The Riddler

Every story is biased. Perspective on narrative can make you live one tale, one life, a thousand times over. Our human need and desperation to tell stories in our day to day life is impulsive.

Yes, it's day one at Uni and, despite being late to the first 9am lecture, this is what I've learned. Pretty inspiring stuff! In fact, I was very motivated by this. My lecturer for my Narrative and Cultural Identity in the Hispanic World module has linked, unknowingly, to purpose of his introductory lecture very nicely with my own slogan of this blog.

Turning old pages, reading new words (the name of my blog) has a couple of conceptual meanings. Basically, what I'm getting at is that we all live life. Fact. But how you live your life is different to how I live mine and not simply because we are living different lives with different goals. If I put myself in your life and you put yourself in mine, you still wouldn't live the my life. You would, physically, live mine, but spiritually you wouldn't. Your take on things would be completely different. Whether you met a cloudy day with apprehension and anxiety or whether you met it with thick coats and wellies would determine how differently that one day would take form. Perspective can make you live your life a thousand times over. 

History is a classic take on the modern story. I absolutely love reading and writing. History employs the same skills. Those who dictate history have formulated the way in which it was told. Take the Titanic. Would history be different if a polar bear had told that story? If human were polar bears? Because, essentially, through global warming we are killing polar bears like humans off the Titanic. Granted; it was a horrible tragedy, there's no denying it. But, would it have been as shocking, as detrimental, as spirit changing if it had been 1,500 polar bears that had drowned off a floating breeze block of ice that had melted due to climate change induced by humans? Maybe. Would we have know about it? And if we hadn't, would we still be hanging on to the old cliche of 'just the tip of the iceberg'? Every story is biased. 

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If I told you about me in a verbal diarrhea form of biography, there would be things I wouldn't tell you because I wouldn't want you to know. There are things I would forget to tell you, because I wouldn't think that you needed you to know. And there would be things I would make better. Those would be the type of things I would want you to remember. And, whether you're willing to accept it or not, you would do the same. But whatever I did or didn't tell you, if asked, I would reel of some sort of cabaret.
"It's not that interesting but..." Storytelling is as much an impulse as those functions we can't control. 

And like that above, this whole post is an impulse. I needed to write, to share something pointless but hopefully enjoyable to tame the genuine inspiration I've been feeling today. If all my seminars are like this, bring on the next four years!

21st Century Farmer

  Days like these, I always fancy myself as a farmer. When the temperature is right. When the sun is burning through the chill. When the wind is blowing like running through electric beaters.

   In the early evening, nature is in it's prime and the most beautiful scenes unfold. I really really love walks in the country and there are very very few things that can compare.
  I've always been carried away by spare-of-the-moment dreams. Countless times I've walked into bookshops - my personal dream havens - and looked for every book I could find on one particular subject be it cross-stitch, creating your own business, wildlife conservation or, now, farming. 

  For me, it seems, that the sun has delusional properties. Everything looks better in the sunshine. I feel more optimistic, more ambitious and so now my latest soon-to-be-acted-upon faux pas is; agriculture. 

We were walking down to the pub the other day, through the back streets laced with fields of sheep, horses and donkeys. We passed farm houses with a wooden nest open to the public;

"£2 for a dozen eggs". 

  I love that; the trust. How farmers will put their produce outside their house and trust that people will pay them. Not that I wouldn't pay. I'm just saying. 

  It's old-fashioned too. Just how I like it!! So I've settled on the idea. I love animals - absolutely adore them.

 

It makes sense; I love being outside, animals and selling things I've made myself. That was another innovative idea that came to me; in the summer, this year - I wanted to knit and sew house hold decorations and small gifts for Christmas. I had all the blue prints; sock patterns, sticking patterns, home-made aprons, baby hats, blankets. I was very hopeful that it would work, but, as much of my thinking goes, it never materialised past the excitement of the thrill. All my novels end with the same fate - I must have about 15 unwritten books that have never lived past the third chapter. 

  

Anyway, on a visit to Southampton in the week, I found myself in - yes! You've guessed it - another bookshop. I was browsing the titles, trying to remember my latest craze, when I stumbled upon the gardening and wildlife section. Most teenagers, I'd assume, have crazes like the need to go to driving lessons or the importance of a summer full of music festivals. I'm not sure I'm much like that. 

  The book I picked up seemed just what I need; How to keep happy chickens and other poultry. Perfect! 

