Prohibition makes you want to cry into your beer and denies you the beer to cry into

Published March 8, 2012 by travellingtrace

So we napped. And because I’m a dumb blonde sometimes I thought Dubai was an hour behind not an hour ahead. We were 30 minutes late for kick off!

Seating is limited and we end up sitting on a table with two fellas from Dubai. (Dubanese? Emirati? what to call them?!) Nice chaps, got the beer flowing fairly lively and all but by christ, they would not stop chatting on! (remember the usual expat questions I mentioned? Well yeah like that but x20!) I left Jewsconsin to do most of the answering, throwing in a hmm and a haha every now and again to feign listening. Liverpool were getting beaten 1-0 I DO NOT CARE if Lads from Dubai have bigger “nuts and bolts” (his phrase not mine) than Kuwaiti’s!

Extra time happened a lot more beer happened. I vaguely remember meeting some Germans and singing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ followed by tequila shots. I have a hazy memory of going to a nightclub. I have flashbacks of spending a good 20 minutes in the toilet cubicle on arrival to said nightclub. But you know when something dramatic happens and you sober up like that *clicks fingers* Yeah.. Jewsconsin brought the drama.

For whatever reason, I don’t think even she knows, she decided we needed to ‘get out of the nightclub right friggin’ now!’ So she catches me by the hand and we run. Literally run. We end up in a kitchen. Hmm pretty sure we’re not supposed to be in here. Under an arm we go, whipping past the steaming saucepans. We find a door. We go through it. We end up behind the bar. FML Jewsconsin we’re gonna be on the front page of The Mirror at this stage!

I spot the lift. Backtracking out of the bar, leaving the poor barman simply open mouthed we run for the lift and dive mid close. You know when that happens in movies it just about pokes you through and closes behind you because there’s someone chasing you? Well in Dubai it doesn’t. No it holds one of you in the closing doors, let’s you free your leg, opens the fecking doors and takes just enough time to reaccess any potential foreign body parts before closing again. Just enough time for the Dubanese to be standing in front of the closing doors with one hell of a ‘I totally thought I was getting laid you expat slut’ look on his face. We take a breath safely ensconced in the back of our cab wheeling the way back to our humble abode for the evening.

Jewsconsin didn’t remember a thing the next day. I gotta keep her away from that bootleg Mission Impossible if I’m gonna make it home from this trip!

Jewsconsin’s view 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: