As I have documented in this blog before, it is very easy to get fat in Abu Dhabi. The fast food is cheaper than fresh food, eating out is cheaper than eating in and McDonalds deliver. Add this to the stress of the job (read as drinking beer from Spinny’s on weeknights) and that the roads are too busy to cycle on, plus the generous holidays that allows teachers to go on 3-week long benders, and you have a recipe to become a fat fucker pretty easily.
I have been fat before, just this time last year actually. I weighed in on the 1st of January 2012 at a staggering 16 stone. (224 pounds or 102kg) So I know that I can lose the weight as in June 2012 I weighed 12stone 11 pounds (179 pounds) but the difference was that I was in England, was in a loving relationship and had support, cycled to work and back, went to the gym 5 times a week and had hired a personal trainer. I also enjoyed tracking my progress and working out had become an addiction.
From August 2012 to now (Jan 16th 2012) I have seen my weight climb because I have lived in a hotel for 2 of those months eating nothing but all-you-can-eat buffet 3 times a day every day as that was all we could eat.
In those months it was too hot to do any exercise outside so that was out, also I was socializing by going out and drinking a lot of beer because, as you know by now, when meeting new people I am very shy for the first month or so unless I have the social lubricant of inebriation. Beer contains calories.
Work is also a pain in the arse because there is no canteen and I don’t have the discipline to make a packed lunch. So I eat bread and biscuits from the tuck shop 5 days a week and basically the only exercise I get is by standing in front of the class.
I am making a lot of excuses here, but as I am now close to my weight (210 pounds) at this time last year I feel that I need to actually do something about it.
I had heard rumblings about a new fad diet that people colloquially call ‘juicing’ and I had thought about it and even discussed with some friends about actually trying it. I then saw a documentary (It is actually more like a feature length infomercial for a juicer that you can conveniently buy on the filmmakers website) called ‘Sick, Fat and Nearly Dead’ on Netflix and decided it was finally time to take the plunge.
I know Fad diets do not work in the long term and I have been against them, sometimes aggressively so, in the past – even ridiculing people that use them to make myself sound smart and clever. I understand that the weight I lose, if any will be little more than ‘water-weight’ and it will be put back on as soon as I stop the fad diet.
Juicing, I should probably explain, is basically fasting on nothing but juice made from vegetable and fruits for a number of days. The juice can be homemade using a juicer or bought ready made by a company. You can drink water and herbal tea but no solid food. Sound dangerous?
I had planned to do the fast for 10 days but then I remembered that I like beer and wanted to go to a brunch on Friday. So I have settled on two days (Wednesday and Thursday) of fasting, followed by a cheat day and then going 5 days with the option to extend it depending on how I feel.
This is not a long term fix, the reason that I am doing the fast is because I do not eat well at all and I want to try and change my lifestyle a bit. I also would welcome the kick start of losing a few pounds as it will be good motivation to keep going on a more standard diet of healthy eating and exercise.
The diet says I should use organic vegetables and fruits in the concoctions. I will not be doing this.
I hate the idea of organic foods, especially in the U.A.E as they are imported from the USA at a huge cost on pockets and, more importantly, on the environment through fuel consumption. It is all a bit pretentious as well, Organic food has the same amount of nutrients than the non-organic kind (Although I do have to concede that I think the point is that is has no pesticides or genetic mutations – which are not proven to be bad for you by the way) and you can get much more out of a single crop than you can with organic food. Organic foods are not sustainable at all and are a huge drain on water and space. The world is struggling to feed the 6 billion people we have and the population is expected to be around 9 billion by 2042. Genetically modified foods are the only way to feed us.
I know I am on a bit of a tangent here, but the fact that some people will not eat GM foods on grounds of principal really irritates me. There are people in the world that are starving and would kill for the technology to make food as efficient as we can do with GM crops.
People buy into organic produce (and they are buying, poor people cant afford the extra) just so they sound hip, organic and part of the in-crowd to their middle-middle class friends. Just so they can ask at restaurants, in a loud voice, if the tomatoes in the sauce of their gourmet, spinach and feta cheese stone-baked thin crust are organic. Or even worse, setting up a parent pressure group to ensure that their children’s school meals are organic. Or even lecture their less well-off acquaintances that it is worth the extra money. Fuck off!
Anyway – I am on a raw veg juice diet, another thing that gripes me (I will write about why elsewhere) to try and lose a few pounds. It is day 1 at 11.41am and, as you can probably tell, I am grouchy. All that has passed my lips today is a cup of juice, made with tomatoes (non-organic), carrots, orange, spinach, apples and pear. It was OK but I was craving my usual Snickers.
It is now 8pm and I am still hungry after drinking 2 more cups of juice. I have heard it gets easier, but all I can say is roll on Friday Brunch.
Wednesday 16 January 2013
Wednesday 9 January 2013
27
Warning – This is very much a personal blog post and it will be a bit sickly to most of you so I wouldn’t even bother. You may not be able to concentrate on the words due to the self-important sound of me slapping myself repeatedly on the back.
I recently turned 27 and every year I write down a few goals and ambitions for the up coming year. (This one is a bit special because it is shared with the world). I first want to talk about the year of being 26. It was a good one. I actually, for the first time ever, accomplished all of the things I wanted to this year and it makes me happy.
Goals for the year of being 26 (written a couple days after my 26th Birthday)
1. Teach abroad in Thailand
2. Have a boxing match
3. Record a song
4. Attempt stand up comedy
Obviously I didn’t achieve specifically the first one, but I am still working abroad in Abu Dhabi which is close enough, I went on holiday to Thailand though at the end of the year so that kind of makes up for it.
