New Year Ballade

Make the best of hogmanay -
it's never easy, but we try.
Should we drink the night away
or count the seconds as they fly
towards the bells that signify
the moment we've been waiting for
when we can raise the age-old cry -
another year, another war.

Send your sons into the fray.
No need to worry. We apply
elastic combat rules that say
only civilians have to die.
Geneva's dead and buried. Why

Season's Greetings, Everyone!

Paraglider is flying out tonight, with a view to getting home, snow permitting and courtesy of First Great Western train service, around noon on Christmas Eve. Season's Greetings to all Paranormal regulars and visitors, and if I don't 'see' you through the coming week, best wishes for a happy, healthy and Paranormal 2010.

Jesus, God and Santa Claus - one man's journey

When I was very young, God had a long white beard and lived in Heaven. Jesus had a shorter reddish-brown beard, long hair and a halo. Jesus and God seemed very nice, but not really in the same league as Santa Claus.

Santa and God could see us, all of us, all the time. They knew if we were being good or bad. Jesus's job was to watch us sleeping and make sure we were OK till the morning. Then, I

Searching for Sofas and More String Theory

Since installing the amazing Feedjit gadget in my sidebar, I've been fascinated at what search strings are leading visitors to the Paranormal. I'm not talking about my regulars (welcome!) who mostly come direct or from the UAE Community, but those random hits, courtesy of Google, in response to search queries. A recent post, Dangerous things, sofas, seems to attract sofa-searchers from the

Aliens land in Doha

Reported sightings near the Corniche of giant brown ants or large sea-crabs (descriptions vary) have been under investigation for some weeks. Perhaps coincidentally, these sightings follow a discredited claim from a Stufital customer to have seen a bright object in the shape of an octopus hovering somewhere over Mushereib. However, this appears to have been the full moon through the bottom of an

On the Breaking of Bonds

What's best about living abroad is the range and change of people we meet. It's a truism that every lost soul at the bar has a story to tell. That applies every bit as much in the local back home as it does in Stufital or Paranormal. The difference is in the stories, which tend to be more extreme, adventurous or simply bizarre among ex-pats. I suppose it's to be expected that people who have

The King is Dead

The King of Fashion and, just along the street, the King of Shoes, are no more. Casualties of the Heart of Doha project, these venerable emporia have gone the way of the dodo, in the path of the slum-hungry bulldozers. A shame, really. No doubt a shop or two will feature in the new Heart, but will they have doors to the street? Will they have brash, friendly names? And most of all, will they

Muntazah, Maya and the Mad Dash Home

In 2002, I celebrated my 50th birthday on the 25th floor of a tower block on Shaikh Zayed Road. It wasn't my party. In fact it was an unlikely annual event to mark Finnish Independence Day and Burns Night (of which it was neither). I remember thinking it was a strange place for a 'Westie Coastie' Scottish kid to have ended up. After all, my brother and I had accepted, 45 years previously, that

Who moved my Cheese?

Now that all the great and good bloggers, journalists, reporters and general pundits have wrung every last drop of spin from Dubai's little local difficulty, the time is right for a considered and serious evaluation from the intellectual wasteland that is the Paranormal Hotel. Anyone who saw it coming must have realised they couldn't do anything about it except talk, so no change there. Anyone

Crab Sexing by the Sea

There are a few things to do in Doha after all, some of them quite diverting, even for those of us with a built-in allergy to five star hotels and shopping malls. The Museum of Islamic Art is very well worth a visit, for the splendid modern architecture almost as much as for the exhibits. Of course, once or twice a year is probably as often as anyone visits the same museum, which leaves a few

Things to do in Doha

next?

Urinal Etiquette for Dummies

Maybe it's a cultural thing, but basic urinal etiquette, as generally understood in Western Europe and (parts of) USA, appears still to be a mystery in Qatar, at least in some quarters. In the spirit of public service and to give something back to the community, here is Paraglider's Code of Urinal Etiquette. Like all good Codes, it is in two parts. Part 1, The Axiom, sets out the single

Dangerous things, sofas

So, the truck laden with sofas ploughs straight into the 4x4 that tried to turn left across his bow. Unusually, there was no screech of locked tyres and no blaring horn to herald the event. Maybe because the trucks brakes and horn didn't work, or maybe the 4x4 just assumed he'd get away with it. The first I heard from my first floor apartment was the dull thump of the collision. It solved the

Paraglider - Grandfather!!

