Run, run, run away Baby!

There was something so special about being back at a school sporting event at an athletics club. Seeing colours. Children screaming, ice cream vans, sun glasses and the relay. Everything about it brought back sweet sweet memories. 

As a child, I told myself that I hated sports day. It was partially true. I hated sport but yet I loved the day as a whole. No school, tanning, eating outside and a general sense of happiness. What could be better? It was like a holiday, in the temperamental English weather of a field just at the back of our school. 

I relished in the idea that I would be part of one of the activities, every year. I was disgustingly below average at everything but half decent at running. As much as I hated it, I knew that I couldn't have a sports day without joining in. I replaced injured or reluctant classmates (and never managed to live up to their expectations) and I was buzzing. I was secretly waiting for my Usain Bolt moment. When I suddenly, after no training at all, flew across the track in record time. I thought it every time. And every time I was disappointed. 

On my last sports day, in Dubai, I felt like life as I knew it was over. No more days of boosting school morale in an attempt to promote sport. None of that. Just adult life. End of story. 

Now, I don't feel like I ever get an opportunity to go back onto the athletics track. There is no need. There aren't hundreds of children anticipating their run and waiting to pick positions for sports. Just me. 

As my cousin flew round the track on her relay run, I was on the verge of needing a pee. I knew that feeling. The baton handover. When it was all up to you, and I would always need a wee. 

And then when she won, that was the proud icing on the top moment which requires such pre-planning and effort. She sat in the 1st spot, smiling. A winner. But she would have been that to me anyway, even if she hasn't won. (I, finally, understand all this parental pride!) 

I wished that I could go back to those days, however uncomfortable and embarrassing they were. I have a feeling, in another 'Olympic super-athlete moment' that I might actually be good at the hurdles. There are days when I see a nice field in the sun and just want to run and run and run and run and run. That's got to count for something. 

I'll try it. 

I'm pretty surprised with myself at the moment - wanting to do running, missing sports day, watching tennis: who am I? 

Time to move on ...

In a few days I'll be leaving Dubai. A country that has been such a lovely place to spend the last 2 years. It is, because of the memories I have here and the experiences it has given me, one of my favourite places to be. That isn't to say that there aren't parts to life out here that drive me absolutely insane or things that I desperately long for. Back in the UK everyday we used to walk our Cocker Spaniel across the common near our house for an hour and a half, twice a day. I hated it at the time. During the summer, a farmer used to keep his cattle in there. They were huge, horned and would sporadically run after dogs or tearaway puppies (as was ours) or charge, in stampede formation, for a drink at the community trough as though they were on a pub crawl. Every step you took had to be carefully calculated to make sure that you made it round the field before the cows blocked off the exit gate. That's not to mention the joy of walking through the dry, knee high grass in sandals on a blazing hot day and coming home with cow pat splattered up your leg and staining your feet.
In the winter, the field was always a test of character. The common was a series of hills, on top of which you could see all the way to town. Walking at the peak with the infamous British rain blowing through a raucous wind, dog walking became an activity of little enjoyment. It wasn't uncommon to not be able to feel our faces when we arrived home, dripping but thankful that it would be someone else's turn to take the dog later on in the day.
Now, having omitted the colour green from my eyesight since finding my home in the desert, I would give anything to go back to those temperamental bulls in that luscious field. That's something I can't wait to get back to.

If there's anything I'm guilty of, it's thinking too far forward and forgetting to live for the now. As I'm sure I've probably mentioned before I have always thought about having a job and family without thinking about how I would get there. So whilst I am excited to move back to England for a few years, there are so many thing I'll miss about not being in Dubai. I thought I'd write a few below.

Here are some of the many things I'll miss about Dubai!

• My favourite places.

