on Bratwurst, Currywurst mit Pommes Frites, and various flavours of Glühwein and Eierpunsch. The latter is, of course, very similar to eggnog, and all beverages are gratuitously alcoholic. Beware the Kinderpunsch that looks and tastes similar but is disastrously devoid of alcohol.

Beloved Wife advised that there was a very large and famous Christkindlmarkt in Nürnberg (or ‘Nuremberg’ for those who don’t have an umlaut on the keyboard (which is a right pain when writing about Germany)), so one day we took a day trip through the magical snowscape of Bavaria in winter. Nürnberg was indeed very much as advertised, complete with oompah band and sub-zero temperatures. As in München, plenty of locals, expats and tourists were happy to engage in conversations in a mixture of English and German.

Hospice of the Holy Spirit, Nürnberg

From a railway carriage

Listen to the band

Many sausages, beers, Glühweins and Christmas ornaments later, we reeled unsteadily back to the railway station and caught the fast train back to München Hauptbahnhof. Despite the tales of woe on the TV about how this disastrous and unprecedented snow was affecting transport across Europe and completely halting all movement in the UK, our experience was that everything was working to timetable in Bavaria. Unprecedented? It snows every winter, and the only unusual thing about 2010 is that it came a bit early.

Marianplatz, München

The public transport ticketing in and around Munich is very similar to the systems we encountered in Rome and Naples earlier this year. You can buy a single ticket at a machine at the station or on the bus or tram, you frank it yourself, and then it’s good for a couple of hours. Or you buy one of a selection of all-day or all-week passes. There is no need to get yourself to the Hauptbahnhof in order to buy a smart card that you then have to preload with credit before you use public transport. Dubai, take note. The system relies very much on trust; it would be incredibly easy to ride for free. In all our travels only one metro employee produced an ID card and asked for Fahrkarten bitte. I conclude that the fines for getting caught fare-dodging are extremely punitive, or that Germans are incredibly law abiding, or some combination of the above.

It wasn’t all eating and drinking. I did something for the first time in my life: I walked on the natural ice covering Nymphenburger Schloß ornamental canal.

So the Goat can indeed walk on water – something he had hitherto only suspected.

Others were playing ice hockey or a game similar to curling, and in a random walk through Narnia a Munich park, we discovered children tobogganing.

Narnia?

Wheeee!

My extolling the virtues of German organisation went awry when I tried to send the Nanny Goat a Christmas card. Could I find a post box anywhere? Eventually the unposted card ended up on the airside of Munich airport. I asked in the shop that sold postcards and souvenirs where I could mail a card, only to be told unhelpfully: “Unmöglich”. If it is indeed impossible, why do you sell the damned postcards? Beloved Wife resolved the problem by smiling sweetly at Etihad ground staff and asking the nice lady to post this envelope when she got off shift. And I’m pleased to report that the card duly arrived chez Nanny Goat less than a week later.

We both slept on the return flight to Abu Dhabi. This was just as well because I drove straight to work. Meanwhile, Beloved Wife had to get back to Dubai before reporting for duty on Monday morning. To my delight, De Management had finally made a decision regarding holidays and decreed that my office would be closed on Tuesday. I spent most of the holiday recovering from the ravages of time zones and tryptophan.

]}:-{>

Hogmanay

Christmas was a modest, quiet affair at the Crumbling Villa. Just the two of us, with Yours Truly handling the dinner while Beloved Wife discharged her contractual obligations by working until mid afternoon. We opened presents and then ate, before settling down to the traditional post-Christmas bloat in front of the telly. One of the gifts I received was the extremely practical flag - hand embroidered appliqué, no less - for attaching to the Goatmobile when desert driving. Other stuff included a book on how to deal with an architect and a “Teach Yourself Greek” computer program suite. As we’re heading down the self-build route for a house in Cyprus, these will be most welcome. You can tell if the software is effective if blogs start appearing by possibly some variant of Ο Τράγος Γκρινιάρης.

The Goat and his Beloved Wife decided weeks ago that seeing in the New Year would certainly not involve expensive tickets to a noisy bar or nightclub. Notwithstanding the dubious allure of ‘free selected beverages all night’ or a ‘glass of bubbly at midnight’, there are many more satisfactory ways to celebrate the annual December to January rollover.

