Hormones and Ovens ..

Is it just like being permanently pissed off ?

This is my darling other half trying to understand what it feels like to have your hormones de-rail. For your normal peaceful life, with a bout of PMS thrown in here and there. Not that we ever admit it, we just blame our men for being particularly irritating at the same times every month, you would think they would learn, to go totally off track. Here however I have to give him a huge barrel full of credit because he really does want to understand, and he really is a great support. Thankfully.

I tried to explain it, but it’s difficult, it’s hard to explain how your body can do one thing, and your brain another. How you can look down on yourself sitting on the floor in front of your new oven in tears and think ‘WOAH Maxine what on earth is your deal ?’.  The same way as when I have decided that a romantic meal, the night before my darling has surgery is the correct time to have a massive rant at him about things that aren’t exactly important at that moment. Whilst again, there is a small part of me tugging on my shoulder and telling me this is a) really not very nice and b) totally out of character. Back to the kitchen floor……

Oven in, shiny, working, marble intact and everything I needed and wanted, aside from 1 tiny tile. Easily fixable, and yet my usual go get them attitude totally deserted me, and my mother’s suggestion of popping to the shops to get a replacement was met with a rapid of tears so big you would have thought someone had told me that I could never cook again and that I could never eat chocolate ever. It was tremendous. My mother took one look at me, popped me on the sofa and called in for back up. An appointment with our GP, a woman who has the heart of a lion, the patience of a saint and the humour of Billy Connolly. Thankfully she is a whizz and I am now fully back on track and will not be crying over ovens in the near future, fear not those of you who have been invited for dinner.

Hormones are quite the things. They are so much in control of you and yet most people know little to nothing about them, they also know little to nothing about how they can be knocked off track, what affects you and how you can put them right. For me its progesterone, me and it have a shaky relationship, and when it builds up to high, added to my insomnia, a 3 hour commute, and 6 weeks of visitors and a house move, it means that all the walls come down and Maxines hormones have a party. The boss is gone, no one is in charge and they are willy nilly doing whatever they like. So therefore inappropriate responses become standard, new tiles = tears, end of a book = end of the world, no cable for a TV that I barely watch = rage equal to that of a wwe wrestler. However this hormone imbalance can affect more than whether I am a nightmare to live with or not. It can affect fertility, sexual drive, ovulation, headaches and can go on to other things. It’s something to note, something to watch for and then equally something that you need to fix. I caught it early, thanks to my family and my man having the ability to say to me, you are not yourself. This is not you, what’s wrong ? Albeit having to have a couple of goes at getting me to listen whilst dodging left hooks and proffering tissues. In all my long travels with my health, and my many issues and revelations, I have learned that the most important thing you can do for yourself is to listen to your body. Sounds easy ? It’s not. You have to learn to hear what its telling you, and why, and how you can placate it, or ease its pain. It’s difficult, but once you learn the language your body can tell you things you never dreamed it would say. I have learned, and it’s been the best thing I ever did. I talk about it with friends, or here in my blog because if I help just one person to get to where I am quicker than it took me, then it’s worth sharing my internal life struggles.

If your body is tired, and tells you so, then it is, listen to it, slow down. Don’t tell me you can’t, because I am the queen of the excuses. My job, my life, my world, I need too, I must, I have too. You don’t. You don’t HAVE to do things. You can change the things you are in control of. Take the right vitamins, ensure you eat the right way, feed your body right and it will help you out when you need it too. 4 hours sleep ? Come on body you owe me one, you need to man up and get me through til its home time. If you have been good to yourself most times your body steps up and helps you out. Me ? it took my body totally shutting down on me and refusing to work until I listened to get its message across. I am much better now. I stop sometimes, pop the ear plugs in and do what I want to do. My body just reacts by doing one of many and varied things to spite me. Bloating, migraines, restless legs, rashes. Just a little taster of what it could really do should you choose to continue to ignore the signs and notes it is leaving for you.

A busy few weeks, with not enough sleep and a fairly laisez faire attitude to the vitamins meant that my body was knocking on the door for me to sort myself out. So my hormones decided to fall out of sync. Major league. So for now its good food, sleep and a multitude of different vitamins and exercise to get me back into listening mode. Helped out with a few well-placed drugs along the way. What ? You thought I was a do gooder ? No way, I am never against some artificial help to beat the buggers back into submission.

Listen to your body though, most of the time you don’t end up needing to fight, you can get along perfectly well. Otherwise it’s just like being permanently pissed off !!

M

Noisy Neighbours

I don’t think it is too much to ask for a quiet nights sleep. It is something that is becoming ever further out of my reach, and it seems that unless I resort to sleeping pills and ear plugs it will remain unreachable.

The RTA seems to take a great delight in going silent around 5pm, the monotonous drilling noise that I am ever so attached to grinds to a halt, and normal everyday noise (noise that can be tuned out) commences. This, at a time when the radio is on, the TV is on, you are chatting with your loved ones, is nice. Not necessary at all though. However, the moment, and I mean the moment your little head touches the nearest pillow, they begin drilling. Not quiet drills. Not slightly in the background and can get used to them eventually drills, and not drills they may just have on for an hour at most. No, major, huge, beyond loud, drills. Drills that sound like they have taken up residence on your balcony if not inside your ear drum. They sound like they have brought some crystal tipped behemoth to drill through a mountain. On the Sheikh Zayed Road. They carry on this wonderful performance until you are so out of your mind that you are tempted to commit a murder. Then abruptly around 5am. Peace. Just in time for you to go to sleep and get little enough sleep that you then feel like a zombie all day long.

I appreciate that this work needs to be done. I accept that in order for me to get home 30 minutes quicker it’s a price I have to pay. I understand that they work all the hours that god sends, and I empathise with those that have to do it. What I don’t understand is a tiny little thing called humanity. It is a heavily residential area, why can’t you drill from 6am til 10pm, surely the project (and I know all your project planners will start whining about timelines at this point) wouldn’t fall behind that much if the noisy work is restricted during the hours of the night that are required by me to sleep in order to not murder anyone. Also, the Emirates girls live next to me, no-one needs a grouchy airhostess, they are too damn important to be tired, its tiring enough doing what they do, without you lot keeping them up all night. Me ? I have to drive up the long road to Abu Dhabi, as do countless other morons and tired people. The less people who are slightly tired and not at 100% the better as far as my safety goes.

It’s a boring moan, its nothing new, but its what’s making me grouchy this week, along with my event report, but I know we are all very sick of hearing about this, almost as sick as I am of writing the damn thing.

Back to work it is, then back to the long road back to the long night of noise and pursuit of sleep. Ear plugs tonight.

To Change or not to Change

As we role inexorably towards 2012 we see the inevitable, good riddance to 2011,  heres hoping 2012 will be better comments. A lot of store is set by new year, people make fresh starts, new diets, new resolutions and make changes to their lives. I have never really understood it, aside from the human physche needing an actual push and shove to get them to do something that they could have done at any given point during the year. It has always confused me, and it is one of a few reasons why I don’t a) get excited about New Year and b) why I don’t make resolutions. This year I chose to lose weight, I chose to drop the kilos, and I did. It didn’t take a momentus occasion, or a special date, or a change in the roatation of the earth. I just woke up and decided to do something about it and I have. I am now over 17 kilos down and it didn’t require a calendar change, it did however require a wardrobe change.  This means that I walk into January with a smile, no long terrified to stand on the scales, and no longer scouring the back of the rails in stores to find clothes that will fit. It took me a long time to figure out what was wrong with me, and once I did I havent looked back. Except to look at pictures of my old self and think how sad it was that I hadnt found the key to my success earlier.

I wont be making a new beginning this year, I am making plans, but I do not want to brush 2011 aside and pray for a happier year. I would indeed hope that 2012 brings more of the same for me, in the sense that 2011 gave me a lot. It gave me a project that taught me a lot, and not just in work terms, it taught me a lot about who I am. 2011 brought me my family to the same building as me, strengthening a bond that was already unbreakable. It brought me my other half who in turn brought me a sense of calm and a sense of priority.

This year there will be no flippant remarks about ensuring that I don’t die my hair purple or drink too much, that is inevitable. The drinking, not the hair dye. Their will be more of what you have seen of the junior Redding in 2011, more music, more events, more working my ass off. Less ranting, less partying and less tears. I will remain at my desk doing what I believe I do best, working with some remarkable people to bring what is quite clearly one of the biggest loves of my lives, great music, to your doorsteps and to your ears. I shall also continue to be delighted by the man in my life, who has to be the most patient man alive, I shall remember how lucky I am to have him and to have the life that I do. I shall strive to be like my Father, who still to this day pushes boundaries and has vision and strength that men somehow lack these days, I shall celebrate my Mother, one of the most special and remarkable women I have ever known who is so much to so many but remains the most to me, and my brother, the man who quietly shines, and with no pomp just silently goes about being my brother in the best way he can, in a way that no other could.

New Year should be a quick pit stop, time for us to look back and note the things in our lives that we love, and want to continue to cherish, you don’t need a date, or a countdown or fireworks to help you make a change. If you want something badly enough, no calendar date will stop you.

I wish everyone a great New Year and I know I am looking forwards, and not back to what will be, I am sure, another great year.

Christmas Spirits ...

So its Christmas, a lot has happened since I last blogged, and so before the Christmas shenanigans begin and the New Year let down, as it inevitably is starts to loom, I thought it about time I put some of my wandering thoughts down on paper. So in no particular order, what’s new  in my world ?  Well the Boy is new. Well, he isn’t new he has been around for 38 years (he may kill me for that) but he is new to me, and new to most of you too, although I have done, in my humble opinion a rather fantastic job of trying to introduce to him as many of you as possible. The slightly terrified look on his face whenever I say the words ‘we have a dinner with some friends this week’ is testament to how many of you I have shown him off too. He also gets a massive gold star for remembering 99% of you. So he is what’s new in my world, he is also what’s happy in my world (cue sentimental ridiculousness comments here), being that he is quite unbelievably awesome. However this is what you should expect when your Mother orders your boyfriend off the internet. Don’t raise your eyebrows at the computer, no Pauline hasn’t worked out how to shop online at all, I am indeed joking. I do however believe that someone put a list of things that would suit me perfectly and then checked them off next to his name and then sent him my way. Sadly no one did the same for him, and he is left wondering how this happened to him. However we do hope he never works it out J

The Science Festival is over, and it surpassed even my own expectations, all the months of rages and tears and damn hard work paid off. Yes I was rewarded with a new scar on my leg where a small child was so desperate to get inside the Festival that he kicked me out of his way as he hurtled towards the door. Small child was wearing tiny little boots, that I believe had steel toe caps, and so as I was left bleeding (fact) he hurtled off into the festival, followed at a more sedate pace by his Mother, who occasionally yelled encouraging things such as, ‘quick before anyone else gets there’ and ‘Just ask for 2 of everything’ as he bounced off our theatre tickets desk. It was indeed a spectacle. Watching 3000 kids a day line up and troop into the hall, with excited little faces and their too big uniforms was a little bit sweet. Watching them leave not looking so tidy whilst clutching windmills and mini robots and frantically shoving cereal bars in their faces was practically heady. I did however get to meet the Boss. Yes, the main man himself H.H. Sheikh Mohamed Bin Zayed Al Nahyan, our Crown Prince. Not only did he shake my hand and pronounce it a pleasure (I always knew I had an awesome handshake, and we all know it’s a pleasure to meet me, so no surprises there), he requested a photograph, and then very nicely told me to enjoy my stay. My only worry out of this exchange is that he knows something I do not, I mean after all he is the man in the know, and he seems to think my time here is limited. I shall keep you posted on my movements, however I am avoiding blacked out trucks and people with bags. So the festival is done, with over 121,000 people through its doors I was quite rightly the most tired person ever. It is done though, and as I said I was so annoyed with the festival I was going to beat it into submission, I got very close, it came back at me for a couple of rounds, but in the end, and after a stewards enquiry I was declared the Victor. I cant tell you yet what my spoils were, but it’s an emphatic return to Music. Which whilst I am still the most tired person alive, is still making me grin. I almost am bursting with excitement and the need to tell people but as always my lips are not only sealed, but stapled and glued shut. I am however fully shouting from the rooftops about ColdPlay

