7 Star Rules and Regulations...

Its 7.24pm and I am rushing through the doors of the Burj al Arab, it was surprisingly easy to get across the rampart and penetrate the sail, as the 35 minute booking process had somewhat led me to believe that it would be a tad more difficult. Being a girl who likes to do as she is told, I am clad in a very non Maxine like mini dress, and heels, and yes I like to think I somewhat resemble a girl. I arrived in a taxi, determined to enjoy some form of cocktail in the Sky View bar. I was delighted to open my own door, close my own door and walk across the cobbles in the heat without the aid of anyone at all. It would have been awful of me to expect the doorman to open my door, for two reasons, 1) he would have had to walk away from the cold air and 2) it was after all a Dubai taxi and not an Aston Martin. My fault entirely. In and half way up the escalators I finally get a nod from someone, having been utterly ignored by the date and rose water wielding girls because I eschewed the rotating doors for the side doors.

Standing waiting for my partner in crime to arrive, I remembered how much I love the Burj Al Arab, and unbeknownst to all the staff there I know more about the building than any of them. So when one of the guest services staff casually informs me that the fountain I stand beside is really amazing. I smile and ask why, the answer left me rooted to the spot ; ‘Because it goes really high sometimes when a VIP comes, hopefully one will come tonight and you might see it’.  Then smiled and wandered off leaving me wondering how he could have failed to know, that the man who designed the entire set of waterworld the film had designed that very ‘fountain’, that it was actually called the Hypershooter, and that it was able to play in time to music, that if need be it could shoot water up to the tips of the golden arches above my head every 6 minutes if it needed to. That when it did ‘shoot’ what was so remarkable was that it didn’t splash the floor on its way down. I stood smiling, wondering why he had been so delighted to share a piece on information with me that was entirely useless, and if I hadn’t have known better, left me thinking ‘well that’s not very good’. I daren’t even think about whether he knew that the ‘fountain’ was indeed intrinsically linked to the water feature in the lobby, or at the entrance, and I think the air fire and water link may well have astounded him. I wont even begin to discuss the type of flooring surrounding the hypershooter, and the clever way it had been laid. That may have resulted in me being removed from the Burj.

En route upstairs in the panoramic lifts, my hair do took a bit of a battering thanks to the distinct lack of AC, but the welcome was just as warm as the airless lift. We were escorted to our table, and regardless of the reservation being in my name, so began the evening of calling my friend Mr. Redding, when he is neither my brother nor my father nor my husband. The mistake can be understood once, granted, but it gets a bit wearing after time. The view is as always spectacular, and the service lovely. We were welcomed by the manager, and despite saying we didn’t want to look at the Al Mahara menu’s were presented with them. Turned out to be a great touch, and the ease of which our bill was transferred downstairs and the genuine smiles of all the staff are what makes Al Muntaha a fantastic place. Skyview bar I love. I especially love their blue cheese and cheese quiche. Genius.

Al Mahara, having had so much conversation about the dress code it was a shame that it wasn’t being upheld by all the diners that evening, and the evening wouldn’t have been quite the same without the family next to us who took photos of each meal, each course and every fish in the tank, the click of that camera became quite the accompaniment. The manager was obviously quite liberal with his ‘discretion’ that evening. The most used phrase of the evening had to be ‘sorry for interrupting …’ I don’t think I have ever had so many waiters enquire as to if we are having a nice time before. I was tempted at this point to create a sticker for my dinner date with his name on it, in an effort to get the staff to talk to each other and let them know that calling him Mr. Redding was going to elicit me sighing and telling them for the 3^rd time that I was Miss Redding and he was not actually a Redding. Something which may seem a little pedantic, but in this day and age, discretion should be top of the list at a 7 star hotel. Thankfully I am not an undercover spy or indeed having an affair, or cheating on a non-existent husband, so it all it caused was mild amusement rather than an international incident, although it would have been great if I wielded enough power to have gone that route. The food itself was great. What I wanted to have was food I wasn’t going to get anywhere else, the kind of food that leaves you raving about it, you know the heaven on a plate, how on earth did you do that kind of food. A great example is the black cod in Zuma. I can see you all nodding, or the roast pork in Gary Rhodes mezzanine, bliss indeed, or the ribs in Billy blues, or the fish and chips at the Rivington, all the things that make you smile and forget everything else. The fish and chips in the Rivington can literally make me forget anything else except them and how cold my wine is. The food in the burj was great. Very nice indeed. Well mine was, I can report back that my opposites plate was cleaned both times, although as he had Lamb I cannot comment (hate the stuff) although it did look raw enough that a good vet could get it back on its feet without too much hassle. Having asked for it medium, the response was that it was ‘painted’.  The wine was exceptional, 10 brownie points to J for choosing wisely and a million brownie points to the Burj for actually serving it cold enough to stop me having to ask for ice cubes and reveal my peasant like attitude to wine.