We decided to go camping. The Yellow Box of Doom and his co-pilot would be joining us, as would various diving buddies, work associates and friends of friends. The guest list, including the ‘probably’ and ‘maybe’ brigades started to become long. At the actual event, it’d dwindled down to four cars: the Goatmobile, the YBOD, Louise with toddler offspring and two friends and, joining us after dark because he had to work until late, Louise’s hubby.

As it turned out, all of Dubai’s New Year celebrations were reported cancelled in the 31st December newspapers. To show solidarity, we’re told. I imagine a lot of very upset people. Not just the punters with their now worthless admission tickets, but the events organisers whose venues would spend all night impersonating an English seaside resort on a wet winter Wednesday. Quite how cancelling all New Year revelling in Dubai serves to benefit Palestine’s stand against the Zionist menace seems unclear...

I’d previously located a spot that would be easy 4x4 access for inexperienced drivers to negotiate in the dark. It was off the E77 near The Tiger Woods sandpit golf course and far enough out of town to avoid light pollution and traffic roar. Co-pilot brought along a couple of packs of Cyalume glow sticks. The idea was that the route to the camp site would be signposted with these to augment the sketch map and directions. In the event, only one vehicle would be arriving late, so I simply drove back to the road and escorted Colin to the camp site.

The Box o’Doom is now proudly adorned with a roof tent. [SMUGMODE] No sand in the bed for that couple, we were repeatedly assured. [/SMUGMODE] I’ve only recently come away from the Desert Challenge, so can unpack and erect my dome tent, pneumatic mattress et al in not very much time at all. This leaves more time for the serious business of Hogmanay: the beverages. Meanwhile Louise’s team struggled with an enormous double dome Pleasure Palace with entry hall, separate majlis and snooker room, which would have blotted out the sun had this not already retreated below the western horizon.

With fire pit dug, tiki torches lit and barbecue poised for sacrifice of meat products, I realised that we were actually closer to the road than I’d previously imagined. We could just see the street lights and could hear the constant low rumble of heavy trucks. Nevertheless, suggestions that we relocate further into the desert were met with howls of derision and anguish.

As the crescent moon and Venus both set, we’d have an excellent view of the canopy of stars. But alas, this was not to be. The stars vanished, as did the street lights. Fog had rolled in making visibility probably twenty metres or less. I’ve had dives with better viz. And it didn't arrive on little cat feet either. This sort of fog stomped in wearing wellies: the damp, cloying, soggy, wet stuff of Charles Dickens or Sherlock Holmes, leaving the cars, tents and camping gear all dripping with water. We huddled closer to the campfire, ate our barbecued food, drank, and chatted until midnight. Alcohol-induced wit, jokes and confessions whiled away the damp couple of hours until midnight.

Immediately after the Witching Hour, despite the crescent moon having set some hours previously, a display of full moons inexplicably occurred. There are positively no photos of that rather debauched spectacle.

My al cheabo tent was more or less waterproof. I suspect the little dampness within may have been condensation. Bearing in mind it was bought yonks ago at an Ace Hardware sale, I still think it represents excellent value. I would not attempt to use the same tent in a UK environment; not even in August. That said, with mattress and feather quilt and pillows, Beloved Wife and I had a comfortable and warm night, only occasionally punctuated by my phone bleating every time a new text message arrived.

What a splendid start to 2009! Bright, sunny and warm. No trace remained of last night’s fog apart from dew on all surfaces. All the happy and/or hungover campers assembled and fired up their gas stoves for a monstrous fry-up predominantly comprising haraaminal washed down with steaming mugs of tea, coffee or chocolate. During breakfast we were visited by an enormous herd of camels, which fascinated the toddler. When you’re two, camels must appear enormous; not that this dissuaded him from chasing them. By the time breakfast was complete the sun had pretty much dried the tents, so these could be struck and packed. We swept the campsite for trash to bag and remove, before making biodegradable tracks back to the highway and splitting up to go home.

To our annoyance it turns out that our broadband internet connection has failed. Surfing, blogging and Amazon will be on Ye Olde Dialle-Uppe until we carry out our New Year Resolution and get Itisalot to restore a decent connection. Hope springs eternal.

]}:-{>

Season of goodwill

The Goatmobile is back from its 120,000km service. That’s a major, and therefore expensive, event. I was delighted to get the car back on Christmas Eve, the same day I’d dropped it off. A lot less impressive was the unexpected Dh40 additional surcharge.

