Fake Plastic Souks Is Ten

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Oh golly, oh gosh! I nearly missed it. Happy Birthday, Fake Plastic Souks! Ten years ago this month, I was sufficiently intrigued by the idea of expressing my opinion without using a pseudonym (at the time the standard approach for bloggers in Dubai) and was also missing writing magazine articles (I used to do a lot of that) enough to contemplate starting a blog. It's hard to imagine today, but back then it was all, well, terribly experimental. Now, of course, it's quaintly retro.

It all followed on from another experiment in online scribbling, a Wiki called 'Orientations' I had started to put together, which played with the idea of creating a hyperlinked series of articles that led you on an adventure, a little like playing Colossal Caves, around what was something of a stream of consciousness. PB Works, the nice people wot hosts the Wiki, have been threatening to take back that workspace for years and yet the crumbling ruins of that largely incomplete experiment still exist. The first word of the first post on Fake Plastic Souks linked, through the fiendishly clever use of houmus, back to the Wiki in a sort of nod to the past.

Here's the first Fake Plastic Souks post, linked for your clicking pleasure!

That first post was inspired by the sententious rumblings from the Arab Media Forum and amused me greatly. Like many things that amuse me greatly (my first novel, for instance), I find I am in an audience of one. Luckily, that has never detracted from my amusement. The ability to amuse oneself avoids a great deal of unpleasantness in life, I find.

An awful lot of water has flowed under the bridge since those early days, quite a lot of the events which took place around me documented as I jotted things down. It's not quite Samuel Pepys, but I occasionally enjoy stumbling across something old and dusty. In all this time, a tad over 1.2 million pages have been read. Which is nice. I would hate to think how many words I've thrown into this little cloudy corner. I've probably written about 700,000 words in my various novels (not including the two books I made from FPS posts for publishing workshop purposes) and likely more in the blog.

Oh yes, the books. There were two of them, made when I needed a text to create a sample book for a 'hands on' publishing session I did for the LitFest chaps. The first one documented 2007-2009: Fake Plastic Souks - The Glory Years. I joked that I'd do another one if that book sold more than ten copies and to my mild amazement, it did. So I made the second, Fake Plastic Souks - The Fear Returns, which covered 2009-2011. The links take you to the Kindle editions, but there are also paperbacks. I never did get around to a third one. Just as well, probably.

It all seems a little irrelevant these days. Mind you, an early and perhaps over-passionate proponent of 'social media', I now find myself yearning to sit under a tree and play with wooden toys rather than post, share, tweet and snap for the benefit of small and frequently mildly bemused audiences.

I think my favourite things from over the years are were when I 'outed' Harper Collins' Authonomy and the 'Shiny' posts, which did rather tickle me. Documenting the egregious contents of Tim Horton's French Vanilla Coffee not only provided me with amusement, it has informed something like 10,000 people. The 'stuff they put in our food' posts have always caused the most 'Yews'. My abiding interest in food, of course, led to the co-creation of Dubai's first 'food blog' with partner in crime Simon McCrum, The Fat Expat. That was finally shuttered due to lack of time and photographic talent back in 2013. TFE was never really Instagram gold, but I still use it to find recipes even today.

These days, as people may have noticed, I post rather more infrequently and have stopped looking at Sitemeter or analytics. In the early days, the blog would attract a sort of 'background radiation' of readers, about 30 or so per post. That grew to hundreds and even thousands, with anything up to 40,000 page views each month. I was just starting to think that was getting rather reasonable when I met Russian writer Boris Akunin, whose blog gets about 1,000 comments a day. When he invited readers to join him in a walk around Moscow to protest Putin, 10,000 people turned up.

I was duly humbled.

Anyway, there's no real point to this post. I just thought I'd mark the occasion...

Croutique. Books. Gifts. What's Not To Love?

Croutique is a sort of Middle Eastern Etsy, a place for crafters to sell their crafts to people who value something a little off the usual beaten track of marble malls and shiny brands. We're talking individuality, personalisation, a splash of quirkiness and perhaps even a dash of difference.

It's a CRafters bOUTIQUE, really. Croutique. Geddit?

The site comes to us thanks to the marriage of global expat community website ExpatWoman.com and their acquisition of deal-tipping site Cobone, which added transactional capabilities to one of the region's most successful pure-play web publishing sites. ExpatWoman has always been strongly about communities and long supportive of the UAE's 'crafter community'. Sounds a bit hipster, like a mad sort of tax-free Amish, doesn't it?

As a vendor, Croutique lets you easily set up a web store within their store, with easy to build pages that let you sell items with varying degrees of personalisation and choice. I should know, I've built one myself. Yes, you can now buy my books - signed and dedicated as you fancy, and have 'em delivered to your home anywhere in the UAE without even letting go of your beloved mouse. And all for a mere Dhs17 above the retail cover price.

