28/02/2011

Woke up feeling refreshed after my brush with the law - watching Al Jazeera into the early hours made me realise how close I’d come to getting totally stoned.

I’d been wondering all week what the mournful wailing was that I was hearing 5 times a day – it sounded eerily like the Mayflower every time a pass goes astray on a Saturday afternoon.
The staff at the Hotel reliably informed me however that rather than a disgruntled football crowd, this was the sound of the Muezzin calling the faithful to prayer down at the Grand Mosque. Now I’m a cultured kinda guy – I never miss the panto down at the Theatre Royal when its in town – so I thought we’d go down & check it out – I also wanted to see if the Muezzin fancied the tannoy & the 50/50 draw job at Home Park (unpaid of course) after hearing that some wag put Madonna’s Holiday on yesterday at half-time – they know I HATE Madonna. If I’ve told them once I’ve told them a million times Lauper not Madge!.
Besides, the little I knew about the Muslim faith told me it might mean half an hour’s peace from the missus.
We were just in time for the Dhuhr, or noonday prayer, and were welcomed in, to see what it was all about. The architecture is incredible, loads of elaborate mosaics, just like that underpass under Royal Parade used to look. Got me wondering how much Barr Construction would charge per Minaret. Well the Imam was in full flow – stirring stuff, much like one of Little Pete’s team talks. Now I love my gigs and I was getting well into it and was trying to ask the chap next to me whether the gift shop did audio CDs, but he was really quite ignorant of me no matter how much I tugged at his sleeve – then when I got a packet of Frazzles that I’d found at the bottom of my suitcase out, two of the burlier members of the crowd got me under the armpits & escorted me out! I wasn’t keeping them to myself either I offered them around. I don’t think it helped matters when at the end of the first prayer the missus stood up pointing at me & chanting ‘Your not singing anymore’ at me from the upstairs gallery.
I may have only been there a little while but I really felt that I’d gained a great deal spiritually speaking, I’m thinking of changing my name to Baulus Bin Derriford (literally Paul, Son of Derriford) and I’m going straight to Peverell Park Library for a copy of the Koran as soon as I get home.


Number 6 Chriiis Clarke!!!

Golf this afternoon – totally trounced the missus in spectacular fashion – apparently the course was designed by Ernie Els but for my money its not a patch on the pitch & putt on Central Park. For one the views are better at Central Park and secondly they don't mind if you play the course with an open can of Stella.
Got tomorrow all planned already - found out by chance that the Dubai International boat show kicks off tomorrow, see if I can’t pick myself up a nice schooner, get Roman Abramovich on speed dial & race him up and down the Thames.

27/02/2011

Can I just start off by saying - EAT MY GOAL CHESTERFIELD - 2-1 YESSSS!
And to think if I hadn’t sanctioned the Bolasie transfer we’d have never got those precious 3 points yesterday!


New balls please

Anyway that was just about the only good news in a pretty dreadful day.
So there I was atop the Burj Al Arab with Boris in my trusty Tennis shorts of 1985 vintage.
He says to me ‘Dick, do you want to use the racquet I won Wimbledon with when I was 17?’ Well what an honour, I could hardly refuse. Truth be told I was pretty psyched up and as I went to serve to start the first game, I’ve put so much force into my shot that I’ve let go of the bloody racquet and its gone way way over the edge of the court, spinning towards the sea a hundred feet below. Boris just crumpled to his knees, head in hands, inconsolable. I tried to placate him with the offer of some free tickets to our game against Rochdale and as many Ginsters pasties as he wanted (past sell by date obviously) but he just kept sobbing After an hour or so of this I had to leave, but I let the hotel staff know about Boris - there’s not much to obstruct a potential ‘jumper‘ up there on that platform.
So I went back down the beach where I found the missus rubbing oil into the bronzed rippling back of one of the Italian volleyball players, she‘s very ‘sun conscious‘.
She seemed well amorous and wouldn’t let me get back into Bravo Two Zero whatsoever, so eventually I relented and we ended up rolling around in the surf eating each other’s faces off, that was until a large shadow loomed over us blotting out the sun. All I felt was a vice like grip on my shoulder before I was bundled into the back of a cop car. I hadn’t the faintest what was going on, but I was bloody fuming, banging my manacled hands on the grill between me and the driver. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ I demanded. ‘You should have thought about that before you let your hands go a wanderings, Mr Lover Lover’ he said.
When I got to the cop shop it turned out that I was being charged with public indecency - a serious matter here apparently - they ought to see me and the missus bumping and grinding on the dance floor at Elfordleigh golf club when Fiddy Cent comes on - that is indecent!!
So they’ve taken me down to the cells and on the way the coppers said ‘I really would have expected better from you - what will your fans say?’ Who should be in the cell they sling me in but the American from the desert!! He was sporting a nifty panama & I made a mental note to hunt one down.
I asked him what they had him in for. ‘Aw shucks , they got me down at the Camel derby running a little ill-ee-gal betting shop - just need to get hold of my pal in Japan to go the bail, but he’s a busy kinda guy. I’ll be outta here like a shot as soon as I get him on the phone - No-one keeps George Lyman down!’