Paraglider is proud to announce the arrival last night of his grandchild no 2 and grandson no 1, to his wonderful daughter and son-in-law, in Worcester Royal Infirmary. Mother and Baby (all 8lb 11oz of him, that's 4 kilos) doing well.

Yas Island Rotana - 'Right', said Fred

 Whoever designed the Pool Bar in Yas Island Rotana (Abu Dhabi) must have lived in Bedrock in a past life, with Fred, Barney, Wilma and Betty. It is inconceivable that the similarity to the Flintstones' bar is accidental. And, whoever you are, well done, mate! To find a touch of humour in a five star hotel is rare indeed. I bet you thought no-one would find you out. But don't worry. Your secret

Le Mont St Michel rebuilt in the Heart of Doha

The Heart of Doha project is now well underway. An area of a few square miles centered on the Royal Palace is being razed to the ground in a veritable orgy of demolition. But is it Art? This magnificent recreation of Normandy's le Mont St Michel is at least as close to the original as our much vaunted mock Venice in Villagio Mall. But visit soon. As a piece of sculpture it promises to be as

Lund, Skåne Län

It would be surprising in the extreme if you opened an atlas or gazetteer at random to hit on a place that was perfect in every way. Or even a place that you'd heard of before. Lund, Skåne Län, for example, a place no-one can ever have heard of, has a fine Scandinavian ring about it and for much of the year probably has a pleasanter climate than Dubai or Doha, but just how cold does it get in the

300,000 Tons of High Speed Rubbish

Qatar is launching yet another road safety campaign because near daily fatalities are considered bad for health or image or something. Meanwhile, we continue to import new cars at the rate of 10,000 per month. The typical car here is the Land Cruiser. This weighs in at 5,690 lbs or 2.5 tons. This suggests strongly that 10,000 of them will weigh 25,000 tons, while a whole year's supply, if we

Mirrors, Mirrors, on the Ball

What's good and bad about Engineering is that there's something new to learn every day. The good is that it can be interesting; the bad is that it's hard work keeping ahead of the game. So I'm always fascinated to meet people with easy jobs, in case one day I wake up tired of challenges and decide to seek a change.
Which brings me to Tony, a recent bar acquaintance. I asked him if he was in

Doha, by Shanks's Pony

Yesterday evening I finished work about half an hour later than usual, so when I called Mr Harun's private taxi he was already fully booked.
You waiting five minutes I am calling my brother coming.
But I declined. I've lived here long enough to know that taxi drivers' brothers hardly ever come, least of all in five minutes. So, the options were, start phoning around alternatives in the certain

Death to Slaka!

The time has come, dear reader, to kill off the Slaka joke and revert to Qatar when referring to this adopted home from home in the desert. Why? Because I've been playing with a new widget called Feedjit (surely only a Scot could have come up with that name). And among other things, it tells me what visitors to the site have been googling for. Needless to say, only a few aging Malcolm Bradbury

Paul Street, E23

High on the wall, a leather cap. The kind
John Lennon liked to wear, its gloss of black
catching the bare bulb glare. This room is red,
blood red. The ceiling, white. The naked floor
stretches rough pine between cracked skirting boards.
A mobile phone, kingfisher blue, proclaims
its presence with a triad, soh mi doh,
repeated twice before I cross the room
to comfort it, holding its sleek cool

Dropout Nation - your invitation

A few like-minded bloggers and hub-authors, Paraglider among them, have set up a cooperative blog, Dropout Nation, where we are exploring alternatives to 'recovering' from the Global recession by simply clawing our way back to the mess we had before. Our principles are: Awareness, Conviviality, non-Consumerism, Pacifism and Expectation. The Paranormal hotel isn't geared up to discuss such

Three Girls to Boot

Girl singers are not all equal. And just as some have higher or sweeter voices than others, it's not uncommon to find that some are longer than others, measured from head to foot. Normally, the length of a girl singer is a minor consideration, but apparently not in Stufital's Le Club, where there appears to be a requirement for all three girls' voices to emanate from mouths at the same vertical

Yellow Bus Blues

I've often wondered if many Americans know where some of their pensioned off school buses end up? Half-way round the World in Slaka, that's where, for a new lease of life as workers' transport. They're not refurbished in any way. Many still have the school name painted on the back and sides. Some still sport the stop sign. In not a few, the upholstery is worn through to the bare plywood. Balding

Viva MacSween - Haggis in Slaka!