We retired to the Juna bar for drinks, which revealed one of the worlds worst designed bars, watching our waiter have to duck into a 2 foot hole in order to bring our drinks was highly amusing for us, but less amusing for him. I do hope that Jumeirah pays for his chiropractor.  A few classic whiskies and a few more freezing cold glasses of wine and we called it a night.

I have to say it was a great night, but that I have to say in all honesty that is down to the company, the kind of company that means you could have fun whether you are in the Burj or in an cardboard box. The key things we learned were that :

-          You too can have Al Mahara style menus at home by popping to Dragon Mart and buying the same oyster shells for 5 dhs a go.

-          The submarine is never mentioned when it is being ‘serviced’.

-          That one day I want to be able to order a 5000dhs martini.

-          That dwarves were involved with the design of the Juna Bar

-          Moray Eels are ace at hiding and the Fish tank is not the same without Wally

-          You have to have your restaurant on its own island in order to charge those kind of prices

-          If you are having a special occasion be sure to go to the Burj, they ask you at every opportunity if it’s a special day for either of you, but don’t plan any surprises

-          The ‘taxis’ to take you home are ace, they make you feel very special and aren’t really very much more in cost than a dubai taxi, quality move BAA.

The Burj Al Arab was once the pinnacle of modern cuisine and luxury and I went expecting it to blow me away as it always has throughout my time here, I adore the Burj, I love it, I stick up for it, and I believe it is great. However in the Dubai we now live in that has restaurants that are of such high quality, and that has upped its levels of service, the Burj has remained the same. Whether this is a good thing or not remains to be seen. For me though, the Burj as the place to go to experience something you cant get anywhere else is a myth. The Burj is a place to go and look, because you will never see anything like it anywhere else, the carpets, the gold, the attention to detail, the opulence, the luxury, the downright arrogance of the building makes me smile. If only the restaurants were the same.

Is It Time For Something Drastic ?

Being as far from an adrenaline junkie as you can get, I sometimes wonder about myself. Then I wonder about that statement, and realise its bollocks. You dont need to be addicted to fast cars, diving with sharks and a permanent need to try and kill yourself to be addicted to adrenaline. You can be addicted to different kind of high. I recently discussed life in general with a new friend, we were comparing things we had done that we consdier noteworthy, interesting or extreme and so on and so forth. At the end of the conversation he looked at me, and said 'ok, we get it, you win every time, what a hell of a life you have'.

It got me thinking, I would never bunjee jump, because thats for mentalists, and I cant dive because everytime someone puts a mask on me and puts me under the water I hyperventilate and cry. That in my head made me fairly wimpy. Then I realised that not many people can say they went to the North Pole, not many people have crawled on their hands and knees through a glacier in the pitch dark, little to no-one I know has stood at the bottom of a slippery icy tunnel to the outside of a cave and believed they might not make it up without needing to call in the helicopters. The actual number of people who have done that is two, me and the woman who stood behind me and literally willed me out the top. I have detoxed in Thailand (mild in comparison) for 7 days, of fasting and colonics. I sit at my desk and wonder what next ? What should I be doing next to push the limits ? It makes me think that alot of my achievements in life come from pushing boundaries, and testing limits. My limits, other peoples, mostly mine.