The link's here. 

No more Christmas present dilemmas! Have a book dedicated to your loved one and signed by the author! Get the whole Olives/Beirut/Shemlan trilogy for a never-to-be-forgotten gift. Or A Decent Bomber for your father in law who's interested in Ireland and that sort of thing.

Or Birdkill for anyone who likes reading really quite screwed up psychological thrillers. Or, better, for that over-sensitive aunt you loathe who suffers dreadfully from her nerves.

Requests for 200,000 word dedications beginning 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times' will clearly not be considered...

These could be yours, as unique seasonal gifts, signed and dedicated personally by the author to your loved (or hated) ones and delivered anywhere in the UAE. 

If you'd prefer global delivery, that can be done, too. Only without a signature. 
Just click here! :)

How Green Is My Sharjah?

The unthinkable has happened. The old battered dumpsters that used to line our sandy street have disappeared, each one replaced by two shiny new plastic bins. One is marked 'General waste' and one 'Recyclable waste'.

I quite miss our old one. Some expat anarchist had sprayed 'Green Day' on it:

Well, 'green day' is finally upon us! Sharjah's upped its green act with waste management company Bee'ah, with a goal of 'zero to landfill' being the stated aim. The new bins aren't the only sign of change around here: for years an integrated waste management policy has been rolled out with thousands of staff litter-picking, bin emptying, street cleaning and waste segregating. It's taken its time, but that tremendous effort has finally reached our street.

It's the end of an era.

We used to go visiting friends and family in the UK, our hosts dancing after us and correcting our bin-using habits. This goes in the green bin, that goes in the orange bag, this goes in the black bag, that goes in the green tray: depending on where you were in the country, the recycling regimen would change, but generally people are in the habit of segregating waste into organics, recyclables, bottles and general waste. They always seem to fill the bottle baskets when we're with them, but that's probably just because they're pleased to see us.

Of course, we've always just had the dumpster. Our waste segregation regimen has generally been pretty much 'throw out stuff'. That includes broken office chairs, broken shower curtain poles. Anything. Just lay it by the dumpster and hey presto! it's gone. Actually, the bin men often don't get to the larger stuff, there's always some opportunist who's got an eye out and larger items generally don't stick around beside the dumpster for longer than an hour or so. The record was a broken office desk we chucked out a few years back: it was gone within ten minutes.

So now we've joined the ranks of the responsible: a second bag in the kitchen is devoted to plastic, cardboard and tins. We're actually becoming civilised. Wherever will it end?

Web Strategies For Authors

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Ugh. Even the title of this blog post makes me want to heave. But, like it or not, as a writer you're going to need to work out how you define yourself on The Tangled Web. Remember that one - when the marketing nongs who gave us 'the cloud' and 'the Internet of things' coin that as the next bigbig thing, you can all queue up to give me the credit for inventing it.

Suit: "We're defining the solutions that will make sense of TTW and simplify the muddle of the interconnectedness huddle."

Lesser mortal: "Sorry, TTW? What's that?"

Suit (smugly): "The Tangled Web. Duh."

Wow. I haven't said a thing yet and I've already managed to completely derail myself.

So. Authors. Websites. Basically, you're going to have to work out what you do about websites and the like. For myself, it was all nice and simple. When I published Olives - A Violent Romance, I started a blog of the book and a book website. At the time I worried a little about whether that was the right move, or whether I should have an Alexander McNabb site that had the books in it, but I was greedy for SEO, in part because Olives is such a pants title for a book (long story) and in part because it doesn't really matter what you do for a day job, you're too close to things when it's your own work.

The blog of the book was a clear content-led promotion play and launched in January 2012. I kept it going until around May 2013, by which time I was so exhausted by book promotion I could barely look at an Olive, let alone write about the blasted things. The blog was basically an ongoing discussion of the book's content, quoting bits of book and discussing the ideas, concepts and situations behind each quote. In total it's pulled about 24,000 page views and is still averaging a little under 400 views a month. That's not bad, really, but when you take McNabb's Law Of Clicks into account, it's not a very big hill of beans.

The book's website was nice and easy to do: I used Blogger as a CMS (Content Management System), because it's the Barney of CMSs (Wordpress is immeasurably more powerful, but complicated. Blogger is all primary colours and simple steps) and the introduction of multiple pages meant it was just fine for simple sites. I had a little help from +Derrick Pereira who knows more about the under the bonnet stuff than I do - other than that, it's simple enough for an averagely connected person. The website's pulled about 17,000 views since December 2011 when I launched it, which isn't actually much as it was the landing page for most of my Tweets and Facebook posts - but it's nice to have somewhere to send people to get more information on your book before you launch them at Amazon to close the deal.