  Now I've had pets; guinea pigs, fish, a hamster, a rabbit and a dog but I have absolutely no idea how you would even begin looking after chickens. My uncle has them but I don't know what it entails really. I mean, they eat more or less anything and they don't need walks. They make their own nests but is it that simple? Well, I was about to find out. I flicked through the pages, spurred to fork out the 99p that was needed to buy the guide by the words; collect your own eggs. It sounded brilliant!! And then, I flicked to the back. 

How to cleanly slaughter - or words to that effect. I threw the book down. My stomach started turning. I wanted chickens but I didn't want to kill them. I didn't even want to have a book that told me how to do it! 

  I remember stepping on a dead bird when I was little. The shock of its face and it's limp body; it sent a shock wave through me. And this book was the same. 

I have up on that idea. But I did love the idea of collecting my own eggs. When we walked to the pub, I thought about I again. I love the idea but I don't have the money to keep horses, I don't have the skills to shear sheep - not that I couldn't learn. But I so desperately want to do it. 

I'm taking things one step at a time. I've decided upon growing my own vegetables now. That would both fulfill my ideal of grown your own and much cheaper than animals. I will get there one day, I hope; to the small holding but maybe just with one cow, one sheep, a donkey and 2 chicks. 

Shy or Wicked?

I'm shier than shy; shier than most, but it's something I'm always trying to overcome. Yet I find myself in situations where I wish I wasn't so timid. And often, I can't work out whether this shyness is really down to not being able to speak or not wanting to. 

  My hands aren't sculpted for holding things. My long spidery fingers, contrary to belief, aren't very good at gripping. Things drop; they split, they break, falling from the great height of the middle of a 5ft 7" eighteen year old girl.  

  I dropped a pot of soured cream and chive crisp dip in the supermarket the other day. I wasn't surprised and even less so to find that the lid had popped off and a dog-poo dollop of the sauce had made its way from the pot onto the floor. 

  I should have known it, but why? Just why? 

  This wasn't ASDA, either. This wasn't Tesco. This wasn't Sainsbury's. It was Waitrose. And, of course, I was the only person in the store who seemed to have spilt anything. My nana rushed off to find a cleaner who promptly told her that he'd be over to clean it up in a minute. 

  I stood awkwardly over the mess, angling my feet into a weird two sided triangle. 

  Where was that cleaner?

  The food belt was running forward. My 700 gram box of Rice Krispies was trundling down to the cashier. I couldn't stand here like a penguin until he came. There were people waiting.  

  Next customer please, was flashing behind me. Choices, choices. 

  I glanced at the man behind. He was wrapped in the allure of his sausage roll, flaky pastry sitting all around his stubbly chin. 

  He probably saw it. But what if he steps in it? Should I tell him? How would I break it to him? 

  It was trivial. How would I break it to him?! (I genuinely thought this.) I wasn't telling him his dog had just died. I was making sure he didn't skid down the aisle on the creamy dip! And...I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell him. I just walked forward. 

  I smiled at the cashier. 

  Oh no. I haven't just done that.

  My nana came back. 

"He said he's on his way." 

  Right'o. I needn't tell the man then. 

  But he was oblivious. It seems the savoury pastry had balled over all his senses. He was unpacking. I could see it. Soured cream and chive; right by his foot. 

 "Excuse me-" but it was too late. He'd smeared the sauce with his shoe and now had green herbs clinging to his trouser leg. "Oh no!" My nana continued. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Oh, you've got it on your trousers! I just called the man to clean it up!"

  "That's alright," replied this rather handsome looking man. Rugged and blonde, tall and well-spoken. "It seems I've done the job." He was adamant not to look my way. I couldn't even have the cashiers attention in diverting my attention. She was handing him tissues and watching him scrape it off the bottom of his shoe. 

  He knew. And he knew I knew. But I didn't tell him. 

I felt a fool for it. But I can't work out why. Was I really to shy to say anything? Or did I want to tempt Fate, just to see of he'd walk in it? This happens a lot and, likewise, I just have no idea! 

Books and the Monks

  The quaint village stereotype is so easily found on the Isle of Wight. Scouting various bookshops today, I witnessed the absolute intrinsic hold of little villages. As I'm starting Uni there's a few course texts that I need to get and, since it's a chore I absolutely LOVE, my nan and I have been scouring nearly all of the islands bookstores. We've been to the usuals; WHSmiths, Waterstones but, being as cheap as I am, I'd much rather get them second hand, then marking the pages with annotations and giving them away when I'm done won't hurt quite so much. We've looked it Charity shops but often the book supply is frugal so we've taken to older shops stacked to the ABSOLUTE brim with paperbacks in all sorts of conditions. That smell of weathered parchment and musty covers is much like a drug; it's an addiction that leads me to add to my ever expansive bookshelf of unread novels. 

