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.
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