This is a public service announcement especially aimed at ex-pat Scots in Slaka, though others are recommended also to profit from it: Haggis may be obtained from the MegaMart behind the Ramada complex. And not just any haggis. MacSween's, the real deal. A little overpriced of course, but it's come a long way from home. So far, I've been unable to find a source of neeps (swede turnips), the

Beth Tweddle, 1 - Football, 0

Last night, a few of us were watching, with more or less attention, the World Gymnastics Championships, on the big screen in Stufital Old Manger. Beth Tweddle taking gold for Britain in the floor exercise (Go Beth!) was an added bonus. Then, perhaps at someone's request, but without asking anyone else, Mr Syria changed the channel. To football. Local football. And not even a game of football.

Which passeth all understanding

The different interpretations of Slaka's drink laws are to be marvelled at. Twelfth floor Stufital has two doorways. Through one, you may pass freely, sit down and order anything you like from the bar and the kitchen. Through the other, you may pass only after depositing your ID or passport with the doorman. Once inside, your every movement is monitored by security cameras. But you can ignore

Good, Fast, Cheap?

Some industries might be different, but in mine, the golden rule governing any project is the one we call Good-Fast-Cheap. It states simply, you can have any two out of the three, but you can't have them all. You want the best, by next Tuesday? No problem but it's going to cost you. You're on a tight budget but you need this immediately. Easy, but don't expect it to work. You need state of the

Octoberfest hits Doha

The Intercon Octoberfest was pretty good. Expensive, at 200 QAR per head. This included food and the entertainment, but no drinks. And the drinks weren't cheap, at 100 QAR for a stein (1 litre Bavarian style beer glass). Having said that, the beer was specially imported from Germany for the occasion and the food, though pork free, was varied and abundant. Being persnickety, I'd say that the band

First, dig the hole...

then fall into it. I came across this scuppered excavator in the environs of Muntazah Park this morning. Work was continuing, by pick and shovel, while the foreman and the unfortunate driver engaged in animated discussion with much spitting and waving of hands, none of which seemed likely to effect the rescue of the hapless digger. Not a lot more to say about that.
Tonight will be a change of

Cher is (still) sad

As promised, two posts ago, I checked out the Cher-is-sad last night. Not much to report. The refurb is certainly an improvement, but more of a face-lift than a reincarnation, rather like Cher herself, I suppose. It's still a place where you'd better take your own company because you'll find none there. It would help if they drew a light coloured drape across the black gaping maw of the empty

When Don Quixote met Ella Gow

The talk soon came around to dancing. His pantaloons were incongruous but, in her green drndl hand-me-down, she herself was scarcely a model of elegance. None of which seemed to matter as, seamlessly, they moved from talk to practice. Well, more of a lesson, if truth be told, as Ella, till now, had only read of the Pavane. The Don’s grace and courtly manners were matched only by her guileless

The Laughter Factory

I've never been a great fan of stand-up comedy, but with nothing else planned for last night and the sudden offer of an unwanted ticket, it seemed a good idea to check out the Laughter Factory event, a monthly occurrence in Slaka Ramada's Cher-is-sad bar. Of the three performers, one I liked, one I quite liked and one I didn't quite, which is probably par for the course. But what I couldn't help

Paraglider - Live at Stufital

Live indeed, but now over a year ago. This major event was previously described here. Shortly after this inaugural performance, Paraglider's partner in crime (against good taste), Mr G, shot off to Japan, not to return until after Stufital had stopped hosting live music and removed stage, lights, sound system and most of their customers. As it seems unlikely that a repeat performance is

Passport Regained

So, my tall, friendly Moroccan took one look at the typescript and said: right letter, wrong form. Then he said something that set him apart from the rest of Slaka officialdom: Wait here while I go to the typing pool and have it changed for you! What would have taken me another hour, took him five minutes, and after another five I was heading back to the Police Station, where they took the form

Passport Lost

When you lose your (British) passport in Slaka, you phone the Embassy who give very clear instructions: report the loss at Capital Police Station. They will make out a report form that you will need for renewing your visa. Then download and complete a C1 Passport Application Form. Bring the form, two photographs (one of them countersigned) and the fee to the Embassy. Renewal takes ten working

Eyes right!

Never let it be said that I don't take you to the most interesting places. Here we are in the gents lavatory in that well-known Sports Bar adjacent to the aptly named Mustafawi. The management, in their wisdom, have installed a flat-screen TV, so that if you are caught short in the middle of a cup final, you needn't miss any of the action while performing at the porcelain. This is all well and

The Devil on the Shoulder

It's unlikely that many Paranormal Hotel readers are familiar with Oor Wullie, a Scottish cartoon character who's featured in the Sunday Post for more that sixty years. In moments of temptation, for example whether or not to knock PC Murdoch's helmet off with his 'catty', we'd sometimes see his demon on one shoulder, saying dae it Wullie and an angel on the other, saying no, no, William.