I am fully in the Christmas Spirit, it took me a little longer, thanks to being felled, literally by a bug / virus / fatigue thing. Apparently according to the fully crazy Dr I saw ( the usual magician I see had dared to go on holiday) I had fatigue of the muscles as well as a virus. So on the same day that my poor Mothers Christmas tree crashed to the ground in front of her eyes, so did her daughter. That was a bad day for the Mothership. A cracked tree and a knacked Daughter. It also was a bad omen for my poor boy, who spent his birthday cooking me bacon sarnies and cuddling me while I cried. I manned up for the present giving, although it was done in my Pyjamas, and then dug deep and headed out for his Birthday dinner, which by any means was a resounding success. Red wine, steak and chips and a whole lot of laughter meant that the day was not lost altogether, plus I have a sneaky suspicion that the QPR football club cakes were a definite winner …. Many girlfriend brownie points gained there (swiftly lost again during the ‘please note your girlfriend is rubbish when ill’ period swiftly following the birthday).

So Christmas is now truly nearly on our doorstep and I for once am done ahead of time, I am being overly smug about this, and its not helping anyone, or making anyone like me very much. It is however making me feel much better about Christmas and the Redding Family tradition of ‘best present’ as ever we are competing, to see who gives the best gift. Not in terms of money or size but in terms of thought. I think I have this sewn up. Then again I think that every year. So let’s wait and see.

In the meantime I will be finalizing my event report for the Science Festival, and looking forward to the arrival of Chris and the gang, New Years Eve is going to be damn cold, damn amazing and I get to spend it with my damn fine boyfriend, and Coldplay (coldplay coming a close second) which I cant wait for, ringing in our first new year together to fireworks and live music, doesn’t get much better than that for me.

So on that note I wish you all a festive weekend and my wish is that you spend it wherever you are, with friends and family, and that you laugh and smile and forget all your worries for one day. For those of you who are my Kandora wearing friends, please excuse us while we all go a little insane, its like Eid, just with a tree.

Much love and festive sparkles

Bentley, it doesnt need anything else...

So, being given a Bentley for the weekend is one thing (she says casually), but being given the 2012 Bentley Continental Flying Spur Speed is something else indeed. I learned this very fast. I screamed (like a girl) put down the phone and was met with a row of frowns. The boys of the offices were appalled. Why should someone such as me be given such a gift, I had no clue just what miracle of technology and mechanics was being given to me, I assured my boys I was worthy of this car and that I could drive it the way it should be driven. They shook their heads and walked away safe in the knowledge that I would be unable to appreciate such a beast. The joy of saying to people ‘oh yes I will be picking up the Bentley on Thursday’ was immense. I was in seventh heaven and I hadn’t even seen the car yet.

Off I went to collect this bundle of fabulousness, dressed appropriately in red soled shoes and massive shades, blonde hair as Lebanese big as I could get it.  I sat in the shop and watched as this car, I say car, I want to come up with another name for it as its too beautiful to be called a car, pulled up to the door. Being handed a suitably weighty key was the beginning. I was shown how to push buttons to make the engine purr to life, how to adjust my seats and how to get the touch screen to work. I have to say at this point I was fairly nervous.  As I rounded the corner away from the anxious looking man from Bentley who waved me out of the parking spot like I was a boeing 747 pilot, I thought I would see if I could go faster than 20kph. I nearly left the pavement. I honestly believed I was going to take off. Thus the first important lesson was learned. A Bentley does not require the same handling as a Ford Edge. I can see all you ‘car people’ shaking your head and silently mocking me. I don’t care. I am not a car journalist, nor am I hugely wealthy, I am a person who dreams of owning a car like this. I am also a person who was terrified I harmed it in any way.