Above; a dramatic reconstruction

Well I got my phone call and got straight on to Big Pete - he was livid - called me all kinds of things but no sooner than he’d spoken to the guys at the station and they were falling over themselves to let me out.
The missus came down in a taxi to pick me up & take us back to the hotel - but as we passed the Burj Al Arab we were held up by a small crowd of people including some police with Megaphones with their eyes trained upwards.
I’ll post later but I’m gonna mong out now and watch some Al Jazeera on the hotel TV. Turning this bloody blackberry off though - Mubarak & Gadafi you think your under the cosh , try living a day in my shoes!

26/02/2011

My phone woke me this morning again, the ringtone of Tinie Tempa‘s, slick urban beats filling the hotel room. It was the eldest in a right tizzy. Apparently those hooligans on PASTITTI.com or what ever its called have been whipping themselves into a frenzy again. I asked to speak to the son in law, ‘calm her down I said, take her down to Flambards, usually does the trick, I’ll chuck you a twenty note when I’m back‘. Top bloke though, we have a cracking time together on Sundays when he comes over with what he calls his ‘specially imported dutch shigarettes,’ a packet of hobnobs and we get cracking on the jigsaw together - it’s a bugger though this one, we seldom get 10 pieces down in a session. Have to put the airwick on full blast when he’s gone though.


Above; The future for Home Park?

I tell you I’m always thinking about business opportunities, no matter where I am. We went down the Nad El Sheba Camel Racing Stadium today and I got on the blower to Keith ‘maximising revenue streams Keith? - I’ve got the very thing’ I told him ‘Argyle Saturday, Camel Derby Sunday - joint ticket 30 notes - you know it makes sense’. He didn’t seem too keen, said it would play havoc with the fibres in the new pitch, he’s so bloody precious about that bloody pitch! You should see him wincing every time there’s a sliding challenge.
For some reason I found myself rooting for El Faloni and his rider. Something about his lugubrious gait and sad eyes reminded me of watching our strike force on a Saturday afternoon. He didn’t really seem to know which order his feet should move in and he tripped over in a big mess once or twice round the course , causing hilarity in the stand. Nothing changes - they’re just the same in the Mayflower, scathing so-and-so’s. He came last, but it my eyes it was a moral victory even getting round the course with all that heckling.
Went down to the jockey’s dressing room - they insisted, ‘guest of honour guest of honour’ they kept saying, ushering me and the missus downstairs. There they were, El Faloni and his rider, sharing their post-race bath! I got him to sign my programme (no not the Camel haha! Be a bit difficult to hold a biro with hooves!) but then he wanted me to sign something for some bizarre reason, he was searching high and low but eventually settled on his jockstrap. ‘I will hang it pride of place in my hut and forever remember the day I met Dr. Mark Sloan’ he said, real gratitude shining in his eyes, ‘it will bring me and El Faloni luck’. Totally barmy this lot!
Was at the beach this afternoon making steady progress with Bravo Two Zero (recommended by Big Pete) when for the umpteenth bloody time the cursed Blackberry interrupted me. I was at the point of lobbing it into the sea when I noticed it was Boris! We’d swapped numbers the other night. He wanted me to come for a knock about up the the Burj Al Arab where they have the world’s highest tennis court. The missus said she’d stay there and watch these Italian lads playing beach volleyball - no idea she had so much interest in the sport! So I’m just slipping into my whites to make my way over there.
Will have my fingers crossed that Little Pete will call me with good news from the Cheltenham fixute this afternoon.
Ciao for Now.