If you've got it...

 flaunt it! An ice cube is not to be sneezed at. Or over, if it is a communal one, to be returned for reissue after a spot of localised cooling. That aside, we were all wondering what changes the reopening of Stufital would bring. Not a lot. Upstairs they've revarnished the table tops. Downstairs in Le Club, they've repainted them (white). And that's about it. The rumour of reintroducing live

Omar Khayyam had the Right Idea

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of SpringThe Winter Garment of Repentance fling:The Bird of Time has but a little wayTo fly---and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.We are here for a short time. What is the use of wallowing in repentance? Especially in repentance of imaginary 'sins' that have harmed no-one.Time spent being miserable, or making others miserable, is time wasted. Instead of worrying

Second Quarter

There's a place not to stand or sit, in Jockey's, at this time of year when the humidity is high. And that's around the two high tables just inside the door, officially known as Tossers' Corner, for reasons lost in the mists of time (unless someone has the answer?) At opening time (7:30 during Ramadan) it's no problem, but after the AC has been running for an hour or so, large cold drips start

Shaken, not stilled

The Paranormal Hotel blog, with its predecessor Helga's Chickens (which it replaced after a year) has now been on-line for four years. In the early days, there was a note in the blog sidebar - comments are welcome, that stay within the bounds of respectful levity. Tongue-in-cheek, of course, but I didn't want anyone slagging off the girls that make the Para what it is. One only has to cross the

First Quarter

To mark the first quarter of Ramadan, maybe just to have a good meal, or possibly even because walking to Stufital on a Thursday evening is an ingrained behaviour pattern, a hot and damp Paraglider found himself in La Villa Mediterranean restaurant, where he was welcomed by the newly returned Alex, tall, slim and gentlemanly as ever. Alex's return to the fold had been rumoured as long ago as last

Muntazah Park

I have the good fortune to live beside two of Doha's landmarks, the Dubiyani Restaurant and Al Muntazah Park. The Dubiyani is a name not known to many, but for years it has gone by its unofficial name, Taxi Hotel. It's not a hotel of course. and at most it can seat ten people, but the great thing is, most of them are taxi drivers. So, from anywhere in the city Taxi Hotel is all the directions I

As you were

Avid watchers of the countdown monitor (on the right) will have noticed that it has magically jumped back from 99% to 80%. This has something to do with Paraglider's acceptance of one more one-year contract in Doha. Not without regret. The prospect of returning to Dubai was appealing. But the brief fact-finding mission was none too encouraging. Not too many green shoots in that particular desert.

Helga sighted, seated in state

Paraglider's whim last night found him in Waggleworms, where the ridiculously named but very talented Sandsessions still hold court every night. Alan A has changed his black trilby for a white golf cap (not, I'm pleased to report, a baseball cap) and is as flamboyant as ever. The back line seemed unchanged, but the three girl singers are newer than my last visit. All fine, but Jee set a standard

No Fire, no Ice - no good

In the spirit of thoroughness, as a tour guide, Paraglider suggested rounding off the evening's sightseeing with a last pint in Paranormal's Fire & Ice club. The tour, thus far, had encompassed Four Pints Charlatan, Pork International and the Astonishing. Mr New York being in agreement, stairs were climbed only to discover Fire & Ice quenched, melted or both, and its place taken by yet another

Creeping Astorification

Noon till late opening is a thing of the Paranormal's past, or so it would appear. There's now an imposed two-hour closed period, from four to six. And with its introduction, the smarter girls have picked up a new script - what are you doing for the next two hours? Not so easy to answer, at least not convincingly - I thought I'd just take a walk down by the Creek. Yes, sure, in the searing August

A Visitation

Today, Paraglider travels from Doha to Dubai and will be in the Paranormal by mid afternoon whence hordes of devoted fans and autograph hunters will stay away in droves. He may be recognised by his dissimilarity to the African woodcarving on the left. And for the rest of this week, while his posts may not rise to the giddy heights of interesting or relevant, at least they will emanate from the

Le Club

Thirty-five riyals, a valid ID and the wherewithal to buy two drinks on your first visit is all it takes to secure one of these sought after membership cards. The card lets you into Le Club. It doesn't let you bring a guest, even if you swear on your mother's grave to take full responsibility should said guest break the unwritten law or even occupy one of the scores of empty seats. It does,

Go Rectify!