The fine print of ‘attempt stand up’ was actually to do 100 gigs. I actually only did 2 but I still think it counts as I attempted it.
I did the boxing on the 14th December and I recorded vocals for two dance songs with my friend in March/April.
Usually on birthdays I am a bit sad that I am getting old and think I could’ve done so much better with the previous years, but sat in my free apartment in Abu Dhabi, listening to Kid Rock and having just booked front row tickets to a Kanye West concert later this month, I think I am doing OK, for a 27 year old.
I hope that 27 is as fruitful as 26 but my goals are going to be a bit more challenging this year.
They are (In order of importance)
1. Stop smoking
I have wanted to stop for so long and it has seemed impossible, I don’t really even enjoy it, it makes me smell and I have to jump start my lungs in the morning with a coughing fit.
What will make this harder in Abu Dhabi is that fags are cheap (£2 a box) and you can smoke indoors. This will no doubt be my hardest goal I have ever tried and I anticipate at least a couple of attempts, but, by the end of the year, I hope to have stopped!
2. Get a six-pack
The six-pack is just part of it but it gives a real goal to aim for. This is not as important as giving up smoking, but it gives me something to aim for and maybe take my mind off nicotine.
3. Go skydiving
4. Learn to sing again (with a smoke free voice) and start a band – Play a couple of gigs.
Overall I think the list seems more achievable than last year (apart from the smoking) so I have my fingers crossed.
I recently turned 27 and every year I write down a few goals and ambitions for the up coming year. (This one is a bit special because it is shared with the world). I first want to talk about the year of being 26. It was a good one. I actually, for the first time ever, accomplished all of the things I wanted to this year and it makes me happy.
Goals for the year of being 26 (written a couple days after my 26th Birthday)
1. Teach abroad in Thailand
2. Have a boxing match
3. Record a song
4. Attempt stand up comedy
Obviously I didn’t achieve specifically the first one, but I am still working abroad in Abu Dhabi which is close enough, I went on holiday to Thailand though at the end of the year so that kind of makes up for it.
The fine print of ‘attempt stand up’ was actually to do 100 gigs. I actually only did 2 but I still think it counts as I attempted it.
I did the boxing on the 14th December and I recorded vocals for two dance songs with my friend in March/April.
Usually on birthdays I am a bit sad that I am getting old and think I could’ve done so much better with the previous years, but sat in my free apartment in Abu Dhabi, listening to Kid Rock and having just booked front row tickets to a Kanye West concert later this month, I think I am doing OK, for a 27 year old.
I hope that 27 is as fruitful as 26 but my goals are going to be a bit more challenging this year.
They are (In order of importance)
1. Stop smoking
I have wanted to stop for so long and it has seemed impossible, I don’t really even enjoy it, it makes me smell and I have to jump start my lungs in the morning with a coughing fit.
What will make this harder in Abu Dhabi is that fags are cheap (£2 a box) and you can smoke indoors. This will no doubt be my hardest goal I have ever tried and I anticipate at least a couple of attempts, but, by the end of the year, I hope to have stopped!
2. Get a six-pack
The six-pack is just part of it but it gives a real goal to aim for. This is not as important as giving up smoking, but it gives me something to aim for and maybe take my mind off nicotine.
3. Go skydiving
4. Learn to sing again (with a smoke free voice) and start a band – Play a couple of gigs.
Overall I think the list seems more achievable than last year (apart from the smoking) so I have my fingers crossed.
Sunday 6 January 2013
Malaysian Massage
I have come back from my trip with memories to last a little while, some photos that my travel companions took and a sore liver. I didn’t take a camera myself because I keep losing them on nights out (2 in the last 4 months) and I will try to describe the holiday, to my future self and anybody that happens upon this post, in words.
Of course there is a lot of things to write about but the most significant moments happened, or I was reminded of them, on a masseuses table.
I had never had a massage before from a qualified professional as I found them to be too awkward and a bit too close to prostitution in the way that you are paying someone to touch you that wouldn’t do it for free. (More on this later)
I gave in on this trip though because my friend was getting one as well and with all moralistic judgements, its not as bad if someone else is doing it too.
Massages are not relaxing; I found this out pretty much as soon as I entered the parlour (its also noteworthy that ‘parlour’ has become synonymous with ‘brothel’) when we were told to take our shoes off and wait and we realised that we were probably going to be getting a couples massage – in the same room. This is awkward squared.
I will run down the massage in key stages.
It seems the first stage is – White Guilt.
The first thing that happened is that we were lead into a room that had been decked out to look like an Arabian cave (flowing colourful curtains, xylophone music) and told to sit down. Two young Malaysian ladies walked in with wooden bowls of water and put our feet in them.
Now it felt weird enough sat there with our feet in a little bath but it got a whole lot worse when they started washing our feet in them. I don’t know if it is just me that feels this way, but when I am visiting a new country where the locals are less well off than I am, I feel a slight bit guilty when they are washing sand off my feet, on their knees, while I am towering above them in what closely resembles a throne.
This was one of the reasons I do not get massages in England (or Abu Dhabi). When you look through the window (and I’m talking pedicures here because that is the closest thing to having your feet washed I suppose) you see western women sat up in recliner seats; reading their books and gossiping about their colleagues and neighbours. At their feet are an army of (usually) eastern (usually) women literally on their hands and knees, elbow deep in smelly foot water.
