Babies....

One highlight of my flying visit home was getting to meet the newest addition to the Sumner family: a young man called Fox. He’s not a brand new baby any more but he’s still utterly adorable. Everything a baby should be: chubby, cuddly, and unbelievably chirpy and happy. He spent most of his time giggling and grinning at me and was very entertaining.

As most people who know me will testify, I tend to handle babies like bombs, but I wanted to give him a cuddle and allow his mum to quaff her champagne and scoff her club sandwich. So I gamely scooped him and rested him on my hip. Let me tell you: babies are heavy! We had a bit of a walk round and then peered at ourselves in the mirror for a while (Fox wanted to, honest). I waited for any sort of maternal twinge to hit me, but I can honestly report: nothing. He is utterly divine but I still have zero interest in one of my own.

If you believe the dross that the Daily Mail comes out with then I am going to a) live to regret this, bitterly, or b) be hit in the face by my biological clock and spend the rest of my days trying to get up the spout. I’ll keep you posted, but I’m not holding my breath on either of those points….

Home Sweet Home?

Manchester: you can’t beat it. I always marvel when I return (which isn’t nearly as often as I’d like) at how much everything still feels so familiar, and as if I’ve never left. It’s a city with a palpable heartbeat and swagger, and I’m always so happy to be home. Even if it’s only for 48 hours.

And talking of things that are the same…..our favourite waiter at the Lowry still works there – and greeted me with a huge hug and a kiss. Gorgeous. The same girls still work in Superdrug and some of the bars…..bizarre but strangely comforting.

The people have a sense of humour and personality: case in point. I walked into HSBC and the girl in front of me drooped her purse, and money everywhere. As I stopped to help her, she thanked me, adding, in a very broad Northern accent: “I don’t know what happened, me purse has gone BONKERS!” This really tickled me. Anyway. Thanks to Manchester’s most eligible bachelor for putting me up, and to the gorgeous girls and boys who made sure that our usual bases were covered off: champagne, cocktails and catch ups. Love you all.

An unexpected bonus: I managed to pick up a couple of bikinis (not to mention piles and piles of work clothes and cosmetics – par for the course really.) I cannot wait to give them an airing next weekend on a Dubai beach. Manchester: I love you. But you can keep your weather!

Well Hello, Mr President

Where do I start? Five days in Amsterdam with work certainly take it out of a girl. Especially when each day starts at 8 am and ends at midnight when you fall through the door of your hotel. And then have to check your daily 120 emails (average). Anyway, I was there for a global client meeting which meant that representatives from about 15 of our offices from all around the world were gathered in one place. Fascinating. No wonder that I gravitated towards our New York/Latin America/Brazil/Singapore offices (hello international transfer?!) but it was equally interesting meeting my French, Italian, Russian, British and Dutch counterparts.

Stating the obvious here but: Amsterdam is freezing. I mean, really freezing. Like, minus 10. Yep. Not great for the Dubai girl who rocked up hideously ill-equipped for such weather in a fashion jacket (darling little cropped sleeve mac – looks great but serves no purpose). I’d figured that because most of our time was going to be spent in offices and in transit, I’d be ok. How wrong I was. Freezing fog and heaps of snow meant a thoroughly uncomfortable trip. I lost count of how many times my eyes met with those from warmer climes and rolled back in my head as we gritted our teeth and thought about bikinis next weekend.

It was a good trip – and one of the highlights was meeting Barack Obama’s chief communications advisors. Yes, really. He runs a specialized political communications in Washington (natch) and as part of the event was called in to talk to us about how running a presidential election can translate to communications in business. He was an utterly fascinating chap, with bags of presence, and he held a room of 100 people in the palm of his hand as he regaled us with the serious stuff (strategy, messages) and then more fun stuff (Sarah Palin. Hilary Clinton).

He took questions at the end before joining us for dinner. This being a somewhat serious event, the questions were suitably high-brow: strategy, audience/message dissection etc etc. Our speaker, being a heartily engaging fun chap, stopped us after ten minutes or so. “What’s wrong with you guys?” he asked. “People normally ask me: what was Air Force One like? What does he eat. You’re all so serious – where are the fun questions??” Cue peals of laughter.

So you don’t need me to tell you what happened next time the roving mike came in my direction….we asked those questions, and more. Here’s a flavour of them:

Q: What’s Air Force One like?
A: very, very nice.

Q: What does he eat?
A: He’s ridiculously healthy and eats very well. In addition, it doesn’t matter how late he’s been working or how hard, he always exercises in the morning.

Q: Are he and Michelle really in love?
A: Yes, sickeningly so. It was his idea/suggestion to have Beyonce sing ‘At Last’ at the inauguration ceremony. One, two, three: aaah!

Q: Did he ever lose his temper?
A: On occasion, yes. But the main cause of his frustration was always his schedule – he hated being apart from Michelle and the girls.

