So - week 3 in le capitale is half complete. The weekend holds oodles of silliness, with the Village Idiots Garden Fete taking place on Friday, when we will don blazers and frocks and play croquet, drink Pimms, attempt cucumber discus and wang the welly, and generally celebrate every stereotype going...with knobs on (pun intended)
I'm heading out to the Yas Hotel at the moment to meet with the other committee members planning this weekend's excitement. The driver doesn't speak English, which is neither unusual nor unexpected, but I've realized that I don't know any of the standard landmarks (that don't need translation) which aid taxi communication in Dubai. I could learn Urdu, but I think it'd be quicker to get a map and learn my way around. Terribly lazy, I know. See - there's those stereotypes again.
I've spent most of this week at the Dubai Airshow, breathing more burnt off jet fuel than can possibly be good for you, and watching jets hurtle themselves vertically up in to the sky, then vertically down again, mercifully refraining from crashing in a ball of fire 500m from the client's chalet.
My favourite moment was my client pointing out that the Chairman's name had been printed as "Halifax bin Marquee" ... a victim of quick-finger spellchecking we suspec - flannel panel should read "subbing by Microsoft" - as that is so far wrong it is comical. Though I'm hoping he never sees, as I shouldn't think he'll find it that amusing...
This week reminded me why I hate exhibitions, and why, if one does have to attend any type of trade show, one should definitely make sure to be client side. Rather than agency-bitch, hovering ready for the next impossible task.
Always good to remind oneself of these things, I think.
I wonder if they have atm machines at Yas? They managed to hold a spectacular F1 there, but I wouldn't put it past them to have only installed temp facilities for the week then stripped them all out again. We shall see.
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