So why is the Goat bleating on about Dh40 after lashing out nearly two grand?

Because someone stole it. That’s why.

At service reception I was advised to remove the small change that’s been coalescing over the years on the console. It’s for feeding Dubai’s and Sharjah’s ravening Pay and Display machines. I was astonished to have accumulated about Dh80 in one dirham coins. Rather than rip my pockets to shreds, I concealed the cash in the car but out of sight of any potential self-help merchant. The service receptionist said that only the cash was an issue; I wouldn’t need to remove my off-road recovery stuff, camping gear and all the other useful odds and sods that live semi-permanently in the Goatmobile. This was just as well because I’d failed to bring my spare garden shed.

Picking up the car, I noted that half of the coins had grown little legs and wandered off. This was confirmed by the service receptionist who agreed that the the ‘after’ pile was only half the size of the ‘before’ pile. I announced in my usual stentorian style that there was a thief in the workshop, and was immediately ushered into the manager’s office where the other customers couldn’t hear of this embarrassing occurrence. Clearly the thief’s pathetic attempt at subterfuge – only nicking half the cash so it looked at first sight like nothing was missing – had failed to pay off. The manager was hugely apologetic, and said that he’d review the CCTV and check with the guy who’d serviced with my car to see if he was weighed down with an implausible quantity of loose change.

I pointed out to the manager that I wasn’t hard up for Dh40. I didn’t want the thief prosecuted: season of goodwill to ALL men and all that. But I did want him to know that he’d been caught. The manager said that he’d phone me to let me know what he’d discovered. I’m still waiting for the call. Big surprise.

Yes, the fault is mine. I was warned to remove the money and I chose to do otherwise. And no, I don’t want the cash returned. The thief can put it into a charity box. I find it beyond comprehension that anyone would risk possible prosecution, imprisonment and deportation for such a paltry sum. But the biggest issue, aside from theft being just plain wrong, is the betrayal of trust. I have no idea where to get the Goatmobile serviced in future. I need to find a place where I can actually trust the people who are doing the work.

I mean, how can I trust someone with my brakes if I can’t trust him with my cash?

]}:-{>

Planes, trains, automobiles and boats

New year fireworks in London. It certainly seemed like a good idea when first mooted back in August.

Beloved Wife and her Goat have done the whole marriage thing in an odd order. Following the August wedding, we had a December honeymoon in the Maldives (story to follow...), which was in turn hotly pursued by two weeks in Ing-Er-Land over the Christmas and New Year period. The Goat got his friend, Mr Lawful Good of Cowplain (LGoC) to arrange the venue for a post-nuptial shindig so that a crowd of those who couldn't make it to the States in August could meet up for beer and buffet.

Dubai Drama Group's Guards! Guards! curtain closed on 15th December. Goat and Beloved Wife headed straight off to the airport with diving equipment. A week later we were back in Dubai doing circuits and bumps. We dropped off our dive kit at home, grabbed our winter woollies and went straight back to the airport.

At six in the morning on Christmas Day we arrived at a damp Gatwick and picked up the rental car. I expressed the opinion to the guy at Immigration that he ought to be on double time. He smugly replied that he was on triple time plus a day off in lieu, and of course he wouldn't have to eat any Brussels sprouts. We took the pretty way to Plymouth, as defined by the GPS as the shortest route, passing through many small villages early enough to see some stirrings of small children keen to discover what Santa had left for them.


Then we stopped off briefly at Stonehenge in the rain to experience the full wet chalk experience. Stonehenge was shut apart from the loo, and security guards were there to keep the solstice latecomers out. I suspect Security reckoned that the besandalled couple in black were neopagans in a horribly wrong time zone. It finally stopped raining as we drove over Dartmoor and headed south into Plymouth. As I said, it was the pretty way.

Christmas dinner was scheduled for the evening because of our late arrival at Nanny Goat's. There was time for presents and even a brief nap before the traditional impossibly gargantuan pile of food appeared. And disappeared. What can I say? I was hungry, having only eaten aircraft food for about 36 hours! And contrary to popular belief, there are actually those who like sprouts, even if - nay, especially if - they've not been on the boil since Thanksgiving.

