A night out

The last drinking night before Ramadan, and the bar was heaving. Wherever you go in the world, will you always find an Irish bar?

I went with a few of my colleagues to the Irish Bar. There was much talk beforehand about how women here never need to pay for a drink here because men are so desperate for female company. Personally, I find the idea of never standing my round rather unsettling. I certainly can't manage the sang-froid required to accept a drink and then turn my back on the donor - apparently a perfectly normal sequence of events. I don't really think that any of us are quite at that stage. However, there is a bit of fair play maybe in the fact that men often can't get into a bar without a woman, so a drink seems to them small price to pay for entry.

Well, I can only say that there is something in the desperate men theory - even I managed to get chatted up. Yes, by a straight man who did actually realise that I'm a woman. I've a feeling we even danced. What is the world coming to?

Doha

Have moved. This flat is enormous. I'm thinking of opening a 40 bed backpackers' hostel. I'm in a complex called Seven Pearls, for which read seven blocks. I have walked about 12 miles just unpacking my flight luggage and a bit of shopping, though it would have been less if I hadn't kept getting lost between the bedroom and living room. I have 2 bedrooms, and a living space that includes a miniature hotel lobby with those naff hotel lobby chairs and tables on the way to the living and dining bit. I have four coffee tables, three toilets, two plastic trees and a dishwasher. But only one bowl, one plate and a spoon. Refuse to buy more in case my shipping actually turns up. The fridge is so big I could (and might) sit in it quite comfortably. Probably on a chair.

But before it all sounds too good to be true, it's a bit dark and gloomy and the sofa stinks and is greasy and generally reminiscent of seriously unwashed hair. But luckily there are numerous seating options (14 chairs and 2 sofas) so some rearrangement may be possible so that I can slob out in front of the TV in between shopping malls.

Thinking of which, trundling round Carrefour this evening looking for irons, kettles and emergency food supplies did give me a whack of deja vu. Then left me confused as they didn't have the same stock as KL of course. Friday evening is the busiest shopping time of the week and it was packed and crazy - but unlike Malaysia there were checkouts with no-one, yes no-one waiting. Carrefour was in the most bizarre shopping mall I've ever seen. It's styled on Venice, apparently, so above the shopfronts there are supposedly Italian style traditional house upper storey facades and above them a blue sky with a few wispy clouds. But best of all, canals flow through the mall and weary shoppers can take a gondola ride. Kid you not. Mind you, doing one loop on foot did fairly wear me out.

The heat is amazing but it's the humidity that's come as a surprise. Stepping out into it is like going into a sauna where someone's just sloshed water onto the coals. Or when there's a breeze it's like having a hair dryer constantly on, on a very slow very hot setting. I may even have to use the aircon. And the gym. And the pool (unfortunately indoor) Looks like running will be a problem till the weather cools - even nights are like Malaysian days. Darker though.

Doha, Qatar

Doha – day 2. Has it really only been two days?
So here I am, about to rejoin the grown-up world of work.

First impressions – hot, humid, hazy and dusty, building sites, high-rises, sterile, hot...

Got to the hotel at about 2am to be handed an envelope in which a letter informed me that I'd be collected at 7 to go for a medical – before which I was to fast for 12 hours – as well as referring to my job title as 'Acaademic Head of EAL' – what??? Later, that was confirmed as a mistake. Nine of us went for this medical and the bit by bit process took us till 2pm. The rest of the group are all working at another school, which is actually built already and has been happily running for some years. In the evening I met with the primary head of my school and a couple of other staff members. We were filled in on everything, which is to say we found out that nobody knows anything. Neither the school (not even the temporary building) nor the staff accommodation is finished, though this is as expected. And with Ramadan around the corner, things are set to slow down a bit. If we have a building, we'll open for admissions but not for teaching. We'll start teaching... well, nobody really knows when. We have an induction day on Sunday for those staff who've already arrived – at the golf club. Thereafter, we'll be going to work every day. “Where?” I asked. “Ahhh.... good question...” mused the head.

Signed my contract today and was given a wad of money from my furnishing allowance so spent a happy afternoon in a mall loading up with the bare essentials to tide me over until my shipping shows up (or is confirmed lost at sea). Tomorrow I'll be moving into temporary accommodation, where I'll be living till October, or November, or December, or permanently.

The hotel is lush. More exotic bathing condiments than I'd ever buy for myself, a buffet to die for with at least 40 interesting salads and great mounds of smoked salmon and mackerel– I haven't even tried the hot food yet. Doormen whisk your shopping bags out of your taxi and whoever hung my thick white bathrobe up this morning has been back to lay in out on my turned-down bed, along with a chocolate and tomorrow's weather forecast. An old shabby like me could feel quite out of place, except you can't because the people aren't like that. And anyway I was sashaying around in a skirt this morning. Yes, a skirt. I even ironed it, after phoning the conciererge for the necessary equipment. Ha! But it's not quite too good to be true – it's a dry hotel. Possibly the only 5 star dry hotel in the country. The good news is that it may be possible to sort out beer-buying permits before the country's one grog shop closes for Ramadan. And there isn't a swimming pool, but the primary head is leading an expedition to the beach club on Saturday where he hopes to get us all in as prospective members. Which I certainly am anyway. Beach, good cheap cafe, sailing, fun boats, etc. Infidel bikinis allowed.

Seems to be a nice crowd, and the only wanker turned out to be going to the other school at the other end of the country (albiet only 50 miles away but it's enough). Hope to meet up again some time with all the others who left for there today. The hotel is a sort of holding camp where people spend two or three days while processing medicals, contracts, etc, then move on – can't keep up with who's who or where half the time. Just as you get to know people they move on. The “organization” is from head office, not the school, so no-one knows where they're going or when, then a driver turns up with a list of people to take somewhere and wonders why they're not ready or even there.

For general Doha impressions I'll try and do a blog entry some time soon as I'm sure you're all dying to hear about the bleak dry land between the building sites, the heat and the general lack of camels.

May not be quite as wow as living in Malaysia, but I have to say I'm really excited about the chaos out of which we hope to raise a school.

Edinburgh Festival Photos

Edinburgh

Edinburgh without the festival just isn't right. It's like going up stairs when you think there's one more step than there is and you thump down on the flat. I should have, maybe did, get used to it over these last few months, but oh the joy to be back at festival time.

The High Street buzzes with a bizarre army of flyer-pushers working their way between tourists, festival junkies and earnest show-goers. Posters are layered over each other by enterprising groups who vie for the safest top-spot by climbing onto shoulders or leaping wildly with broom-handles. On miniature stages, on bollards and the cobbled road, groups perform tasters of their shows. Basil Fawlty and Manuel saunter down the Mile, passing dancers, wenches, pirates, dead bodies, stilt-walkers and a rugby team whose Hakka holds up the traffic. Pluck perform with such a dazzling brilliance that I immediately buy a ticket. The sun shines. This is Edinburgh.

There isn't enough time to see everything I'd like to, but this year I get to more shows than ever. Choose better. Although I still ended up at at least one cringeworthy failure of a show - but then, that's part of the fun.

I found some gems this year: Pluck, Tony!The Blair Musical, John Hegley (again) and Pericles Redux being the highlights. Pericles Redux was the most unusual and mesmerising Shakespeare you could imagine - original text woven into physical theatre that told the story, grabbed you and carried you away. And a few days later I came across the team performing on the street, a vision of topless muscular strength and elegance.

The energy of the festival is heady. Just sitting in the Pleasance Courtyard sipping a drink is like a show in itself.