The Landlady
The Landlady travels to Dubai for a surprise party
I have just returned from 10 days in India and Dubai. There is method in the madness of this seemingly convoluted trip. Last year, I was invited to a friend’s surprise 60th birthday party in Dubai. The party was being organised by the wife of the ‘surprisee’ and no holds had been barred to ensure that it would be a spectacular occasion. People had promised to come from all over the world to surprise him.
“For 50p, you can travel 30km in turquoise seated, pristine, air-conditioned heaven”
The mere fact that six members of a band he used to be in were coming from Venezuela made my humble trip from the UK seem a mere trifle in comparison. The man for whom all this effort was being made is genuinely one of life’s very special people. One of the most magnanimous and crazy party people I’ve ever had the good luck to know. He has made and lost many fortunes and selflessly touched and bettered the lives of hundreds people on his way up and down. As far as my own good fortune is concerned, the money I made while working for him enabled me to embark on my illustrious career in property. More importantly, the years I spent working for him in Soho – in advertising, not Soho’s other famous trade – were among some of the best and most ridiculous of my life so far.
I have several close friends who live in Dubai, but I am not overly keen on Dubai itself. It is quite spectacular, but still doesn’t come close to New York as far as I’m concerned. If you have money to burn, love designer shops and sunbathing, then I would recommend Dubai as a holiday destination – especially in January. Being on a ‘traveller’s’ budget, I worked out that it would be cheaper for me to fly to India for five days and stopover for the party in Dubai on the way back. I stopped over in Dubai on the way out for one night intending to rest, then sat up all night drinking very strong gin and tonics with my friend Tom, who then had to go to work at 8am.
I flew out to India the following evening and was delighted to buy Dubai’s equivalent of an Oyster Card and use the swanky new Metro service which opened last September. For 50p, you can travel 30km in turquoise-seated, pristine, air-conditioned heaven. Moreover, there is a carriage for women only – and they have enough money to pay staff to tell people to stop eating or talking loudly in transit.
On the onward flight to India, I appeared to be the only non-Indian aboard and was sitting among a crowd of men who appeared to dislike me on sight. Alas, somewhere over the Arabic sea, my bag of salt and cracked black pepper Kettle chips exploded in my hand luggage with a huge bang, almost causing an international incident. I am surprised – and grateful – that my fan club didn’t try to eject me from the flight.
