Can you hear it? The weekend just landed. Time to shed overly serious ponderings of economic gloom, to walk away from confusing conversations with faceless and overly-clever strangers 'bantering' about the aforesaid economic situation, and time to flee in to the warm embrace of a dinner party with friends... 4 courses, Italian fare, top company... blissful sigh!
Tomorrow brings the excesses of the Dubai Rugby 7s, a festival of fun, drowned in a sea of beer, peppered with some quality 7s rugby, and a minefield of Dubaians old and new to be embraced or dodged, and tourists and business contacts to... be avoided.
Saturday... brings a bit more of the same, but a bit lower key than usual due to a requirement for me to drive to the Scablands on Sunday morning, for a rather larger meeting than I would usually encourage on a Sunday after the Rugby.
The sky is turning pink over SheikhyZ Rd, which is slowly clogging up with cars, all desperate to get home before the weekend. It's getting cold, well, cold for the sandlands, which is a wonderous and lovely thing. It means that you can actually exist outside again. My favourite time of year. Good thing I've spent most of my week off making mince pies and listening to audio books in my parents kitchen, rather than lying by the pool soaking up the rays while they still have strength to convert my paleface limbs to a golden brown. Or a mild mud colour. That'd do.
Perhaps I should make an effort to look like I'm working, but something about this 2 day week has shifted me firmly in to second gear, and I have that "do it next week" head on. I'll be super-productive, to make up for my lack of activity today. Honest.
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