Sandlands, you gotta live it everyday

The madness continues as visa shenanigans don't seem to be happening in as timely a fashion as I would like.

A few more days in Dubai appear to be on the agenda, but the laughing gods are ensuring that each extra day is packed with yet another new/familiar adventure.

Thursday night saw me at the Aerosmith concert - it was as hot as Hades, under-catered and not especially well laid out but the boys from Boston ROCKED! Excellent show with way more energy than I'm capable of at easily 30 years younger than any of them. And oh my god is Steven Tyler an unattractive man... still, there was a great rendition of Dream On and lots to sing along to so I won't complain that his exterior was less than ornamental.

A surprisingly full Friday morning followed with a trip up to Sharjah to pick something up from Jamila's parents and then pretty much a full day of work - albeit conducted at Bert's Cafe and then Aimee's house, both in The Greens where Wi Fi access roams free and there are no silly firewalls that won't let me get into my email inbox.

Having volunteered to help out Greg (head of GCI in Qatar) with an event he was working on at the Burj Al Arab this week, I forced myself to go shopping on Sunday but with no positive outcome. Trekked the entire length and breadth of Mall of the Emirates and found a grand total of one item of clothing I didn't hate. Then couldn't find shoes to match. Well, not counting the perfect ones in Jimmy Choo. A late-blooming fragment of good sense kept me from buying them, but it was touch and go for a long minute.

So, in a combination of old and new bits and pieces off I went to the Burj last night to 'help out'. Which, as it turns out, consisted of standing around, sipping champagne, eating foie gras and looking beautiful. All tasks that are fortunately well within the scope of my abilities.

Good to know how some things never change though - at any press event there's always one sleazy journalist who wants to take your picture and tries to give you his business card with his 'personal number' on the back. Not even the Burj Al Arab, it appears, can stem this phenomenon. Which is, in its own way, somewhat reassuring.

Anyway, a few drinks at the Sky Bar later I took myself off home wondering whether I'd be glad to return to work and my humbler natural environment. I'm not. Working for a living is a grossly overrated experience.