The Beirut - An Explosive Thriller website launched a year later and has pulled about 14,000 views, while Shemlan - A Deadly Tragedy has a measly 4,000 - a reflection on how increasing weariness has negatively impacted the amount of book promotion I've been doing, really. Perhaps interestingly, particularly as a test of the previously mentioned Law Of Clicks, Olives has seen 2,000 clicks on the 'buy Olives' page, Beirut has pulled a tad more (but possibly that's Lebanese politicians who thought someone else might be selling the city cheaper than they are) and Shemlan 1,000 clicks. Those clicks on the 'buy the book' pages have not translated into an equivalent number of book sales, believe me.

I decided on a simple common naming convention, olivesthebook.com and so on. Clearly I wasn't getting Olives.com or Beirut.com. And, of course, I put the address of each website into the books themselves, alongside alexandermcnabb.com.

Alexandermcnabb.com was originally just a redirect. I snaffled the domain (from whois.com, where I do all my web stuff) but didn't really get around to doing anything with it except redirect the URL to this here blog. After a while I bit the bullet and put up a simple, five-page site using Whois' Sitebuilder, which is a very simple to use but really quite powerful website template manager and CMS.

That 'strategy' has now run its course. I can't go on launching a new website for each book, apart from anything else it's costing me $9.98 a year in domain registration fees for each site. So over the weekend I pulled the primary content from each book website and put it all under alexandermcnabb.com, giving myself a 'proper' author website by taking Whois' 20 page package, rolling up my sleeves and structuring the site to be very book-centric. There are now six books up there (including the appallingly neglected, some would say justifiably, Space) and there's room to add more without increasing cost. The content is just as searchable as it was in the book sites and I'm not losing millions of links into those sites with the move.

If I could do it all again knowing what I know now (bear in mind that back in 2011 I had no idea I was going to go on to write and publish more books), I'd have gone straight for an author site with the books under its aegis. It simply makes more sense, introducing readers to other books I've written and giving a core property to link to. The Whois Sitebuilder product is actually pretty powerful and includes multimedia, social links and even a shopping cart if you're minded to go down that road.

I wouldn't have bothered with the Olives blog, either. I'd have abused this blog more and built links from it to alexandermcnabb.com rather than the Olives website.

If discussing all this has helped you to think through your own web presence as an author, I am glad. If it has bored you senseless, sorry about that but remember no refunds. If you want to pop over to my shiny new website, it's linked here for your listening pleasure. Please do remember to wipe your feet before you go in.

Sharjah's Burning

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Another massive warehouse fire in Sharjah last night has the papers tweeting pictures this morning, but they haven't had time to get the story up on their websites yet. The images are pretty impressive.

You can pretty much bet these days on waking up to a swathe of black across the horizon above Sharjah every couple of months, if not more frequently. The fires, when they come, tend to be big black oceans of smoke occasions, a stack rising high into the blue before slowly dissipating to form a great skid mark of yellow-edged darkness over the city.

The biggest I can remember was when the infamous National Paints (infamous because their factory is next to a roundabout and flyover that has long been a popular spot for Sharjah/Dubai commuters to sit around in their cars tapping their steering wheels for an hour or so each way. Now the road has been expanded, the queues are still there but they are marginally less snarly) went up. I was doing a regular radio show back then and co-host Jessicaca Swann and I were lucky enough to catch eyewitness Albert Dias (whom I knew from Twitter) on the phone and open our 10am show with his account of the conflagration. I have the sound file still - it was great radio, with Albert recounting the events unfolding around him against a backdrop of shouting, sirens and the colossal whumps of barrels of paint exploding. It was only later I learnt that Albert's car was being consumed by the flames as he was talking to us.

The fires are not only monotonously regular, but almost invariably have that same huge environmental impact - what volume of toxic black smoke does it take to fill a skyline? And yet little seems to change - warehouses, factories and 'go downs' seem to be subjected to little regulation and appear to blithely continue to store large volumes of flammable material in conditions ripe for incendiary events to unfold.

You can just see it, a Middle Eastern version of that series that used to air in the UK, 'London's Burning'. I always loved those programmes because you just knew the guy who was working nights to feed his young family and who was exhausted and had dragged himself home to cook dinner for the kids was going to leave that chip pan on and go to sleep. The same is true of all those ER type programmes. You just know the guy with the hammer drill and a rickety ladder is never going to make it through the show intact. Sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice if he didn't just get off the ladder and take a few minutes out to fix it up with some gaffa tape before going on to safely install his light fitting.

And so to Sharjah, where Kumar and Krishnan are in the warehouse, surrounded by looming stacks of shiny black sacking filled with plastic granules. Krishnan barks at Kumar to put out the fag and Kumar flicks it away dismissively. But what's that? A pile of paper in the corner? Oh no, the cigarette rolls towards it! Whatever will happen next?