The next couple of days saw my young nephews playing with their new IR-controlled helicopters (ex Dragon Mart, and possibly the only ones in the country.) I hope the helicopters last longer than the polystyrene flying saucers did. An added Christmas bonus was that the kids got their artwork into the January 2008 issue of Dive magazine, courtesy of a hand-drawn birthday card from them to me and a suggestion from Beloved Wife.

Then we headed off to Gosport in Hampshire (where, as in Hertford and Hereford, hurricanes are seldom experienced). We went via Bristol. There is very little scope for entertainment in Bristol on a cold and soggy Friday afternoon, so we went on a pub crawl and took in some exquisite beer and food. Thanks to Simon and Clare for entertaining and accommodating us. I am fascinated by Simon and Clare's iPhones, but am probably too technologically incompetent to own one, even if they did work here in the Land of the Sand.

The Clarence Tavern hosted our shindig. Around twenty people showed up for beer and snacks. The brief of 'dead things on sticks' manifested as a vast cold buffet primarily consisting of curly-tailed products. And the beer was only excellent. Driving was clearly very unwise, so Beloved Wife and I stayed the night in the smallest and probably hottest bedroom in town.


Mr and Mrs LGoC own a boat. Jedi is a 32-foot cabin cruiser moored at Sunbury on Thames. She's their third boat, each being larger than the previous one. Jedi is powered by a pair of elderly Perkins diesel inboards that are older than Mrs LGoC. The engines are inevitably named 'Luke' and 'Leia' and are both reliable, but Leia smokes too much and, like most of the vessel, is in need of some TLC. That said, Jedi floats, runs and there's on-board heat, light and cooking. There's even a civilised shower and toilet head.


We set off from Sunbury at around midday on 30th December and headed downstream towards the City of London. In keeping with traditional custom and practice, all the locks were set against us, requiring waiting around at Molesey, Teddington and especially Richmond before we got on to the tidal Thames.

We had an appointment at St Kat's. The single lock gate to St Katharine Haven is open for fewer than two hours or so either side of high water. Unfortunately, and unbeknown to us, the lock gate had become broken and it would be impossible to get a boat either in or out. St Kat's chose to inform us of us this by leaving their phone off the hook and refusing to respond to marine VHF calls. We eventually ended up further downstream at South Dock Marina in Greenwich. Fortuitously, this turned out to be cheaper than St Kat's, mains electricity was included, and we were conveniently located for the Thames passenger ferries and a half-decent shopping centre. There were no decent pubs immediately apparent, but we'd brought a vast stock of Special Beverage for consumption on board, so this wasn't a major problem.

We set off upstream to Blackfriars on the ferry at about 9pm on New Year's Eve and found a spot on the Embankment to view the fireworks. The ferry wasn't allowed any nearer to the London Eye than Blackfriars; apparently there was a barge moored in the Thames that was chock full of explosives. The whole area quicky filled with revellers and, despite the cold and rain, by midnight the whole place was heaving with probably over a million partygoers. The spectacular fireworks display - and it was spectacular - was dampened somewhat by the mist and rain that caused thick clouds of gunpowder smoke to hang over the City and obscure some of the pyrotechnics. I love the smell of gunpowder in the morning... Getting back to the ferry proved problematic. There were so many people that the Embankment was standing room only and breathing by numbers, as we tripped and stumbed over empty beer cans, champagne bottles and miscellaneous inebriates.

The wet weather cleared up somewhat over the next day or so. New Year's Day involved the traditional lie-in and late breakfast. But clear skies mean cold, and the mercury only just crept above freezing, which is a bit of a shock if you've just come from the tropics! Beloved Wife declared that on 2nd January she wished to go shopping in London, so we agreed that she's head back to Cowplain by rail while the rest of us would take Jedi back to Sunbury and then meet her at the station. I treated the LGsoC to some diesel from the fuel barge moored near Tower Bridge. We bounced against the barge while fuelling up with red diesel at a rather frightening 50p a litre (AED17 a gallon) but nowhere near as scary as the £1.04 a litre (AED35 a gallon) petrol for the hire car.