This was the feeling at the start of my massage – It was about to get worse…
Other notes on white guilt
1. Arguing with a povety ridden tuk-tuk driver over 50 baht (A quid)
2. Getting fustrated with young people asking me for money to help them buy books for school. (It may be a con, I know, but hell, it was a dollar, and they were kids)
3. Having doors help open for me when I went to the intercontinental hotel for Christmas Eve by what was probably a veterent of the terrible, Pol Pot war. (Everybody that is over 40 and Cambodian will remember this time and will have been on one of the two sides)
This leads me to stage two… Humiliation
After the regal footbath we were lead into a room and told to get ready. Already my heart started pounding, as I hate to get changed even in a men only locker room. I have no idea why because I will skinny dip or even streak at the drop of a hat, just something about changing rooms. Anyway, getting changed in front of a girl I am not going to have sex with is a nightmare for me.
It got much worse though when we were handed a little see-through sealed bag and told in broken English ‘change – wear this’
I opened the packet to find a little pair of panties that can only be described as a cross between see-through lingerie and granny pants. Once again I was mortified and politely asked my friend to turn around. She did, albeit reluctantly – the pervert!
I hurried to the table with a hole in the top (for your face apparently) and lay down with a hand towel hurriedly covering my modesty.
Stage 3 – Tension
As I gazed through my face sized peep hole all I could see were some manicured, flip-flop sheathed toes pacing around. I then heard a squeeze of oil and then slimy hands on my back.
The first part of the massage was ok, it was kinda nice actually once I had gotten over the guilt and humiliation. But as this was a tandem massage I heard what was happening to my buddy on the next table, and it didn’t sound pretty.
It was a noise of someone being beat up, repetitive slaps and thuds and I couldn’t lift my head to see what was happening, my whole body tensed up as I knew I was next.
Luckily, it just sounded bad and was actually an OK feeling.
Stage 4 – Penis Problems
That is plural yes. Twice my penis played up during the course of this hour long tandem couple massage. Really the first problem should have prevented the second out of sheer embarrassment but we all know what cocks are like. Unpredictable!
I had rolled onto my back to get the second part of my massage (Thankfully, they held up a towel so I could roll over without my friend seeing my frilly panties. Another thing they did, which I thought was merciful was that they put a small towel over my eyes so it avoided eye contact between the masseuse and myself.)
And was relaxing when I felt a, very gentle, hand touch my penis and then tuck it back inside the panties. I was mortified. Now I realise that this sounds like I am bragging about my manhood but I will tell you now that I am more of a grower than a shower and it is actually the panties’ fault for being tiny and baggy at the same time.
Honestly I have never been so embarrassed in my life, all I could do was muffle a ‘sorry’ and try to forget about it.
I wish this were the worse that happened.
Towards the end of the massage, I felt the unmistakable feeling of becoming aroused. I fought it, but the more I fought it the worst it became. It was like at a school assembly when the announcements are made at the end and you get a boner just as we, the students, had to stand up and leave. (I was so happy for my backpack in them moments) Or when, at the end of a car journey, and you know you have to get out soon and a hard on just sneaks up on you and once again, you either have to play for time of put you hands in your pockets to hide it as much as you can.
This was like that but with absolutely nowhere to hide, and to be brutally honest, which I always try to be, it turned me on a little that there was nothing I could do and was trying to stop it. It became a catch 22 upward spiral of biology and circumstance.
I felt like saying ‘well, what are you going to do about that then?’ but I didn’t, I just felt the stares that must have being going in my boner's direction and heard a little giggle from my friend’s masseuse (remember there were 4 people in the room) that I hope was about the circumstance and not the size.
As I left the room they were all having a little joke in Malaysian and looking at me. I was so embarrassed.
All in all though I enjoyed my first massage experience.
The rest of the trip was incredible and I had a great time but I am not very good about writing about happiness so I will bullet point some highlights.
• We went on a boat trip and had the whole boat to ourselves because no one else booked on it that day. Even though there were only three of us, they ran out of beer and had to borrow tsome from another boat – It usually holds 30 people.
• We sung Gangnam style and other various karaoke tunes at the top of our voices in a free, private booth – shortly to be joined by about 6 Malaysians who wanted to sing Psy’s song with us.
• We did handstands on the beach
• I will say as little about Cambodia as possible
• We saw a ping-pong show that was truly eye-opening.
• I didn’t see any naked ladyboys but it was fun trying to spot them on the street.
• Didn’t get a happy ending massage (although, morally, I cant see it in much of a different light to having a massage, its still somebody touching you to make you feel good for money, just on that forbidden (why?) 1 percent.
• Went to a make-shift full moon party as the boast were cancelled (this after a 19hour boat and bus trip across Thailand)
• Rode a cable car and got very scared as it had minor turbulence.
• Saw a couple of temples
• Drunk beer and ate amazing food on the beach
• Met some wonderful Australians ☺
• Stood on a crab and it drew blood
And most importantly…
I avoided coming into contact with any huge bugs – although I did see a massive lizard!
Oh, and I won my boxing match! I may reflect on that at a later date but better for you to watch the video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ki25ZfU5gI
Of course there is a lot of things to write about but the most significant moments happened, or I was reminded of them, on a masseuses table.
I had never had a massage before from a qualified professional as I found them to be too awkward and a bit too close to prostitution in the way that you are paying someone to touch you that wouldn’t do it for free. (More on this later)
I gave in on this trip though because my friend was getting one as well and with all moralistic judgements, its not as bad if someone else is doing it too.
Massages are not relaxing; I found this out pretty much as soon as I entered the parlour (its also noteworthy that ‘parlour’ has become synonymous with ‘brothel’) when we were told to take our shoes off and wait and we realised that we were probably going to be getting a couples massage – in the same room. This is awkward squared.
I will run down the massage in key stages.
It seems the first stage is – White Guilt.