Baby It's Cold Outside...

Okay, okay, I know this isn't news for UK folk, but OH MY GOD, IT'S FREEZING!!!! I did read the weather forecast for Amsterdam before I set off, but boy, I was not expecting this.

I was first alerted to the fact that something was horribly horribly wrong when I headed towards the airport exit and saw people dressed as if they were going skiing. Full on puffa jackets, trousers, and enormous moon boots. I actually snickered a little at them as I went past (ridiculous outfits, completely over the top etc etc).

How I envied their voluminous unflattering garb when the revolving door spat me out onto the tarmac....in the two minutes it took for a taxi to pull up alongside me my entire body had frozen. My feet are still blocks of ice. I'm typing this IN BED. Not in any sexy Sarah Jessica Parker stylish way, simply because under the duvet is the only place I can bear to be after a few hours tromping round Amsterdam city centre. Yuck!

It's hard to believe that 12 hours ago I was skipping around Downtown Dubai in flip-flops...and sizzling nicely in a bikini at the weekend.....I always knew I wasn't cut out for life in a cold country, and this has just put the tin lid on it. Sunshine, I miss you.

Things That Go Squeak in the Night...

As part of my no expense spent trip, I was delighted to discover (thanks to Trip Advisor) that no less than THREE different people have discovered a mouse in their room in my hotel. Lovely.

Now, I'm an animal lover, but if this happens to me, I think all hell will break loose. I've put my shoes and boots on a high shelf in the wardrobe and will have to try to remember to sleep with my mouth closed....eek!

Broadening the Mind

I love travel. Who doesn't? It was one of my major reasons for wanting to move to Dubai, so that I could see more of 'this side' of the world. And I've managed to get to a fair few places - not nearly as many as I'd like due to the Nazi approach to attempting to take any holiday at all by my employer, but that's another story.

I've also done a lot of travelling for work, and I'm in the throes of one such trip now. A client conference in Amsterdam..which prompted a lot of excitement in the office. I did point out that when you're British a) Amsterdam is a cheap/close/ hedonistic weekend and as such, I've been there, done that numerous times and b) I'm working. So hedonism isn't high on the agenda...

Anyway, the one thing that I've decided that I don't like about travelling is being alone. When you're delayed. Normally I like nothing more than my own company, and revel in the fact that for a few hours I'm uncontactable by work and can lose myself in a good book or three. But this weekend saw me delayed at Dubai airport until 4.30am. yes, 4.30 am. Not a treat. When you're on your own you really have to watch how much you drink (too much and you're in danger of missing your flight) and you have no-one to go and check on flight schedules etc whilst you're nursing aforesaid drink. It's a bind.

Added to that I had no one to gossip with on the plane about the hideous flight attendants on KLM - rottweilers in uniforms would have been more friendly...

Anyway, that said I'm thrilled to be here (not happy about the cold) as it means I'm getting to tag a couple of days in the UK onto the end of my trip. That's right: Manchester, I'm coming home...

Oh man, Oman...

Sorry it took so long, folks. The long weekend in Oman was quickly forgotten this week in a whirl of 14 hour days at work - bah.

What can I say about Oman? It's quiet - much quieter than Dubai - which I guess is part of its charm. We stayed at the Dive Centre, which is right up near the posh Shangri-La...and much as I'm normally all over some five(or at push, six or seven)star luxury location, this place takes some beating. For about a hundred quid you get your very own beach hut, literally 15 steps from the sea. And that hundred quid included breakfast and dinner- both of which I scoffed in large quantities as it was an amazing spread and utterly delicious.

We did have one 'night out' (I'm loosely referring to it as this as it did not involve an inappropriate outfit/boy chasing/dancing - all pre-requisites for a decent night in my book) where we propped up an ex-pat British pub type place. What fascinated me most was the large amount of Omani men drinking pints in their dishdashes. (Muslims aren't supposed to drink, and in Dubai it's illegal to serve a man alcohol if he's wearing a dishdash.)

After that the next three days were spent lolling around on sun loungers, drinking wine, catching up on celebrity breakdowns and (most brilliantly) ogling a large group of 24 year old marines who were ashore for the day. It was like watching a Men's health cover-shoot crossed with a porn film. I'm not ashamed to say I still have a crick in my neck from straining to watch them as they played beach volleyball....frisbee...went diving off a jetty with their shorts pulled down (no, really). Call me shallow, but it was a treat of an afternoon and I'm still giggling about it now.

The Dive Centre does exactly what it says on the tin - it's a big draw for divers - which meant we (almost) felt a bit guilty each morning when ambling along for breakfast at 9.30 as the ealy divers were on their way back in from amornng at sea. Note: you're supposed to be on holiday, folks! Still, it takes all sorts.

So, a trip to Oman - it will re-charge your batteries but don't expect to get your dancing shoes on. Just what the doctor ordered...