Paraglider's eyesight is not of the best, especially in low light levels, such as may be found in any night venue in the western hemisphere, not excluding the oddly named Sailor's Club in Seaview. Thus it was that, arriving at 11-ish and seeing no sign of Carina, he sent the following text message, or thought he did, courtesy of Nokia Predictive text - Are you awake? The reply seemed a little odd

Kilkenny Surprise - only at Stufital

Promotions come in all flavours but usually have something to do with the product being promoted. Only in Stufital are such trivial constrictions waived. Order three Kilkennies to receive your surprise gift, reads the sign on the pump. And yes, it is something of a surprise to be rewarded with an XXL Danish Tuborg T-shirt for drinking Irish beer. It seems the Kilkenny isn't moving well (does this

Watch the Birdy

It was the logical next step. The cameras have arrived in Stufital. Cameras in the 12th floor lobby to make sure that the security guy enters everyone's ID on the computer and doesn't accept photocopies. And cameras inside the Old Manger bar to spy on customers relaxing with an after work beer. We learned last night why there are no more peanuts available at the bar. Apparently, they cause fights

Slaka, 1 : Progress, 0

It's a new month and with it comes the enactment of the ban on afternoon opening of all Slaka bars. And to what end? A few people who do not use the bars have imposed their collective will on the many who do, to the benefit of no-one and the inconvenience of all. And already we can hear the self-satisfied chorus in the wings: if you don't like it, you can leave. I can, I will, and am already

Dear Six Nations,

Dear Six Nations,In view of Slaka Tourism Authority's far-sighted and wholly laudable decision to discontinue afternoon opening of bars, it will prove highly inconvenient if you persist in your parochial policy of afternoon kick-off for International matches. Please confirm, by return, that Six Nations 2010 will rearrange its match timetable in line with the Authority's beneficent provision.

The End is Nigh

Or fairly nigh. The countdown monitor on the right is ticking off the minutes that remain of Paraglider's extended sojourn in Slaka. I came here from Dubai nearly four years ago, to service a two month contract. Several extensions later, I'm still here but not for very much longer. I am not sure where will be my next destination, but such is the world that there will probably be a strange bar or

This is not about Iran

Earlier this week, in another place, someone posted a piece that wasn't about Iran. Someone else promptly commented that the piece was not about Iran but should have been, because Iran is more important than the subject at hand. And so it is, but so what? Barack Obama is marginally more important than the girls in the Paranormal or the security in Stufital, but he'll wait a long time before he

Tourism, Slaka style

The word in the bar last night was that from July 1st, Stufital will open five hours later, at five p.m. As this fate has already overtaken the Golf and Rugby clubs and even the Ramada, it seems likely that it is true. The crazy thing is that Slaka Tourism Authority is part of the enforcing group. Let's think about this. We are trying to attract visitors to one of the hottest countries in the

Mr Salali's cup of tea

The excellent Salali's cup of tea has multiple and changing definitions. These include, London, rainy weather, cold water, the Paddington Basin, canal boats in Little Venice, music and quiet conversation. They do not include football, the police or ungentlemanly manners. He learned the phrase not my cup of tea from an English stranger, presumably a gentlemanly one, in a bar in the Kensington

Built for demolition

There are a few important blogs out there. This is not one. Important blogs are rare jewels, far outnumbered by self-important bloggers. The Paranormal Hotel is a lightweight, some would say trivial blog, and intentionally so, whose raison d'être is merely to entertain while indulging in the occasional circumflex, en passant. And lest there be any doubt, Paraglider is extremely grateful to the

The plot thickens (as the crowd thins)

Last night a new official notice decorated the Old Manger door and no doubt many more such doors around Slaka. Though, come to think of it, the number of bar doors is also dwindling - Amigos, Garveys, Rydges... This notice, also from Slaka Tourism and Exhibition Authority and Ministry of the Interior was a handsome piece of work in red and black making clear exactly what is and is not allowed

Doha's best kept Secret

Doha Oasis became a pile of rubble about a year ago, as part of the Corniche beautification project. Throughout its long history, no-one was ever known to stay at the Oasis, or at least admit to staying there. The three reasons for frequenting the establishment were: the excellent Chinese restaurant, the cheapest bar in town (also one of the 'friendliest' to unattached males) and the Beach Club

The Price of a Pint in Slaka

Slaka will remain the Paranormal official name for Doha for as long as it perseveres with its current ID door policy. And possibly for longer, as names stick. But, to the subject at hand, beer prices in Slaka have rocketed in recent times. Heineken in the Stufital is now 27 riyals a pint (with no happy hour to ease the pain) while in the Movenpick Piano Bar even 40 doesn't buy you one. Has

Why come to Slaka?