25/02/2011

Well last night got off to a flyer down at Al-Jesters. Me & the missus were ushered in in front of the queue like Royalty – the lads working at the marquee on a Saturday could learn a great deal from this lot.
Got another cryptic comment and a wink from the bouncer though, ‘My kid loves Night at the Museum’ he said as he took my jacket. They escorted us upstairs to the VIP area and sat us with Boris bloody Becker who lives here! We got on like a house on fire and shared a shisha pipe, he had some top tips about dealing with HMRC! What a night!
So this morning we took a stroll down to ‘Palm Islands’. It’s a development of artificial islands each with their own luxury mansion. Took a snap on my blackberry & got on my picture messaging to Dan. ‘Just like what you’ve done with Drake’s eh?’ I wrote. He’ll be raging! Had to delete about 30 bloody texts first before I could send it ‘messaging full’ it said – journo scumbags.
Seriously considering putting an offer down on one of these places, getting away from it all, but I might try and get myself on ‘A place in the Sun Home or Away’, so I can meet that bit of crumpet presenter. The fella, Jonnie, seems a right laugh too, can imagine having a pint with him & putting the world to rights!
Caught a sort of wooden boat called an Abras over to the Bur Dubai. The Abras was very much like the Mount Batten Water taxi, except without a nice cool pint waiting for you on the other side! Me and the missus stood at the prow and re-enacted that scene off Titanic. The Bur is like a big jetty with the stunning backdrop of the city. Got some raised eyebrows off the locals when I started singing ‘New York, New York’ to the missus in my best Sinatra croon – I get these romantic impulses!



Then this afternoon we went out into the desert for a camel trek and the weirdest thing happened. Maybe it was the heat playing tricks with my mind combined with last night’s jalfrezi repeating on me with avengance. We’d gone way, way out into the desolation with just the clip clop of the hooves and the occasional lowing from the camels to break the silence. Then, on the shimmering horizon I spotted a White Stetson hat. As we approached it was clear that there was a man toiling in the afternoon heat, digging furiously, a stars and stripes hanky tied round his neck, his torso bare, red & peeling, his paunch hanging over his tight jeans, a pair of scuffed cowboy boots on his feet. We pulled up next to the man who was sweating profusely and really puzzlingly there seemed to be a glimmer of recognition between us.
He dropped the spade and introduced himself as George Shyman (‘I’m from a little old place called the Yoo Ess of A’) and told us he was looking for oil, ‘Gotta raise 500 thousand dollars for my buddy in Toe-kee-oo’ he drawled. ‘They say there’s money in this here desert, and if anyone’s finding it its gonna be George A. Ryman.’ 
I asked him if he wanted any of my sun cream but he looked up at the blazing ball of fire in the sky, turned to us with a sneer and said ‘Malignant melanoma? Pah, I’m not personally worried myself, load of baloney.’
We wished him luck and as we pulled away he turned on his getto-blaster and the tinny sound of The Boss belting out ‘Born in the USA’ could be made out for the next few miles floating out over the emptiness. Truly the American entrepreneurial spirit is alive and kicking!
I wracked my brain but I couldn’t put my finger on why he seemed so familiar, was he just a mirage, a figment of my imagination perhaps?
The whole episode left me totally befuddled and my arse was sore as hell.
Asked the missus if I looked like Lawrence of Arabia – fishing for a compliment like, but all I got was a mocking laugh.
Our guide took us into a Bedouin village out in the wilderness (think Yelverton, but with more advanced architecture), where we were invited to take tea with the elders. We sat in a circle and the guide translated as they told us of the hardships of life in the desert. I shared my story with them after which I don’t think any of them would swap their lot to take over running a football club!! The Sheikh looked exactly like Little Pete would if he grew a ‘tache, all wrinkled beyond his years with wispy hair. He liked my own neatly manicured facial hair, kept reaching out to stroke it, so on the way out of the village I imparted my own words of wisdom from atop my camel ‘Gilette Mach 3, the best a man can get, mark my word’ I told him, and rode off into the sunset.

24/02/2011

Day 2 – SCORCHIO! 30 flaming degrees, jackpot!