  I found a couple of the titles I needed but freezing and in need of a hot chocolate we went next door and ordered a drink and some cake. It was only very small but beautifully laid out in a way that is so common in seaside towns, particularly those of Cornwall. 

  We moved on to yet another bookshop afterwards. It was a shop with every wonder you could think of (apart from the novels I needed!)

  It was a house, renovated into a bookshop. Three storeys high and separated by section into the different bedrooms of the house, it was a book lover's paradise. You can probably imagine how ill I felt by it all! It was magical by all standards tucked away as an unassuming shop decorated like those newsagents that no one but locals or passing travellers go in. If the cashier hasn't told us about the layers of books we wouldn't have known the scale of novels. So the ground floor and hallway were made up of the new books; penguin classics, nature and poetry. Taking the door to the left lead you to the base of the stairwell and out the back of the ground floor, lay shelves and shelves of second-hand thrillers and normal fiction in what was, effectively, the kitchen. Various others were stacked under the stairs. As you took the flight to the first floor, the walls were lined with alphabetically ordered fiction, the front bedroom was a collection of war, history, true crime, nature and gardening books, with the neighbouring room full of philosophy, religion and English literature. Back down the hallway, a small airing cupboard was opened with numerous children's titles joined to a smaller bedroom housing EVERY children's book ever desired; Rupert, Enid Blyton, Harry Potter, magazines, Roald Dahl, everything. And, what was more, if those categories weren't enough you could take another, equally long staircase to find adult's health, psychology, arts and creator books on the third floor. It was mesmerising and I was so so lost in the variety and reasonable prices. 

  But, at 3:05pm, the wonders of the day were far from over. 

  There is something so intoxicating about a place like Quarr Abbey, our next stop. Spontaneously and despite the rain, we had decided to visit in passing. The serenity, the smell, the exclusion, the divinity and the leisure of the pigs that roam the grounds was just divine! 

Places like this are a true mark of unfailing beauty. Churches and monasteries never fail to captivate me. I always find myself there. The church is such a wondrous place for me. I always think on how it became; how religion was so deeply upheld. The multiple religions that float about today; Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, Islam to name but a few, are all upheld today as there were in their origin. Whilst the world has changed; things have become, others extinct and yet, though many can guess at the rate of inclination in members, religion prevails. 

  I often think I'd like to be a nun. And then I think again. I have deep admiration for such servants of God. The devotion of their lives in accepting religion in the most remarkable way through embedding themselves in such ancient forms of society. It's inspirational. Regardless of whether you are religious, places of worship always have something to offer; if not a special place, perhaps peace of mind, silence or hope in the knowledge that religion is only one stem of belief in a system of unique thinkers.

All in all then, I had such a lovely day full of many o the things I love; books, walking, nature, eating and religion! 

Hours spent at the top of the bus

Rain, for all the irony, can be just like fire. It can disfigure like the lick of orange flames. And coupled with the wind, it can reap havoc. But when there is a break, that relief of warm sun, that spread of blue sky, it is all that can be desired.

My favourite bus route is the Number 8 to Sandown. Sitting atop the double decker on a perfect and crisp afternoon, your vision stretches across dales, across yellow pasture and across scuzzy trees leeching the landscape like moss. As of yet, my eyes know no greater beauty than the untouched wilderness of the rural Isle of Wight.
 It's been a wonder, a chance to marvel the English countryside in the dilapidated summer. Though the warmth of the bright sunshine can fool no one, it casts a beautiful sheen over the hills. It's a wonderful sight. I've been getting about the Island lately by bus. It's pretty cheap and roaming the area is a lovely way to spend a few hours!

I always say that when an English summer is like this, there is no place I'd rather be and this stands, somewhat, today. Though I've seen more of the world now than when I made that first statement, it does still hold true. There are a few places I would love to be right now but that's not to say that leaving England wouldn't bring pain. The scenery is absolutely BEAUTIFUL and I get myself so lost in the picturesque. All I long for is to be out in it; to eat sandwiches in an isolated field, to rear sheep and turn out horses. Seeing life from the top of the bus, I long to keep rabbits and walk my dog, to pick shells from a shingle beach and to read with the sting of wind on my face.