By the time I was on Sheikh Zayed road and on my way home I was sold. The car was gliding and I was smiling like I had been told I have a lifetime supply of chocolate. Having been told I know nothing of cars I decided I would pay attention. That I would look at the car as if I was one of the boys. I did my research and it seemed that the one thing the new Bentley was being praised for was its new interiors, and its new ultra cool additions to the exterior. That, I thought, I can comment on. Easily.

The wheels of the Bentley have the trademark ‘B’ in the middle  Enough to delight any female, talk to me of alloys and I will yawn, talk to me of shiny silver wheels with a monogram middle, now you are talking. Add to that a key that is weighty, shiny and very very Bentley. It becomes your latest fashion accessory.  Forget the car for a moment, hard I know but humour me.  Walking into a boutique with that little number hanging off your finger makes a sales assistant look up and take you very seriously all of a sudden. I am thinking about buying just the key as I cant quite afford the car yet. You will see I photographed the wheel of my new favourite thing. I was becoming very fond of the Bentley ‘B’. The inside of the car was all cream leather and tan piping, I was utterly delighted I was wearing matching Tan Louboutins. I have to note though, that despite having paid a fortune for the leather keeping my feet from burning on the tarmac, they were in no way a match for the leather keeping my jeans clad bum comfortable whilst I nipped to the airport to collect the girls.

I can report back having finally found the button to open the boot (no chipped nails here girls) that I managed to fit 3 overly large suitcases in the very roomy boot.  Please note that this is 3 girls going away for 2 nights, the suitcases were indeed massive, (mine alone had 4 pairs of shoes) so for them to slide in amongst screeches of ‘watch the paintwork’ was very impressive. I have to note the cars first fault at this stage. There is a leather arm that raises for you to pop your iPod / lipstick / black amex inbetween the driver and passenger seat. However there is no real dashboard as such for a phone, you can leave it kind of next to the gear stick but it’s not a prime position. As I pointed this out to my two girls, it was suggested that this was a) a totally moot point as there is bluetooth and I just handn’t worked out how to use it yet and b) even if their wasn’t the leather was so soft it more than made up for needing a place for my blackberry. We then went on to discuss in detail how much we would pay if Bentley would make a handbag out of the leather of the seats. Please take note, if this happens I want a percentage, as it’s a fabulous plan. Make sure there is a heavy silver ‘B’ hanging from the side, guaranteed best seller.

We glided all the way to RAK, alternatively playing with the massive touchscreen dashboard, and listening to Little Maxine complain from the back that I should have brought her a DVD to watch on her screen, or at least a cup of tea so she could balance it on her little tray. She was having way more fun in the back it seemed. I love how people react when you pull up in a Bentley. It’s a sad thing to say, but the reaction you get from the Valet Team when you pull up in my blue beauty is vastly different to what I receive when it’s me and my Edna the Edge.  I handed over the keys, and was utterly sad to see her being driven away, not so much the Valet Parker who was grinning broadly.

I spent the next 2 days driving all over in the Bentley, it was a delight. I have noted a few things that come with a Bentley :

You don’t mind getting lost. It’s nice to have no idea where you are, but know that you are the most comfortable you can be, and that everyone wants to be you. You could use the GPS but that would be too much like logic.

You do mind parking. Your blood pressure is up and you spend the entire time away from the car worrying if it is ok, almost as if it was a child. An expensive child that everyone is looking at.

You don’t have to wait for it. Your car is ALWAYS parked on the forecourt when you valet, this means it is hotter than other cars, but everyone is still wishing it was theirs.

You do get treated differently when you step out of a Bentley. It’s a statement. A very bold and unique one. Even bolder when a 29 year old Blonde gets out of one. That’s the fun part.

I loved the Bentley. I loved it so much it hurt, it was like a little pre-trial for having a baby. Although if I had a baby I would never have a Bentley. I think it’s  a choice. I would also choose a two door, the 4 door is too hefty for a girl.

Congratulations on the Key though. Its spectacular, by far and away the best key I have ever seen. The car comes in a very close second.

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.