The first thing that happened is that we were lead into a room that had been decked out to look like an Arabian cave (flowing colourful curtains, xylophone music) and told to sit down. Two young Malaysian ladies walked in with wooden bowls of water and put our feet in them.
Now it felt weird enough sat there with our feet in a little bath but it got a whole lot worse when they started washing our feet in them. I don’t know if it is just me that feels this way, but when I am visiting a new country where the locals are less well off than I am, I feel a slight bit guilty when they are washing sand off my feet, on their knees, while I am towering above them in what closely resembles a throne.
This was one of the reasons I do not get massages in England (or Abu Dhabi). When you look through the window (and I’m talking pedicures here because that is the closest thing to having your feet washed I suppose) you see western women sat up in recliner seats; reading their books and gossiping about their colleagues and neighbours. At their feet are an army of (usually) eastern (usually) women literally on their hands and knees, elbow deep in smelly foot water.
This was the feeling at the start of my massage – It was about to get worse…
Other notes on white guilt
1. Arguing with a povety ridden tuk-tuk driver over 50 baht (A quid)
2. Getting fustrated with young people asking me for money to help them buy books for school. (It may be a con, I know, but hell, it was a dollar, and they were kids)
3. Having doors help open for me when I went to the intercontinental hotel for Christmas Eve by what was probably a veterent of the terrible, Pol Pot war. (Everybody that is over 40 and Cambodian will remember this time and will have been on one of the two sides)
This leads me to stage two… Humiliation
After the regal footbath we were lead into a room and told to get ready. Already my heart started pounding, as I hate to get changed even in a men only locker room. I have no idea why because I will skinny dip or even streak at the drop of a hat, just something about changing rooms. Anyway, getting changed in front of a girl I am not going to have sex with is a nightmare for me.
It got much worse though when we were handed a little see-through sealed bag and told in broken English ‘change – wear this’
I opened the packet to find a little pair of panties that can only be described as a cross between see-through lingerie and granny pants. Once again I was mortified and politely asked my friend to turn around. She did, albeit reluctantly – the pervert!
I hurried to the table with a hole in the top (for your face apparently) and lay down with a hand towel hurriedly covering my modesty.
Stage 3 – Tension
As I gazed through my face sized peep hole all I could see were some manicured, flip-flop sheathed toes pacing around. I then heard a squeeze of oil and then slimy hands on my back.
The first part of the massage was ok, it was kinda nice actually once I had gotten over the guilt and humiliation. But as this was a tandem massage I heard what was happening to my buddy on the next table, and it didn’t sound pretty.
It was a noise of someone being beat up, repetitive slaps and thuds and I couldn’t lift my head to see what was happening, my whole body tensed up as I knew I was next.
Luckily, it just sounded bad and was actually an OK feeling.
Stage 4 – Penis Problems
That is plural yes. Twice my penis played up during the course of this hour long tandem couple massage. Really the first problem should have prevented the second out of sheer embarrassment but we all know what cocks are like. Unpredictable!
I had rolled onto my back to get the second part of my massage (Thankfully, they held up a towel so I could roll over without my friend seeing my frilly panties. Another thing they did, which I thought was merciful was that they put a small towel over my eyes so it avoided eye contact between the masseuse and myself.)
And was relaxing when I felt a, very gentle, hand touch my penis and then tuck it back inside the panties. I was mortified. Now I realise that this sounds like I am bragging about my manhood but I will tell you now that I am more of a grower than a shower and it is actually the panties’ fault for being tiny and baggy at the same time.
Honestly I have never been so embarrassed in my life, all I could do was muffle a ‘sorry’ and try to forget about it.
I wish this were the worse that happened.
Towards the end of the massage, I felt the unmistakable feeling of becoming aroused. I fought it, but the more I fought it the worst it became. It was like at a school assembly when the announcements are made at the end and you get a boner just as we, the students, had to stand up and leave. (I was so happy for my backpack in them moments) Or when, at the end of a car journey, and you know you have to get out soon and a hard on just sneaks up on you and once again, you either have to play for time of put you hands in your pockets to hide it as much as you can.
This was like that but with absolutely nowhere to hide, and to be brutally honest, which I always try to be, it turned me on a little that there was nothing I could do and was trying to stop it. It became a catch 22 upward spiral of biology and circumstance.
I felt like saying ‘well, what are you going to do about that then?’ but I didn’t, I just felt the stares that must have being going in my boner's direction and heard a little giggle from my friend’s masseuse (remember there were 4 people in the room) that I hope was about the circumstance and not the size.
As I left the room they were all having a little joke in Malaysian and looking at me. I was so embarrassed.
All in all though I enjoyed my first massage experience.
The rest of the trip was incredible and I had a great time but I am not very good about writing about happiness so I will bullet point some highlights.
• We went on a boat trip and had the whole boat to ourselves because no one else booked on it that day. Even though there were only three of us, they ran out of beer and had to borrow tsome from another boat – It usually holds 30 people.
• We sung Gangnam style and other various karaoke tunes at the top of our voices in a free, private booth – shortly to be joined by about 6 Malaysians who wanted to sing Psy’s song with us.
• We did handstands on the beach
• I will say as little about Cambodia as possible
• We saw a ping-pong show that was truly eye-opening.
• I didn’t see any naked ladyboys but it was fun trying to spot them on the street.
• Didn’t get a happy ending massage (although, morally, I cant see it in much of a different light to having a massage, its still somebody touching you to make you feel good for money, just on that forbidden (why?) 1 percent.
• Went to a make-shift full moon party as the boast were cancelled (this after a 19hour boat and bus trip across Thailand)
• Rode a cable car and got very scared as it had minor turbulence.