Last night ended in a bit of farce really – hit the shisha pipe a bit too hard and I was wheezing and coughing all through The Amazing Ali’s magic set. The room was whirling all around me and I ended up sort of getting up to leave, feeling quite light-headed & collapsing sort of sprawled over the front of the stage. I can't tell you if he was any good.
Soon perked up this morning though when I put on my best Hawian shirt. I was saving it for the Hotel Disco they’ve got advertised but I needed a pick-me-up.
Sixty-seven missed calls on my phone when I woke up!
Thought we’d try some retail therapy. No sooner had we hit the Souk though & there were a crowd of natives around me pointing and whispering to each other ‘Diagnosis Murder, Diagnosis Murder’! Its him its him’ I felt well harassed!
Anyway I fought through the mob & found some right good stuff for Little Pete & Big Pete off the stalls.
I had Little Pete on the phone last night telling me about the game in Brighton, apparently the bus broke down on the way, he sounded a bit down about it all so I cheered him up with my ‘Harry Enfield scouser impression’. He loves that. ‘Calm down Calm down’ I said haha! Got him this little wooden frog with a stick in its mouth – when you rub the stick down the frog’s back it makes a realistic ribbet! It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen! Truly this is a forward thinking place, the techies paradise - Keith would love it here with his wee-fee and whatnot!
We went past the fish Souk too – smelt like the Barbican!
Settled on a t-shirt for Big Pete, It says ‘My mate went to Dubai & all I got was this lousy T Shirt’ in big letters on the front. He’s always banging on about all the holidays he’s been on, making me watch his bloody slide shows on his projector, regaling me with his crazy stories from Bangkok, Baghdad, Bognor or anywhere else you care to mention! So I thought I’d rub it in a little.
The missus keeps taking the rise out of my pasty legs now I’ve put my shorts on – ‘like alabaster twiglets’ she said – the nerve! She’s proved a tenacious haggler at the Souk though – thinking of bringing her in the boardroom next time we’re negotiating a player’s new contract, she‘d drive those thieving swines down!
Picked her out a gorgeous Burka, can’t wait to see her face when I give it to her, reckon it'll go down a treat at the China Fleet Club Christmas dinner.
Went down the beach in the afternoon – no sign of any bugger selling those round doughnuts you usually get at the seaside and we must have marched up and down that bloody beach 2 hours looking for a round of crazy golf.

Looking out over the dunes got me reminiscing about those long walks I used to take with Paul out at Wembury, then a passing Camel made a terrible honking sound, gobbing everywhere and I snapped out of it, not sure how long I’d been gone. Southend is probably a lot like this I imagine.
Bloody Camel herder had to come up and ask me for my autograph didn’t he?! ‘Dick, Dick I love Diagnosis Murder’ he said, I was getting well perplexed by now - funny people this lot - bit like the Cornish with their swarthy complexions and their love of spicy food.
I’ll post again later but the missus is insisting we go back out and hit the town - there’s a great sisha bar nearby apparently - something like Al-Jesters or similar, hope it’s a decent crowd and I don’t get mobbed as soon as I get out of the hotel foyer again.

23/02/2011

So - here I am in Dubai, what a place!!! Flew in over that great big building - tallest one in the world - bit like Chichester House on the Hoe only much much bigger! Had to lean across my missus though, she called shotgun at check-in, I thought we'd agreed that we couldn't do it til at least duty free, but I wasn't arguing - didn't want that hanging over us the whole holiday.
They put the Lion King on on the flight and I drifted off. Started having a crazy dream about roaming around Dartmoor and roaring my head off from the top of tors, woke up bloody growling haha!
Then I remembered they are bit dodgy about alchohol over there so I started necking as much of the wine as I could before touch down, had about 15 of those little bottles falling all over the place around me as we landed.

I like the style here too - reckon Argyle should go with a kind of traditional arab dress for the kit next season - I'll get the missus to knock up some designs to show the lads from Adidas. The lads over here all wear this sort of all-in-one thing, they call it a dishdash - that made me laugh!!!
Think I was still a bit wasted off all that wine, was all over the show trying to find the hotel, got a few funny looks.

Not down 5 minutes and the bloody phones buzzing - WHY WON'T THEY LEAVE ME ALONE! Phone Keith for christsakes, he told me he was going to spend the day listening to his Abba collection today - think he was taking the piss now I'm taking all the flak!

Menu looks cracking at this place & I can't wait to have a meal without sifting through my food to look for a stray pube someone's sneaked into my grub - they get craftier every saturday!

Oh well must dash or should I say dishdash haha! - there's a magician in the Hotel lounge I want to catch - might ask him to make this bloody phone disappear.

home and away 2011/2012?