That tranquility is outstanding. I've been really blessed and I know it's such a cliche; all everyone in England seems to talk about is the weather. But when everything's going a little bit downhill, the continuance of the weather and it's temperamental nature can fill those awkward gaps and take your mind off a few things.

I'm ever so lucky to have this break; to have the ability to move from scene to scene, country to country watching the world from a different perspective because it true; the weather does direct perception. It does so in such a way that, if this gorgeous sun continues, I'll soon be proclaiming England - rightly and wrongly - to be the greatest country on this Earth! :D

Dear Ol' England

Why is it that everyone walks with a stern brow? A pouted mouth? A chip on their shoulder that's big enough to make them waddle? 

  I agree; cleaning the bins in front of Morrisons isn't any fun. Talking people through banking accounts, having to pay 10p for a bag at the Hospice shop, seeing the sun eclipsed by the clouds, advising people on the best SIM card at Phones4U aren't all that fun or exciting either - but they could be. 

  For me, there's a fundamental difference between living in Dubai and living in England; the amount of people who seem to want to live. There was but one man, a kind gentleman in Nationwide, who seemed happy. He was interested to hear about the perks of Dubai and was forever questioning, happy to answer and polite. 

It's a generalisation I know but I'd forgotten. This sadness. This glum. This stubborn detest for everything. A smile, dare I say it, seldom seems acceptable here but is such a desperate necessity. 

A frown won't stop you hating your job. Moaning won't make a sun appear. Berating the driver in front of you because they're driving too slowly won't persuade them otherwise. But neither will a smile - but it might do. And even if it doesn't, it will make the day alot better. 

"Death is punishable by death" - the outstanding logic of our world

I remember having this debate in our Politics class last year, sitting as the current US Supreme Court. We weren't discussing the current situation; the gang rape in India, but it was a similar scenario. Can you punish death by death and, more importantly, murder by murder? Is this the only, feasible punishment?

  You can't please everyone - that's a given. Where there are a multitude of ideas, thought-processes, ideologies, it's so very hard to know what's right. You could even argue that there is no such thing as 'right'. Every action has consequences; like eating a greasy take-away (think double portion of chips with your battered cod and a chow mien on the side with a sugared beverage of your choice) because you're hungry and your boyfriend just dumped you via text. You wake up in the morning to go to your aunt's wedding with a massive red pimple smack bang in the middle of your forehead. Did the consequence outweigh the need?

  The four men convicted of misleading and raping an Indian lady who later died of her injuries are bad people, in my opinion. You can't do that and get away with it! But...does 'getting away with it' mean being punished in anyway that does not involve them losing their lives? I think not.

What about prisons? Life in prison, I imagine, can be as miserable as torture or knowing that you're on death row (so long as you're not in the UK). I understand how important human rights are. You can't, very well, have people in prison who are denied three meals a day and exercise. But prison shouldn't an incentive. TV's, Xbox, opportunities to complete your degree - that's not what prison is about. It's not a holiday camp. They're not meant to be advertising freedom - albeit rather ironically supplied through the confinement of a cell and restriction under guards. But I suppose that may be what 'freedom' is. As law-abiding people, the general public is just that - a society governed by the law; restricted, rightly and wrongly.
  Those in prison are meant to be bad. They've broken the law. What they have done is wrong. But, then again, if there may be no such thing as right, 'wrong' may, also, not exist.
  If money is the problem, invest more in prisons. Heavy investments in the 'space race' or creating the tallest building won't help our immediate problems. Sometimes I just think countries create the buildings and wonders for show. 'Look at us, we've broken the world record!' It obscures the real problems, let's everyone live in denial and it works. Ok, we shouldn't be pessimistic and apathetic towards change but, perhaps, priorities are needed. If we're living in the 21st century and treating murder cases by murdering the perpetrators why not just lock people up in the stocks and throw rotten tomatoes at them? And I know what the answer will be: It's undignified. And is death really so much better?

  It's a toughie and things won't get solved like this (she clicks her fingers) but something needs to be done. Death isn't the answer. But who knows what is?

Blog Changes!!

I've decided to spice my blog up a little to give it some extra flair. I've changed the layout a bit and added some new fonts which make it more lively and hopefully, more enjoyable to read. Feel free to poke around and, most importantly, have fun! :D

Two homes, one day

There are intricacies about a place that one fails to notice when a place becomes 'home'. The particulars are no longer important when you fit in. It is as though you accept the surroundings like you do your very best friend. Your forget their moles, the way their hand shakes, the way they walk when they're wearing that dress. 