It also makes me think what next ? What next indeed, half of me is done and wants to go lie on a beach and drink cocktails, the other half of me wants to do more, do something that isnt about me potentially. The North Pole was about Breast Cancer, but when I got there I realised it was about me, it was about something I needed to do for myself. Yes thats all very deep and reflecty, however it wasnt designed to be. But if you put me and my own thoughts in a room together with nothing else to do for 8 hours a day, you do tend to reflect. Thoughts bounce around the inside of your head until they bump into each other and you end up with an epiphany of sorts. I tried to drown out the incessant chatter with music, but -32 degrees tends to fuck with the electrics somewhat. My brain wiring as well as my iPod. Again the fasting I did was for my body, but it ended up being about my mind too. A clear out indeed.

So it seems that the clutter of my life, and the millions of thoughts that are thought, stored, spoken, deleted, saved, shared on a daily basis need me to take myself away from it and push myself to the limits in order to be able to come together at their own pace and form actual coherent ideas. It seems that some of my thoughts were designed to hook up and then reveal their point to me, but in order for that to happen I need to be not looking. If that makes sense.

I think that I shall refrain from anything drastic this year, potentially the Science Festival is enough to tick that box for me for 2011.

Cliche's, Over Estimating and Finding Someone Like You...

Its been an interesting few weeks, and I have been painfully reminded recently that life is not simple, it isnt easy and sometimes it isnt nice. However in a cliche to end all cliches, life is what you make of it. 

To the beginning and a jaunt to the UK, to spend time with the girl I refer to as my big sister, I do this not as a throw away term but because sometimes in life you meet people that go further than friendship, that have a place in your heart that makes them family. I have heard the phrase ‘friends are the family you choose for yourself’ over and over again my whole life. I have always questioned it, because given the chance I would pick my own family ten times over, well my immediate family anyway. I always wondered what it meant until I met Rachael. I have a brother, who is my world, who proves that blood is thicker than water and who I would lay down my life for without question or hesitation. You are supposed to be able to be yourself with your family in a way that you cant with anyone else, ever. Another great phrase just re-iterates that ; ‘Maxine you are my family, this means I will ALWAYS love you, but I wont always like you’. It took me many years to understand that sentiment. I strive to find that with friends, and in relationships. Understanding that you cant like someone every minute of every day, you are going to be annoyed, irritated etc but that love remains, and trying to remember that. I digress.

Rachael came along, and stole a little piece of all the Reddings hearts. She is dear to us all for different reasons. To me I gained a sister, one that I can swap shoes with, who I can laugh til we have to pull the car over with, that I can cry with, that I can tell anything too because she loves me, and would never judge, and because I feel the same about her as I do about my family, I would protect her with everything I possibly could, with anything I have. I can be in her kitchen making dinner and I can be at a black tie function and it makes no difference.  So I went to the UK to spend time with her, and drink endless bottles of wine, laugh until even we hurt and cry and gossip and laugh some more.

Aside from Rachael though, there was another important part of the trip. Michael Ball. The months had stretched interminably and then it was there, mere days away. You can imagine my distress the day before to hear that the 4 tickets I had bought for my mother, auntie and Rachael had not been delivered seamlessly as promised. Indeed there were 2 tickets only and not even in the post code of where we were supposed to be sitting. Cue major tantrum. Believe me there was much foot stamping, flicking of hair and shouting. That  was just at the laptop. Help was delivered to me in the form of the great man himself. Michael Ball via the power of twitter alerted the evil puppet masters that are ticketmaster to my plight, and within nanoseconds the worlds campest man, don’t think I am exaggerating here, think Paul O Grady melded with Boy George and a dash of Alan Carr thrown in for good measure, rang me to reassure me.