• Saw a couple of temples
• Drunk beer and ate amazing food on the beach
• Met some wonderful Australians ☺
• Stood on a crab and it drew blood
And most importantly…
I avoided coming into contact with any huge bugs – although I did see a massive lizard!
Oh, and I won my boxing match! I may reflect on that at a later date but better for you to watch the video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ki25ZfU5gI
Friday 9 November 2012
Is this Gay? (Notes from an Abu Dhabi barbershop)
Today I went to get my hair cut, its not all I did but it’s the only thing I should write about to attempt in vain to keep you interested. (unless you want to hear about boxing training – Its going well, or tennis).
I haven’t had a hair cut since I have been in Abu Dhabi and today I bit the bullet. I hate getting my hair cut in England for the same reasons I hate going to lap-dancing clubs – The forced conversation.
I hate talking for the sake of talking and when someone is cutting my hair I prefer to just stare at myself in the mirror rather self consciously and not have to witter on about my next holiday or my plans for the weekend. (This is the same in lap dancing clubs, before you have the elusive lap dance, you have to go through the rigmarole of actually talking to the dancer. This is usually about exactly the same thing that a hair dresser will talk to you about – something I call a non-conversation)
Also you know you are going to head straight home to have a shower afterwards because of all the hair that falls down your back and itches like a mother-fucker.
These are not my only gripes, you have to book in advance and I hate having part of my day booked out in advance, in case something better comes along and I cant do it because I am getting my hair cut.
Also you have to tell a professional how to do his job when he asks what style you want – which inevitably leads to one of two, equally embarrassing, scenarios:
1. You awkwardly pull out a picture of David Beckham (or any other celebrity that you have printed off from the internet prior to coming) and mutter ‘like this please’ and then hang your head in shame as older and bigger boys have a stifled giggle. You know that they are thinking that ‘the best haircut in the world won’t make you look like that mate’ and you know that, you only printed off the picture so you don’t have to go through scenario 2:
2. ‘What can I do for you today?’ the barber asks. You're stunted, you can’t speak the lingo except for ‘short back and sides mate’ but you don’t want that. You don’t know what ‘blended on top means’ (you heard someone else say it last time you were in and it sounded cool) and you have no idea what to ask for without a picture from the internet.
It’s a minefield.
Today I walked into the barber and ill tell you now, it was great.(But weird)
First of all, the guy couldn’t speak English so that got the conversation worries out of the way. I then said ‘Short’ he said ‘all short’ I said yes. He then cut my hair.
Not only was there no conversation, they have personal televisions with English films showing. The barber puts an elasticized (or elasticated) robe around your neck, rather than a heavy clampy thing that they put on top of the cover in England, that stops all the hair getting down your back.
Anyway, now comes the problem of the title, after my hair (and beard) cut was finished he started massaging my head. It felt really good. I think he was getting a bit carried away though because the barber, while rigorously rubbing, scratching and massaging my head, was letting out little groans that sounded remarkably like sex noises.
This, albeit off putting for a second, was ok. Well, it wasn’t ok but the feeling of head (massage) was sufficient enough for me to not ask him to stop. I drifted off into a half-sleep.
Next thing I know, the chair was moving forwards little bits, almost a rocking sensation. Now, and I may be mistaken, I think he was rubbing his junk against the back of the chair while massaging my head. While making pleasurable little noises.
I STAYED!
He finished (not like that – I hope) and I paid, with a slightly to big of a tip, and left, relaxed and worried.
My hair, you don’t ask, is too short but I like it.
All joking aside, the service that people give here is great. It does border on annoying sometimes though (Sometimes I like to shop without an enthusiastic Asian ex-pat following me around a sports shop - and I mean a part-of-a-chain sports shop, not an independent one - trying to flog me everything I even glance at with cries of 'very nice sir, you want sir?')
At the hotels they fill up your drink before the last one is finished, and take away your plate the second you put down your fork.
At the supermarket there is a worker there that packs your shopping bag and carries it to the valeted car park (where they will wash your car while you shop for about 3 quid (5 dollars America :))
It is really something when you see up to five workers cleaning the ground of an underground carpark to make it look sparkly, when the windows of the skyscrapers are cleaned every day.
All this is because there is money here, they can afford to give these people jobs to do anything.
There is no recession in Abu Dhabi.
(There are issues with these jobs and the treatment of the workers but I will save that for another article)
I haven’t had a hair cut since I have been in Abu Dhabi and today I bit the bullet. I hate getting my hair cut in England for the same reasons I hate going to lap-dancing clubs – The forced conversation.
I hate talking for the sake of talking and when someone is cutting my hair I prefer to just stare at myself in the mirror rather self consciously and not have to witter on about my next holiday or my plans for the weekend. (This is the same in lap dancing clubs, before you have the elusive lap dance, you have to go through the rigmarole of actually talking to the dancer. This is usually about exactly the same thing that a hair dresser will talk to you about – something I call a non-conversation)
Also you know you are going to head straight home to have a shower afterwards because of all the hair that falls down your back and itches like a mother-fucker.
These are not my only gripes, you have to book in advance and I hate having part of my day booked out in advance, in case something better comes along and I cant do it because I am getting my hair cut.
Also you have to tell a professional how to do his job when he asks what style you want – which inevitably leads to one of two, equally embarrassing, scenarios:
1. You awkwardly pull out a picture of David Beckham (or any other celebrity that you have printed off from the internet prior to coming) and mutter ‘like this please’ and then hang your head in shame as older and bigger boys have a stifled giggle. You know that they are thinking that ‘the best haircut in the world won’t make you look like that mate’ and you know that, you only printed off the picture so you don’t have to go through scenario 2:
2. ‘What can I do for you today?’ the barber asks. You're stunted, you can’t speak the lingo except for ‘short back and sides mate’ but you don’t want that. You don’t know what ‘blended on top means’ (you heard someone else say it last time you were in and it sounded cool) and you have no idea what to ask for without a picture from the internet.