  15:16 pm - touch down in Heathrow and on the way to the Isle of Wight. Snaking the roads and I forget. The car number plates; bright yellow not white, the ridge work in the fences that line the motorway, the cream picked skin of the skinny trees dangling over the breeze, BT vans, grazing horses, layers of low-lying cloud, Shell garages, The Wild Bean cafe. I had forgotten what I had been so used to. I had forgotten the particulars of my home. And in making it my own once more, these are the things I'll learn to forget. The things I'll inadvertently turn a blind eye to. But when I return to my 'second' home (that I now consider my first - since I take pride in saying "yes I do  live in Dubai"; bizarre since I hate to be the foreigner!), there will be things I'll need to remember to forget too; the humidity, the constant construction, the feeling of constant paradise. 

  It half-baffles me how I've come to accept Dubai. I was only there for 2 years. But no matter where I am, I am intrinsically connected it; for all its goodness, memories, people and controversies.  I can't shake the admiration I have for Dubai - thank Heavens! 

The BEST HOLIDAY EVER!!!

Every year I have the best holiday ever. Regardless of where I end up, every year it's the best.
"That was sooooo much better than last year!" I always say.
It's as though I feel the need to top every holiday by going on one that's even better.

But this year I, literally, had the best holiday ever!

I knew it was good at the time, but it wasn't until yesterday that I started pouring through photos; getting all over-emotional about going to uni. I ordered a few of the prints for the pin board in my new room and as I flicked through the ones I wanted on 6 by 4 glossy photo paper, I remembered just how amazing the trip had been.
This was a holiday that I had been looking forward to for ages! And I mean ages. For about three years now, every summer my dad has said; This is your last holiday with us. And every year there I am, in his row on one aeroplane or another, going on holiday with the family. But with me going off to Uni this was the 'last' family holiday of a sort. I'm planning to come back and go on holidays with them in the summer, of course - but only the future will tell how long I keep it up for. So, I guess I'll call this holiday the best of the I-am-definitely-coming-on-holiday-with-you-guys holidays. :( Sad times.

So with a special criteria to fill, I suppose you could say, to mark the end of an era we headed on the biggest trip we'd ever been on.
Before I'd left to move to Dubai, I'd only ever holidayed in Europe and three times to America. I'd never set foot in Asia really. So we went all out!
We planned to stayed in Singapore for 4 days, move on to Bali for 5, Lombok for 7 and then back to Bali for 1 before flying through Singapore and Doha back to Dubai. It was the trip of all trips.

Part 1 - touch down in Singapore
Despite being incredibly similar to Dubai, I absolutely loved Singapore. I loved how everything worked and how the society was built. I loved the climate, how it rained but was warm, how everything we ate seemed to be noodles or rice. Just everything!
Whilst it is, what I would call a 'contemporary city', there were so many historic sights, including the Kranji War Cemetery which was stunningly tranquil and beautifully laid out.

It was a natural beauty. That's something Singapore has a lot of - beauty.
I have green fingers - kind of. I love being outside, sitting and picnicking, walking and smelling flowers. Gardening? Not so much. My favourite place in Singapore was the Botanical Gardens. I really can't begin to describe how AMAZING that was, but I'm going to give it a go. The colours were so incredibly rich and there were thousands and thousands of species of plants from the national orchids to the ginger gardens and special flowers which have healing 'powers'. There were various sections; The Healing Garden, The Rainforest and lakes with wild terrapins and black geese. (That doesn't really do the place justice - but it gives you an idea.) The best part though was that everything, apart from the National Orchid Garden, was free. Yes, free. Now for a cheap-skate like me, if I was living in Singapore, I would be there 24/7. It was so so nice; a lovely place to contemplate life, read or watch wild monkeys swing the trees.

The Botanical Garden is one of my favourite places in. the. world. I loved it so so much!

That evening, we went to a light show in another botanic garden; 'Gardens By the Bay'. (I was a very lucky girl - if you could imagine the smile on my face, you'd probably think I'd gone to Disney Land!) There they have large steel structures with vines that they have planted at the bottom snaking there way upwards, so one day there will be these HUMONGOUS statues of flowered, artificial vines dotted besides the Singapore Marina. I think that's pretty cool.