In 1986, when Malcolm Bradbury, author of The History Man, parodied the clunky stupidity of the then Soviet Eastern Bloc in his mock tourist guide, Why come to Slaka? (seek it out and read it!) he little dreamt that twenty-thee years later a wholly serious and progressive state (Qatar!) would rise to the challenge of pointlessest bureaucracy [sic, OK?] by promulgating a circular, to all bars and

Open or Closed All Hours

Only in England would someone take the trouble to make a slate message board like the above. It's mounted outside a small second hand shop on Malvern's Bellevue Terrace and seemed, today at least, more or less to sum up the difference between Malvern and Doha. There should be no need to enlarge on that.

Doha's first Gay Club (created by mistake)

Doha's first gay club?
Quite a few visitors are landing here by searching for gay doha, doha gay club, gay in qatar, etc. There's a running joke here which I'd better explain. Doha Sofitel (Le Mercure) has a history of fixing what's not broken and as a result driving away its regular customers. Until fairly recently, Le Club in the second floor, though rough and ready, was quite a lively venue,

The Taliban Store

The Taliban are in the next but one street from my apartment. They don't cause any trouble here and are quite well respected. Theirs is a small establishment and one I've never had reason to enter. I'm sure the quality of their cloth is excellent, but I don't wear the dishtash myself. I have promised myself that before I leave the Middle East I will have one made for me. I'll probably go for the

All in the Hat

It started with something Carina said, along the lines of not being seen dead talking to someone wearing one of these, these being the distinctive Pashtun 'pakool' hats. No doubt the charge of racism could be brought to bear, but knee-jerks aside, has she unwittingly hit on something? Might the humble pakool, preferably a singularly shabby one, be the ideal accessory for the next visit to

Fluffy Cheerleaders - a public service

Paraglider received a telegram to the Paranormal Hotel, forwarded to Doha Stufital, bemoaning his recent deprecation of the inroads made by Fluffy Cheerleaders into the ancient and erstwhile serious game of cricket. It seems the girls, all of whom are avid Paranormal readers, 'wish it to be made known that we are only doing our job'. Indeed you are, ladies. That much you share with all the girls

Cricket - lest we forget

Stufital has been showing too much cricket lately. Or what passes for cricket these days. The IPL T20 series from India, where the teams wear pyjamas and have baby names like Hyderabad Heroes. All that can be said in favour of this travesty of the great game is that doesn't last long. Lest we all forget what cricket is meant to look like, and did, for more than a hundred years, here is a picture

Want to buy a truck?

The good thing about Stufital (having panned it mercilessly in the previous post) is the casual encounters that happen over the bar. The innocent might think these happen in every bar, but not so; in Cher-is-sad, for example, no-one ever talks to anyone else unless they've had the singular misfortune of being acquainted before going in. It seems, then, that having driven a load of cable from

It takes skill

Paraglider has no aspirations to be a hotel outlets manager but can't help distinguishing between sensible and doubtful behaviour from the breed. Take, for example, the Paranormal, and Jockey's in particular. Changes there have been small and incremental, and have usually focused on improving things that weren't quite right. If it ain't broke, don't mend it seems to be the principle at work. Then

All this and money too?

Something has changed at the Paranormal. Friday afternoon was as of old, if slightly quieter, in line with the slightly quieter nature of the rest of Dubai. Speaking of which, there are taxis there for the hailing again, almost like five years ago. So recession isn't all bad. The girls are having to try harder, which can be mildly irritating, if it leads to cling-on behaviour. If the trend is

Alive, alive, oh

Last Friday saw a flurry of musical activity in Stufital, which may be repeated this coming Friday. Paraglider and the transitory Mr A overcame all the odds and mobile phones to delight the assembled company with two short sets notable (by the locals) for the total absence of Bob Marley. Then, later, the Mighty Kim went one further by importing an entire fan club for his own most accomplished

About my mother...

Choong's mother is visiting him, from Beijing. His presence in Stufital bar is proof enough that the ban on Chinese doesn't apply to men. But can he bring the old lady (she's 73) in for a quiet drink? Of course your mother is welcome sir! But this raises new questions. The ban can't be simply racist, since Choong is unbanned. And it can't be simply sexist, or there would be no Filipinas allowed.