One of my favourite places in Dubai is down by the creek. I absolutely love the feel down there and the different way of life. It's not really a place that gets a lot of credit from tourists so it's a secret retreat for a different perspective of Dubai. We've spent many nights, entertaining guests there, pointing out the lines of fridge freezers, tyres and bags of rice lining the dock that would, in another city, have already been stolen and sold on. It's always an excellent venue to take photos. There's so much activity and lights but one of the bet things to do there is to visit the spice souk. We always cross over and see with our noses, smelling each bright bag of cardamom, chili or dried herbs. 

Another one of my favourite places is Le Royal Meridien hotel. This was the first place we stayed in when we moved out to Dubai and it's the experience that epitomises Dubai for me. The reception hall was so grand and the pools so clean, that it was a world away from any other hotel I had ever stayed in. We only stayed a week though we were desperate to spend more time there. Thankfully, however, we are members of the pools there and occasionally pop down for the day to bask in the sun, swim in a chilled pool and walk the beautiful beach. Its a true day of luxury! 

• My favourite restaurants. 

One of the things I've come to learn is that one cannot simply live in Dubai and not be a fan of food. Every street you turn is lined with every eating establishment from, near on, every main worldly cuisine. Lebanese to Chinese, Indian to Middle Eastern, steaks to fish and cakes to dates. Everything! Absolutely everything! And I suppose that explains why most of the things that I do in my spare time involve booking a table, slipping into a loose skirt and loading my bag with restaurant vouchers. 

Ask me what my favourite restaurant is and, without a second's thought, I'll tell you that it's Kalidescope on The Palm. For me, that's a no-brainer. I think it's main selling point is the variety. It is expensive but with 2 vouchers, for the 5 of us it's well worth the money. A food-loving family, Kalidescope is right up our street. The buffet is HUGE with multiple stations including; sushi, salad, seafood, Indian, Indian vegetarian, Chinese, Italian and British as well as the dessert stand with hot Middle Eastern puddings and cold continental dishes, miniature potted treats (like pannacotta and cheesecake) and a GIANT chocolate fountain with steps leading to the milk chocolate waterfall, a selection of fruits an sweets rounding the base. And then, if you're still hungry, you can help yourself to ice-creams. 

• My favourite time of year.

I love being in Dubai during Eid; the end of the Ramadan fast. The city is so alive and it's such an important time of year for the whole country with events and celebrations that Muslims and non-Muslims alike can enjoy. 

• My favourite time of day.

During the summer, I love waking up early before the sun gets too warm and going out around the city. Even in the early hours the roads are still quite busy but you could walk the back streets and not see a person for at least an hour. In the winter the middle of the day is the best time. Having the ability to tan in the coolest time of year is quite a novelty. 

The Writing Block

As you might have gleaned from my sparse blogger profile or the fact that I have 4 blogs, am currently completing 3 novels and have a very active account on the fiction website; movellas (find me at movellas.com under the name Loomweaver32), I absolutely LOVE writing. I'm not complete if I haven't got a book in my bag, pen in my hand or within easy reach of paper. 

I'm 18 but if you ever had to search my bag on a trip clothes shopping you'd find all three of the above.  

I remember the very first days back at junior school after Christmas, Easter, summer breaks or half terms and the feeling of handling a pen for the first time in weeks. I would mould my fingers around it struggling to remember just how I used to grip the thing. Then I would make the first letter. 

My first English class of year 3 after the Christmas holidays is a clear memory. I was sat at the back on an aisle holding this chewed and peeling HB pencil. I began writing: today and saw how the word that I wrote was nothing like English script but far closer to Chinese. I started to cry and leaned across the aisle to my friend, Francesca. 

"I've forgotten how to write," I whispered. 

"Me too," she replied. "How do I hold this?" 

In that respect I've always been pernickety about how my hand writing looks. Even now as I go to University I fret over the height of my letters and the loops of the writing. I swear by Bic Medium pens and practice writing near on every day so that the first weeks back at college aren't spent re-writing the alphabet in uppercase and lower. 