Part 2 - Bali
We left Singapore, and planned to stay the next 3 days in a hotel just of a main road where we could easily get to temples and the main attractions of Bali that didn't involve sun, sea or sand - we'd saved that part of the holiday for last. On the 4th day, we were to move deeper into Bali, to a place called Seminyak, to stay, specifically, in the rice fields. Only, when we got to the 'Tegal Sari' we found that this was too in the rice fields. But I was so glad that it was. There's no such thing a 'scenic overload'.
We were shown to our two rooms. My brothers and I were in a first floor ensuite room - looking over vast spaces of paddy fields where occasionally straw-hatted farmers would tend to the grasses - whilst my parents were in their own private villa; a glass walled bedroom, outside bathroom, twin massage beds and their own private swimming pool. Both were the picture of luxury!

Bali was so much different to how I imagined. I hadn't really done any research of the place in terms of pictures and so I was expecting to see the only part of Bali I'd ever known; Kuta beach - the location for the Australian TV series 'Bondi Rescue in Bali'. Not being on the beach, as you might expect, it was nothing like that. When we arrived from the airport, the clouds quickly took over. No more sun and a much lower standard of development. We turned off this road that was barely tarmacked and onto an embankment that lead into a concealed area, extremely close to nature.
That's what I liked about it but, it's safe to say, I was sometimes scared by having to share such confined spaces with wildlife. Most evenings we went round to our parents' villa to swim. I was writing one evening alone. It was dark. My brothers were playing in the swimming pool next to a large bamboo tree when I heard rustling. I though nothing of it but saw something land on the grass in the shadowy stance of a cat. Our guide had told us on one of our outings that Bali was home to a few wild tigers. I grabbed my stuff and lept of the bed, like a true coward. I was cowering in the bathroom, my hand poised on the bedroom door. The rustling had stopped. I had no idea and still have no idea what it was that I saw but I know for a fact what I saw next. I was staring at the bush behind me through a mirror. Whatever was out there I didn't want to see it with my own eyes. And there I saw a snake; slight and black reach up to jump out of the bush and into the neighbouring rice fields. I ran inside. I like snakes - although you most probably wouldn't believe that now - but without a trained professional and what with being in the wild, I'm not quite sure I like them so much in the dark.

However, apart from the nature and scenery, there was so much to see. Honestly, if you want to see the real Bali do not spend your time on the beach.

We saw the traditional Barong and Kris dance, visited innumerable temples and ate lunch at the top of a volcano that last erupted in 1964.
Our location was really really stunning. One one of the first evenings we ate at a Jazz Cafe with an exceptionally talented singer and we slept within 5 minutes walk of the monkey forest. We payed for a bunch of bananas and on our last morning went and handed breakfast to the monkeys.

Part 3 - Deeper into Bali

We then moved on to rural Seminyak. It was absolutely stunning. The scenery was breathtaking and it was so so quiet. We only stayed for one night but that one night was BEAUTIFUL!

I've never been in a more beautiful place! (Only the Indian Himilaya can really compare.) It was amazing. Absolutely amazing and so tranquil! I loved it! It was just paradise. Absolute paradise!

Part 4 - 8 minutes to Lombok
It seems a bit drastic when you think about it - a grand money making scheme - but we took an 8 minute flight to Lombok - an island just off of Bali. And it wasn't one of those little sea-planes you get that hop you over to different islands in the Seychelles and the like. It had a business class and all!

Lombok was our beach retreat and we really couldn't have gotten any closer.

We ate breakfast as close to the beach as you could get without actually sitting on sand and swam in a beautiful infinity pool the looked straight out onto the Balinese horizon. It was so picturesque. We were haggled into buying everything from thread bracelets, to pearls bracelets, to wooden pots and monkey statues. We took a boat one day, sharing seating space with dead chickens, bags of rice and canisters of fuel, to GILI AIR - an island which didn't have any cars and was small enough to walk around in 30 minutes. Everywhere was sand on the left and dry wood on the right. It was beautiful.

For me, the snorkelling was the best. I can remember the first time I looked underwater in the sea. 

It's a different world down there! I remember shouting. 

I had always loved the sea but what you can't see won't hurt you and I never wanted to look. But the day I decided to look was one that sparked a deep, intrinsic relationship with the sea. I absolutely LOVE snorkelling and seeing all the world that can exist below and besides us. Corals and fish that have a beautifully balanced dependence on one another and the clear depth of an ocean that was not meant for air-breathing humans. It's so incredibly captivating. (Unfortunately, I haven't got any pictures).

*

When we got back to Dubai it was a kind of shock. It's always so nice to be back in your own home but when that's the only place you can go because everywhere else is too hot, the novelty is taken away. No longer could we sit for days and days in the sun - eat our breakfast outside, sunbathe. 

That was it. It was over; our beautiful holiday - the best ever.