Reassured but with no physical tickets, at 2.00pm on the day of the show, I head off to do the only thing appropriate at that moment, have afternoon tea at the Carlton. With champagne. More phone calls from the worlds campest man and still no tickets, and we are rapidly approaching the actual show, I now have two new pairs of Louboutins to choose from, Rachael is incoming with great speed from work and I am thinking I may need to breathe into a brown paper bag at some point soon.  More Tweets, more ranty phone calls and Matthew (worlds campest man aka WCM) has rung to say he is working on it, my front row tickets are a thing of the past, some evil bastard has them and I won’t be getting them back, however I am within 2 seats of where I should have been. Now WCM just has to get these 4 little beauties to my hand prior to the show. WCM enquires as to how much I actually love Michael Ball as he is very impressed at the level of detail in which I have quizzed him, and how many managers he has telling him to ensure I am fixed. I assume he meant in regard to tickets, but who actually knows.

Tickets received, Louboutins on I went and promptly had the best night of my life. That is not blowing it out of any proportion whatsoever. I cried, I laughed and I sang my little heart out, much to the joy of the people behind me, if you have ever heard me sing you will sympathise with them.  I have spent 2 years trying to find a song that meant so much to me emotionally, and for many reasons which I will not share with you all, after all some things should remain precious (this one isn’t its just painful) I couldn’t remember the title, I searched everywhere for it to no avail, and then there he was, my hero singing the song, better than I have ever heard it sung. I cried buckets. He followed it with my Mother and Fathers song, cue more tears from a usually non emotional Maxine. It was amazing, and worth every frantic phone call, penny, tear and laugh. He was magical and that’s why I will always defend him, every person in the Royal Albert Hall felt like they had met him personally by the end of the show. My thanks have to go to Matthew, the worlds campest man, he is also a bit of a hero in his own camp way.

I spent the next night in London with some awesome people, having a night that ranged from the extreme, 23 pound vodkas, to the hilarious, Gay Eastenders cast members trying to impress me and Simon, to the genuinely awesome, meeting Sayed finally and chin wagging on my favourite subject for quite some time. To the expensive, 400 quid leather jackets which you just HAVE to have. I adore London when you can afford to enjoy it, that sounds arrogant and showy offy, but London is best enjoyed from the back seat of a black cab.

Back to Newmarket and the Sofa or more accurately the wine bar, and there began and ended my trip to see my Sister.

Being back is always difficult, back to work on a project that for the first time in a long time is proving difficult to harness, tricky to beat into Maxine style submission, and having spent weeks not being able to get up the interest or passion for it, it has beaten me to a place where I now need to get it right because I am downright furious. I will show it, and them, and it will be amazing, and I envisage weeks more of nasty facebook ranting, shouting at my friends and family about it, and then it will be over, it will have been achieved, and hopefully done well. Then I can breathe a sigh of relief and get back to normal.

I lost my Grandmother this week, which is something that I wont delve into, as some things are not for public discussion  I believe, however I will say that it makes you look at your family, and you do imagine what life will be like without them. I have learned that even my creative mind cant do it. There is no where in my mind that I can dream a world that doesn’t have my family in it. They are moving into my apartment block soon, and I am the luckiest girl alive to have them so close by, but with 4 floors between us, so I can have a 5 minute arrival warning !!

In the midst of all of that I have my lovely Victory Heights Family Dinny looking after me, trying to ensure that the sparkles are back in my life and I am smiling. They succeed every time they pick up the phone, or send me to a rat infested hotel with practically no booze for a weekend away. I have had a strange year so far, and its already July, some new things that creep up on you and surprise you, some things you thought you wanted and when you get them you don’t anymore, and the things that you find you can wait for, because without being sure, you feel they may be important.

I think that on the route to my 30^th birthday I may have finally learned to keep some things to myself, and not expect people to behave the same way you do, but that when they do you should enjoy it, and treasure it.