I've always been writing stories. The first that I can clearly remember was in year 3 ( it seems like that was the year that everything was happening!) My first 'boyfriend' was a boy called Ian - though this was a different concept of love. My romantic little eight-year old self decided that for valentine's day I'd write a story as a present. It was written and coloured by yours truly on 4 pieces of folded A4 paper. I remember details of it only vaguely but it was some cliché about him and I sailing a boat to a remote island. Nevertheless for an 8 year old it showed dedication to please and in light of the first attempt, I'm very proud to say that I have gotten better. 

I've tried my hand at various types of fiction. In my early teens I was hooked on love stories and foster care having poured through the entire Jacqueline Wilson collection. 

This was something else that spurred me on. I was about nine when I went to my first book signing to meet Jacqueline Wilson. I queued for 3 hours outside but the excitement made every hour dissipate rather quickly. Arriving at the table where Jacqueline Wilson was, I shook the hand of the assistant beside her rather than handing her my books and then eagerly asked Ms Wilson the question that had been bubbling on my lips for the entire day; Will there be another Tracy Beaker book? She told me no. 

"I think we'll just have to stick to watching it on TV." 

But low and behold, the next year, she had written Starring Me (the third instalment of the Tracy Beaker 'trilogy') and I can only hope that it was me who persuaded Jacqueline Wilson to do so. 

Since those days of abandoned islands and cushy love stories, I've written other forms of fiction. 

Year 12; our English coursework was to write a chapter of a dystopian novel. Settling into writing easily and stumbling on many of the finer details, I earned 100%. This was where my creative writing was rekindled. 

I've always had a crisis of faith in myself. I don't know how many times I've cried when I've told myself that I wasn't any good at anything. It was hard growing up in a very talented family. 

My brothers beat me at most things. I was the oldest so I always set the bar - a level they constantly seemed to override. I was the best at drawing until my oldest brother was better. I was always the trampolining champ of our household until my youngest brother was accepted into the trampoline squad - a team I was too old for. (He was soon doing graceful front somersaults and byranis at national competition level every other weekend.) 

I always wanted to be a pop star - as I think everyone does - but when my mum howled at me when I showed off my supposed talent that dream went out the window. Besides we already had a singer in the extended family. Both her and her sister (my cousins) had been amazing tennis players too, challenging a current Wimbledon commentator. Sports was not on the cards for me. Nothing was. I reckon this is why I'm so in love with religion. The church is one of the first places that I felt worthy in. One of the only places I knew I didn't have to be somebody. I just had to  be Laura. 

Finally, when I had managed full marks in my coursework and people where taking time to read my work and praise me for it, I felt that this was it. 

"This is what I'm good at." 

And the best thing was that I could just let my mind run. I didn't have to conform to anything, be anyone, do anything the way it HAD to be done because nothing needed to be done that way. The world needs people who can break the constraints. Who can provide different perspectives and I was thrilled that I was one of them. In hindsight, I've always thought I was special that way. I, generally, have never felt my age. Always a lot younger. I've never been overtly girly or fashionable and spent AGES talking to my teddies right up until I was 13. Even nowadays, I still talk to someone. I don't know who they are but I find myself talking aloud and flash back to reality thinking, 

"Who am I actually talking to?!"

I've always blamed that eccentricity on falling down a full flight of stairs when I was young but it seems to have done me good in some ways!

I went on this year to achieve in the 90% quartile for my English coursework on a chosen subject for fiction; Autism. 

So now I've begun my first children's fiction novel. It's only something little and not entirely extravagant but I need that to begin with. Then I can attempt to build up to the splendour of Harry Potter. (That is hoping I have that much creative reserve).

The story is called 'Marbles' and can be found at movellas.com under my username Loomweaver32 by looking in My Movellas. It a story about two boys, one rich and the other poor, and a few competitions that they have in the search of what each other wants. 

I don't think I'm really selling it that all that well but maybe check it out for yourself and let me know what you think. Create an account with movellas to publish a comment or to get involved or simply comment at the bottom of this post to share your thoughts. 

Thanks for reading and happy writing! :D