On a clear day in January the Thames is a chilly place. There was little other river traffic apart from some nutters sculling on the non-tidal Thames. It is a curious thing how different rowers react to larger craft. Obviously a 32-foot Coronet cabin cruiser can produce an enormous wash, so it is incumbent on the skipper to keep the speed down. If you're rowing on the river, effectively sitting astride an overgrown matchstick, you will not appreciate being swamped by a big boat's wake. So when near scullers, I slowed to tickover, the absolute minimum possible speed that doesn't involve anchoring. One group of rowers wished us a Happy New Year and thanks for slowing down; another bellowed indignantly that we were going too fast. It takes all sorts. Finally back in Cowplain, we all had a massive chip-shop feast.

Beloved Wife and I did a little sightseeing in and around Portsmouth until our desperately early departure for the airport on 4th January. I stupidly managed to leave my mobile phone behind, and the new handset and alternative SIM card have both vanished from home in Mirdif. We have turned the villa upside down in a vain search for the Nokia that I specifically did not take on holiday. My enforced new year's resolution appears for the time being to stay away from mobile telephones.

Muscat, Liwa and Ankh Morpork

No diving for me until December.

Following our Eid trip to the Daymaniyat Islands both Beloved Wife and I had to get our dive kit serviced. The dive centre very kindly washed our regulators after each day's diving, but allowed water to get into the innards of the first stages. Water pissed out of mine when I set it up for the next day's diving. As any diver will realise, that is a potential recipe for disaster. The water rots the innards and causes malfunctions and maybe interruptions to the supply of breathing gas. So upon our return, I dropped all the regulators off at Scuba Dubai. I also dropped off all our diving cylinders for cleaning and testing.

The lack of dive kit isn't going to present any immediate difficulties for weekend entertainment. Every weekend up to January I'm booked solid. So is Beloved Wife, who intends to visit gay Paree. She doesn't fancy a week of intravenous, total-immersion motorsport.

UAE Desert Challenge
I'm marshalling in this year's Challenge all next week. This year my job is to chauffeur some press photograpers. I'll have my camera kit with me; perhaps I'll get some decent shots.

The Challenge starts at DIMC in Dubai on Saturday 27th October with the Scrutineering. There's the Prologue from 4pm on Sunday on the desert round the back of the police training college in Umm Suquiem. The prologue is normally good for some car, bike, quad and truck action around a very tight course.

Monday 29th sees the ceremonial start from Abu Dhabi, and then everyone heads off to Liwa for the week. Finally, the rally finishes back at DIMC in the afternoon of Friday 2nd November in time for tea and medals.

Gulf News Fun Drive
I'm one of the marshals on this year's Fun Drive, which is going to be a two-day event in Liwa. Including all the tarmac sections, but excluding getting lost, the total drive from Dubai and back again is just shy of 1000km. ADNOC is apparently going to be providing a fuel bowser at the start and end of each day's off-road sections. Cash only. Any potential competi- sorry, participant with a thirsty engine and a tiny fuel tank (Jeep Wrangler, Toyota Fortuner and Cadillac Escalade owners please take note) might like to consider bringing a spare jerry can of go-juice.

The marshals have to drive the whole route at least twice prior to the event. Many do it a lot more times than that. This will take care of several weekends. The Fun Drive area is roughly where I went camping last February.

Guards! Guards!
The Dubai Drama Group's Christmas play is the stage adaptation of Terry Pratchett's novel. I've landed a role, so evenings and weekends are taken up with rehearsing, I have to learn the words and, in the case of last Sunday, I had a plaster cast made of my face. No, I'm not playing Lord Havelock Vetinari.

Patrons of live theatre please put knots in your handkies for Friday 14th and Saturday 15th December. It's over at the Centrepoint Theatre, DuCTAC, on the roof of the Mall of the Emirates.

The curtain will fall as Guards! Guards! closes, and then Beloved Wife and I are off to the Maldives for our diving honeymoon. A week or so later, we're due back in Dubai to drop off our dive kit, pick up our winter woollies then it's off to Blighty for Christmas. We're having a shindig immediately after Christmas for those who didn't make it to our wedding in the USA in August. I'm thinking of inviting our luggage, and possibly Sir Richard Branson. Incidentally, I've now managed to get hold of someone at Virgin Atlantic in Dubai who appears to believe in the importance of customer satisfaction, so hopefully the Strange Case (boom boom) of the Missing Luggage will soon be satisfactorily resolved.

Edited on 5th November to add that Virgin Atlantic has decided that a couple of return tickets to London constitute adequate compensation. Now all Beloved Wife and I have to do is find time to make the trip!

