Feet don't travel well

At least, walkers' feet don't. For the most part, this comes down to footwear. In desert climes, sandals are the obvious choice for daytime walking. (They're fine for night walks too, except that they're banned from most bars, limiting your choice of destinations). You may well think that acclimatising your feet to five or ten mile desert hikes would prepare them for anything. You'd be wrong though. The heels and soles may indeed become as tough as shoeleather, but the tops of the toes, the instep, the nameless inner and outer 'flanks' and the back heel, which, sandalled, touch nothing but fresh air and dust, remain as soft as a soft thing of your choice preferably not involving babies. This wouldn't matter if you never ventured to the frozen north and the lands of proper shoes. That's when you are reminded that the only comfortable walking shoes are ones that you've lived in for weeks, ones that have exhausted their repertoire of nipping, pinching, chafing and crushing. The only alternative is to stick with the sandals and put up with the frostbite. On balance, it could be the right thing to do.

The light is flickering...

and I'm not happy about it. I could switch it off, but then I couldn't see the keyboard. I could switch it off and wait till morning, but that would be tempting providence. It would be presumptuous of me to assume the sun will rise; that much at least I learned from David Hume. It will, of course, but let's not push our luck. The light is flickering because the dimmer switch is on its way out. It is very disconcerting. It's also a bit odd, because downstairs the lights on the Christmas tree are flickering too, but they're supposed to, which somehow makes it less annoying. I could switch it off and go out, and if I were in Doha that's probably what I'd do. But somehow wandering out into a late English night in near freezing temperatures doesn't hold much appeal. No, on balance, it's turning into another Chivas Regal in front of the TV night. I am on holiday, after all. Cheers!

Welcome to PARAPLEXED, formerly 'The Paranormal Hotel' and originally 'Helga's Chickens'

Which is, of course, a ridiculous title for a blog. Some history, none of it important (but it is the week between Christmas and New Year): Helga's Chickens was my first Dubai blog. Well, more of a Bur Dubai blog and one that never ventured far beyond Mankhool Road. When all's said and done, chickens don't stray far from the nest, or the yard, more like (unless offered a lift in a quality motor). After a year which saw Helga's slow eclipse by the Moon of China (great stuff this Chivas!) the name changed to The Paranormal Hotel, at once less personal yet more geographically specific. Jings. There was a time (three years ago) when a second blog arose from Helga's ashes, this time called 'Paraplexed'. But it proved too difficult to keep two going in parallel, so Paraplexed was killed off within a year.
And now it's back. It was time for a change. I hope my regular followers will not desert the enterprise. Because whatever else it may be, it is not a sinking ship. It's barely a coracle. Happy New Year, everyone - especially you :)

Origami and the Shape of Things to come

A couple of nights ago, we ended up making paper artefacts from pages torn from a small notepad graciously provided, free of charge, by the Ramada Library bar staff. The word origami was being loosely tossed around, but it's doubtful if any of our offerings really merited the description. We had two sampans, one of which more resembled a soap dish, a suit of clothes (or was it a headless dwarf?), an inflated water bomb and a free-form rose (rolled, not folded, if you please). This was a truly international outburst of creativity, with contributions from Australia, China, Scotland, Wales and Tenerife. Apparently the Library is to close early in the New Year while they replace the opaque windows with a novel see-through variety, and overhaul the air handling system. I'll keep you posted. And not just the Library. The Paranormal Hotel blog will complete December in its present form but start the new year wholly transformed, into. . .