It’s a minefield.
Today I walked into the barber and ill tell you now, it was great.(But weird)
First of all, the guy couldn’t speak English so that got the conversation worries out of the way. I then said ‘Short’ he said ‘all short’ I said yes. He then cut my hair.
Not only was there no conversation, they have personal televisions with English films showing. The barber puts an elasticized (or elasticated) robe around your neck, rather than a heavy clampy thing that they put on top of the cover in England, that stops all the hair getting down your back.
Anyway, now comes the problem of the title, after my hair (and beard) cut was finished he started massaging my head. It felt really good. I think he was getting a bit carried away though because the barber, while rigorously rubbing, scratching and massaging my head, was letting out little groans that sounded remarkably like sex noises.
This, albeit off putting for a second, was ok. Well, it wasn’t ok but the feeling of head (massage) was sufficient enough for me to not ask him to stop. I drifted off into a half-sleep.
Next thing I know, the chair was moving forwards little bits, almost a rocking sensation. Now, and I may be mistaken, I think he was rubbing his junk against the back of the chair while massaging my head. While making pleasurable little noises.
I STAYED!
He finished (not like that – I hope) and I paid, with a slightly to big of a tip, and left, relaxed and worried.
My hair, you don’t ask, is too short but I like it.
All joking aside, the service that people give here is great. It does border on annoying sometimes though (Sometimes I like to shop without an enthusiastic Asian ex-pat following me around a sports shop - and I mean a part-of-a-chain sports shop, not an independent one - trying to flog me everything I even glance at with cries of 'very nice sir, you want sir?')
At the hotels they fill up your drink before the last one is finished, and take away your plate the second you put down your fork.
At the supermarket there is a worker there that packs your shopping bag and carries it to the valeted car park (where they will wash your car while you shop for about 3 quid (5 dollars America :))
It is really something when you see up to five workers cleaning the ground of an underground carpark to make it look sparkly, when the windows of the skyscrapers are cleaned every day.
All this is because there is money here, they can afford to give these people jobs to do anything.
There is no recession in Abu Dhabi.
(There are issues with these jobs and the treatment of the workers but I will save that for another article)
Monday 15 October 2012
Corporate Contender
It is actually happening. On the 14th of December 2012 I will step into an Olympic sized boxing ring and make my fighting debut. Yesterday I arrived home from work to find a message in my inbox from Michael Haddins (Owner of Haddin’s Gym) asking if I was still interested in joining the corporate contender programme and if I could come along to the gym tonight for the first session. I quickly cancelled my karaoke plans and made my way down there.
Corporate Contender is a bit like celebrity boxing in that you get put on an intensive, 9-week programme to learn the skill of boxing and get into fighting shape. At the end of the 9 week training course the contenders are put into a ring in a stadium, under lights, tables surrounding the ring, our own entrance music and ring announcer and even an entourage. We then fight against an opponent who has also trained for nine weeks for 3 rounds of 2 minutes.
Having grown up watching boxing at every opportunity, real and staged, this was an opportunity for me to live the dream of winning an actual boxing match of my own. (Don’t get it twisted, I am training to win, not to take part). There is no doubt in my mind that for the next 9 weeks I will be eating, sleeping and breathing boxing. I will be watching the Rocky films, back to back; I will be jumping up at the screen and fighting alongside DeNiro in raging bull. I will be looking up the training schedules of Christian Bale and Marky Mark for when they trained to star in the fighter.
Most importantly, I have already started to download the Sylvester Stallone reality TV show ‘The Contender’ and will be emulating their workouts and drills. I shall also be watching Ricky Gervais VS Ben Fogle fight (that Ricky won) as I think I will have the weight advantage, but not the speed, height, reach or fitness advantage. In this fight, I will no doubt be the Ricky!
This challenge is also going to mean a temporary but drastic change in lifestyle for me. This is exceptionally important as I know the other guys will be training hard. There is no better motivation for getting rid of my slightly, ok very, hedonistic lifestyle than the fact that I will get beat up in front of all my friends if I don’t.
As of today I will not be smoking any cigarettes, nor drinking any beer, nor eating any cake. I will not be getting seconds for dinner and I will not be taking money to school to buy Zatar. (an Arabic flatbread folded over green herbs – carb central). I will be training at least once a day and will not be going out drinking.
Those of you that know me know that this will be impossible for me under normal circumstances (or even extreme ones like this – MMA fighter anyone?) as I love drinking almost as much as I love smoking and junk food but now is the time. The way I will get through it is to keep thinking how hard my opponent is training.
As I walked into the first session at the gym I was visibly nervous (I was first there as I had to register) but luckily I had calmed down by the time others arrived as I didn’t want them getting the edge straight away. I tried to be as manly as possible, looking right at them as we shook hands meeting for the first time. (something that does not come naturally to me, but, as the saying goes, fake it until you make it)
There was a very small, but very real hint of tension in the gym until the organizer came over and broke it by proclaiming ‘look at you all measuring each other up, wondering who your opponent will be’. As this was so obviously true we laughed and relaxed a bit.
We had to go round the circle and introduce ourselves. I hate this as I always feel under pressure to say something funny, I don’t know why, but it always comes off as smarmy and for others it looks like I am trying too hard.
This time, being a bit more aware about how people should behave in these situations from watching others, I simply said my name (consciously trying to appear as confident as I could) then followed, a little self-deprecatingly, (Really need to stop trying to appeal to people) that I
‘was here to lose weight.’
Then I realized this looked weak so followed that up with
‘and truthfully, I just want a fight’
This made people laugh, albeit a little awkwardly, and I restrained myself from making further comment with a turn of my head to encourage the man sitting next to me to start his social torture.
Overall, I think it was a good showing, I think I conveyed a small amount of toughness (I accentuated the Manc accent for effect too, as I am always more intimidated when someone threatens me with an accent) that maybe made up for my body shape (fat – see picture).
The session itself was good, it tired me out but I wasn’t as out of puff as some of the guys there and I kept going hard until the end. Tomorrow we get our gloves and wraps and I think then it will become more real.
This is a picture of me now, taken just today (15th October 2012). I will be using this as motivation and every two weeks will take another one to compare.
One more thing, and I need your help with it. I need both a song to come out to the ring with and a boxing nickname. Suggestions below please!
Corporate Contender is a bit like celebrity boxing in that you get put on an intensive, 9-week programme to learn the skill of boxing and get into fighting shape. At the end of the 9 week training course the contenders are put into a ring in a stadium, under lights, tables surrounding the ring, our own entrance music and ring announcer and even an entourage. We then fight against an opponent who has also trained for nine weeks for 3 rounds of 2 minutes.
Having grown up watching boxing at every opportunity, real and staged, this was an opportunity for me to live the dream of winning an actual boxing match of my own. (Don’t get it twisted, I am training to win, not to take part). There is no doubt in my mind that for the next 9 weeks I will be eating, sleeping and breathing boxing. I will be watching the Rocky films, back to back; I will be jumping up at the screen and fighting alongside DeNiro in raging bull. I will be looking up the training schedules of Christian Bale and Marky Mark for when they trained to star in the fighter.
Most importantly, I have already started to download the Sylvester Stallone reality TV show ‘The Contender’ and will be emulating their workouts and drills. I shall also be watching Ricky Gervais VS Ben Fogle fight (that Ricky won) as I think I will have the weight advantage, but not the speed, height, reach or fitness advantage. In this fight, I will no doubt be the Ricky!
This challenge is also going to mean a temporary but drastic change in lifestyle for me. This is exceptionally important as I know the other guys will be training hard. There is no better motivation for getting rid of my slightly, ok very, hedonistic lifestyle than the fact that I will get beat up in front of all my friends if I don’t.
As of today I will not be smoking any cigarettes, nor drinking any beer, nor eating any cake. I will not be getting seconds for dinner and I will not be taking money to school to buy Zatar. (an Arabic flatbread folded over green herbs – carb central). I will be training at least once a day and will not be going out drinking.
Those of you that know me know that this will be impossible for me under normal circumstances (or even extreme ones like this – MMA fighter anyone?) as I love drinking almost as much as I love smoking and junk food but now is the time. The way I will get through it is to keep thinking how hard my opponent is training.
As I walked into the first session at the gym I was visibly nervous (I was first there as I had to register) but luckily I had calmed down by the time others arrived as I didn’t want them getting the edge straight away. I tried to be as manly as possible, looking right at them as we shook hands meeting for the first time. (something that does not come naturally to me, but, as the saying goes, fake it until you make it)
There was a very small, but very real hint of tension in the gym until the organizer came over and broke it by proclaiming ‘look at you all measuring each other up, wondering who your opponent will be’. As this was so obviously true we laughed and relaxed a bit.
We had to go round the circle and introduce ourselves. I hate this as I always feel under pressure to say something funny, I don’t know why, but it always comes off as smarmy and for others it looks like I am trying too hard.
This time, being a bit more aware about how people should behave in these situations from watching others, I simply said my name (consciously trying to appear as confident as I could) then followed, a little self-deprecatingly, (Really need to stop trying to appeal to people) that I
‘was here to lose weight.’
Then I realized this looked weak so followed that up with
‘and truthfully, I just want a fight’
This made people laugh, albeit a little awkwardly, and I restrained myself from making further comment with a turn of my head to encourage the man sitting next to me to start his social torture.
Overall, I think it was a good showing, I think I conveyed a small amount of toughness (I accentuated the Manc accent for effect too, as I am always more intimidated when someone threatens me with an accent) that maybe made up for my body shape (fat – see picture).
The session itself was good, it tired me out but I wasn’t as out of puff as some of the guys there and I kept going hard until the end. Tomorrow we get our gloves and wraps and I think then it will become more real.
This is a picture of me now, taken just today (15th October 2012). I will be using this as motivation and every two weeks will take another one to compare.
One more thing, and I need your help with it. I need both a song to come out to the ring with and a boxing nickname. Suggestions below please!
School
School is fine, and I will not bore you with stories. Instead, I will give a rundown of the differences between Abu Dhabi School life and that of England (and probably the US and Canada too)
1. The students are in charge
Never have I worked in a place where students have so much power and influence over the administration. A couple of times the students have asked for a new teacher and they got it. They can also request to leave early en-mass and they get it. It is worth noting that it is usually the Emirati students that get this privilege.
(Emiratis are the cream of the crop here and can basically do what they want, don’t get me wrong, they are very good people and also generous and hospitable – its just that they get preference, and it is their country)
2. Things change – frequently
My timetable has been changed at least 3 times a week since I arrived. I have even been transferred to a different school. There is a great fluidity here that keeps you on your toes and stops you from falling into a routine.