Salutory tale

In recognition if the impending season, here are some words first published almost a century ago. Ignore the message at your peril.

The Reckoning

Now the festive season's ended
Comes the sequel parents dread;
Pale and visibly distended
Bilious Tommy lies in bed,
Face to face with retribution
And an outraged constitution.

What a change since, pink and perky
Tommy swiftly put away
Three enormous goes of turkey
At the feast on Christmas Day,
Getting by judicious bluffing
Double quantities of stuffing.

As to pudding, who could reckon
Tommy's load in terms of size?
Who attempt to keep a check on
Tommy's numberless mince pies?
Hopeless task! His present pallor
Proves his prodigies of valour.

Then I found him, notwithstanding
Such colossal feats as these,
After dinner on the landing
Secretly devouring cheese,
Flanked by ginger-beer-and-coffee,
Sweetened with a slab of toffee.

I, his uncle, gave him warning,
Showed him the error of his ways,
Hinted at tomorrow morning,
Talked about my boyhood days;
All in vain I waved the bogey
He despised me as a fogey.

Well, perhaps the pains he suffers
May be gifts of fairy gold,
Since he now says, 'Only duffers
Eat as much as they can hold.'
Thus, through physic and privations,
Tommy learns his limitations.


Punch, 2nd January 1907

Just the thing I need. How nice.

I am indebted to the Fluffkins for the Christmas gift presented to me at this year's Dive Club Christmas Champagne Brunch. Following last year's incident involving a table, a camera and the whirling blades of a ceiling fan, I was given this:



Apparently, when I hear bells ringing, I should duck.

How thoughtful.

I like bouncing. Boing! Boing! Boing!

I was given a pair of Powerisers for Christmas. A cross between stilts and strap-on pogo-sticks, the blurb promises that I should be able to jump six feet into the air, take nine-foot strides and run at 20mph. The manual also suggests that I should avoid carpets, soft grass, stairs and the public highway. I guess the beach is right out too.

At the moment I'm trying to learn to walk again from scratch. The trouble is, this time I'm 7'3" tall so when I hit the ground I do so with rather more force than I did fortysomething years ago. These things are not for indoor use, at least not where there are items of furniture to blunder into and damage.

If not compulsory, a helmet and elbow and knee pads are definitely recommended. I look like a refugee from a Judge Dredd cartoon strip.

Officially, the springs - huge fibreglass leaf springs that act like Achilles tendons - are rated for users who weigh between 70kg and 90kg. They have the imaginative part number 7090. I am assured that although I'm heavier than 90kg the additional weight won't hurt the Powerisers, but I won't be able to jump as high. I'm also advised that my additional post-Christmas bloat will soon disappear as a result of the full-body workout that using Powerisers requires!

Into the closet...

I have just received a short movie review of The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe from one of my spies in England:

"It was completely superb...The BBC version of a few years ago is now officially knocked into a cocked hat. "

The movie isn't scheduled to arrive in UAE cinemas until January 2006 (which isn't particularly clever for a plot that is orientated in part around winter and the arrival of Father Christmas). Yet there isn't a peep out of all those keen moviegoers about this late arrival. They're all screaming and shouting about the latest Harry Potter.

I just hope that the Powers That Be don't suddenly notice that Narnia is an allegory and send great chunks of film to the editing suite bin.

The Goblet of Fire

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is scheduled to open in the UAE on 28th December. Whatever the actual reasons may be, the official line is that it clashes with Peter Jackson's King Kong, which has just opened.

The local free newspaper, 7DAYS has been campaigning to get the release date preponed: "Why should we have to wait for six weeks?" Today's paper is triumphant. The headline appears to suggest that the UAE release is now 21st December, before Christmas (Huzzah!)

But as the big print giveth, the small print taketh away. There will be one special one-off showing on 21st December, at which the cinema will be packed, doubtless with the Annoying Ring Tone Owner's Club. Hoi polloi will still have to wait until the 28th or later.

On page 2 of the same newspaper, an article reports how s0rryduba!.b10g$p0t.c0m (with digits and punctuation changed into lower-case letters) has been banned here. A blow to free speech it may be. But criticising the telecomms monopoly is criticising the government, and the latter is against the law.

I shall have to be careful about what I post!

Edited on 11th December 2005 to add: I see that Eisalat has unblocked s0rryduba! But the owner of the blog has now taken down the entire text.