3. It is more relaxed
This is already changing and creeping in, but there is an absence of homework, not much monitoring of marking, only for formal assessment, no deadlines and an embracing of the saying ‘insha Allah’ (which I spoke about in a previous post). Students cheating? No problem, let them. There is an attitude here of that if the student wants to cheat, he/she will be found out eventually and they won’t get far. There is also the fact that if a child cheats in a test by looking at somebodies work, it is not actually cheating because he now knows the correct answer. I love it.
4. There is no martyrdom in the school amongst teachers
Everyone leaves when the bell goes with the students. Principal, administration and the teachers. If someone ever does stay behind and work they are met with almost unanimous suspicion. In England there is little solidarity between teachers (there is some mind) and for some, it almost seems like they want to be seen staying behind as it makes them look dedicated and a Martyr or education. I think if it takes somebody 4 hours after school to do something and it takes me 30 minutes, I should be the one that is seen as more professional. Arabic culture has a hierarchal priorities list with family, friends and religion all coming above work. If you need to leave early to pick up children or see your Father, nobody questions it.
5. The students, contrary to popular belief, and stories from other teachers, are well behaved.
I can’t talk for all students as I only teach grade 12 and 11 with a small experience with grade 10 at the previous school, but they are immaculately behaved.
( I do know that people that teach cycle 1 (Kindergarten – grade 5) have a much more difficult time dealing with ‘feral’ kids )
It is hard to teach the boys, don’t get me wrong, but there is little rudeness and no threatening or intimidating behavior to deal with like it can be in inner city schools in the UK. The main problem is talking – which is cultural and ingrained into them (even during assembly when the kids are quiet, the Arabic adults all speak loudly to, and over, each other while the kids are reading verses from the Qur’an) but there is nothing I can do about that.
The other issue is Laziness, but that isn’t a difference so I don’t need to talk about that – Kids everywhere can be lazy.
All in all I am enjoying my teaching experience and I would recommend it to anyone thinking of coming here to work. The money is great – not like in England!
1. The students are in charge
Never have I worked in a place where students have so much power and influence over the administration. A couple of times the students have asked for a new teacher and they got it. They can also request to leave early en-mass and they get it. It is worth noting that it is usually the Emirati students that get this privilege.
(Emiratis are the cream of the crop here and can basically do what they want, don’t get me wrong, they are very good people and also generous and hospitable – its just that they get preference, and it is their country)
2. Things change – frequently
My timetable has been changed at least 3 times a week since I arrived. I have even been transferred to a different school. There is a great fluidity here that keeps you on your toes and stops you from falling into a routine.
3. It is more relaxed
This is already changing and creeping in, but there is an absence of homework, not much monitoring of marking, only for formal assessment, no deadlines and an embracing of the saying ‘insha Allah’ (which I spoke about in a previous post). Students cheating? No problem, let them. There is an attitude here of that if the student wants to cheat, he/she will be found out eventually and they won’t get far. There is also the fact that if a child cheats in a test by looking at somebodies work, it is not actually cheating because he now knows the correct answer. I love it.
4. There is no martyrdom in the school amongst teachers
Everyone leaves when the bell goes with the students. Principal, administration and the teachers. If someone ever does stay behind and work they are met with almost unanimous suspicion. In England there is little solidarity between teachers (there is some mind) and for some, it almost seems like they want to be seen staying behind as it makes them look dedicated and a Martyr or education. I think if it takes somebody 4 hours after school to do something and it takes me 30 minutes, I should be the one that is seen as more professional. Arabic culture has a hierarchal priorities list with family, friends and religion all coming above work. If you need to leave early to pick up children or see your Father, nobody questions it.
5. The students, contrary to popular belief, and stories from other teachers, are well behaved.
I can’t talk for all students as I only teach grade 12 and 11 with a small experience with grade 10 at the previous school, but they are immaculately behaved.
( I do know that people that teach cycle 1 (Kindergarten – grade 5) have a much more difficult time dealing with ‘feral’ kids )
It is hard to teach the boys, don’t get me wrong, but there is little rudeness and no threatening or intimidating behavior to deal with like it can be in inner city schools in the UK. The main problem is talking – which is cultural and ingrained into them (even during assembly when the kids are quiet, the Arabic adults all speak loudly to, and over, each other while the kids are reading verses from the Qur’an) but there is nothing I can do about that.
The other issue is Laziness, but that isn’t a difference so I don’t need to talk about that – Kids everywhere can be lazy.
All in all I am enjoying my teaching experience and I would recommend it to anyone thinking of coming here to work. The money is great – not like in England!
Bragging much?
The Yas Hotel
This is a bit braggy so feel free to skip over this post
- We get free breakfast and lunch
- Every evening we can help ourselves from the 5 star buffet
- We can get our laundry done for free
- THE FORMULA ONE ABU DHABI TRACK GOES AROUND THE HOTEL
- We have been go karting there
- We have cycled around the F1 track
More Bragging
- I stayed a night in Atlantis Dubai after enjoying Dizzee Rascal at Sand dance.
- I visited the Aquaventure waterpark in Dubai (it has slides that go uphill)
- I am going to watch 50 Cent, Craig David, Nelly and duffy in concert next week.
This is a bit braggy so feel free to skip over this post
- We get free breakfast and lunch
- Every evening we can help ourselves from the 5 star buffet
- We can get our laundry done for free
- THE FORMULA ONE ABU DHABI TRACK GOES AROUND THE HOTEL
- We have been go karting there
- We have cycled around the F1 track
More Bragging
- I stayed a night in Atlantis Dubai after enjoying Dizzee Rascal at Sand dance.
- I visited the Aquaventure waterpark in Dubai (it has slides that go uphill)
- I am going to watch 50 Cent, Craig David, Nelly and duffy in concert next week.
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