How To Make Books

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On the 5th March 2015, I'll be spending a couple of hours of my afternoon telling a small and bemused audience at the Emirates Airline Festival of Literature how to make books in the UAE (or elsewhere, actually).

I'm intending to start with a blank piece of paper and end with a shiny, printed book full of lovingly sequenced words, something I have traditionally spent three two-hour sessions doing (How to write books; how to edit books and how to publish books respectively), so squeezing it all into one short blob of 120 minutes is going to be a laugh.

If your idea of fun is sitting with other worried people as a strange man cackles, gibbers profanity and strews the air with streams of disconnected and scabrous half-thought, you can book a place at the session right here. It costs Dhs200 per person which I hasten to add I don't get my hands on. I'm doing it for free: the LitFest keeps the lot. Like a sort of literary European Central Bank, they are...

So what do you get for your hard-earned cash?

For starters, we'll take a look at stories and why we want to tell and write them. We'll look at the structure of a story and why a story even needs a structure. We'll look at characters and locations and at how a combination of the two can be used to create scenes, which build towards chapters. Pretty soon we'll find we've written a whole book and then we'll take the covers off how you edit your own work to knock it, wriggling and squealing, into shape. 

Then we'll look at what you do with it next: seeking an agent and through them a conventional publisher or the alternative - the process of making books yourself in the UAE, from Kindle and iPad e-books through to printed booky books you can riffle through and smell the gutter to get that scent of a 'real book'. 

Of course, our journey will include the unique kinks and needs of publishing print and e-books in the UAE and Middle East,  where things quite often aren't quite what they seem. And then, when you've dragged your noses out of that there gutter, we'll look at book marketing in a short of Shakespeare in 60 seconds sort of way.

All in two hours. Gosh.

If you've been to one of my writing, editing and publishing workshops before, you're not likely to learn anything devastatingly new unless you missed out a session or two. If you have been a prior victim and you're after a refresher (and not a refund, remember: no refunds), this might be interesting. If you're new to this and think you might want to give it all a go, the session should be thought-provoking, fun, packed with ideas and useful to you.

Should. I said should.

5th March, 5-7pm at the Majlis room at the Intercontinental Festival City Conference Centre. You have to book, places are limited and, just to be clear, because I can't say this enough, there are no refunds. The link to the booking page is given above and also here for your clicking convenience.

I might try and make you buy my books at some stage in the proceedings. It's a sort of occupational hazard.

HSBC: Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Out Again

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Some of you have got bored with the HSBC Whingey Posts. Why not a fun, frothy 'Shiny' post? You ask. A touch of irony, a scintilla of witty flair. Not that anger thing you do. No way, guy, that's just, like, you know, negative.

Well I can't help it. Every time I'm prepared to sue for peace, they go and do something else that makes absolutely no sense unless you are prepared to admit that the bank is being run by a row of Listerine-gargling Orangutans perched on a sapient pearwood branch lighting farts tuned by arraying their relative bottom sizes to squeeze out 'Roll Out The Barrell' every time a decision of any sort is required that will do anything other than ensure the absolute and consummate misery of their beaten-down and exhausted customers.

There is no category of banking service they have not managed to fail to perform in the time we have banked with them. Not one. Issue a cheque book, a credit card, send a draft, make a transfer. Every single aspect of banking has, at one stage or another, been royally muffed up by these vapid goons.

Imagine, then, my amazement that we managed to get new Visa cards issued with only a personal visit to the branch when our old ones were a day away from expiry, having not been replaced automatically (and I having been assured they would be). Imagine we had told the girl we were going on leave and could only accept delivery after the 24th August - and I got a long, rambling call from a drone on a heavily IP-saturated line when I was in the UK (incurring roaming charges that would melt the iciest heart) telling me my cards were ready for delivery.

'HaHa!' I laughed, and 'Fie and Fiddlesticks to boot! I'm on leave! I told you! No can do! Put that in your corporate pipe and see if you can't get a tune out of it by shoving it up the nearest Orangutan's...'

The cards arrived the other day to the office once we had returned. I was, to be honest, sore amazed. They have a sticker across the front of them giving a number to call to get a PIN number as they're 'chip and pin' cards. Called it. Did the rigmarole. It all worked perfectly.

By now I had relaxed. Oh, you know with hindsight and think me a fool. But I had indeed sighed relief and smiled at my wife. "Perhaps, my love, we have broken the spell at last" - imagine Shrek speaking ecstatically to Princess Fiona (I have spent the summer mingling with young nieces and nephew).

And then I went to peel the sticker off to find it wasn't a plastic 'easy peel' sticker that leaves no glue behind. It's a paper sticker that leaves a gluey, papery residue across the front of the whole thing. It's going to pick up fluff and dirt, go grey and grubby.

A glittering new credit card that immediately looks skanky, filthy and worn. Yes, people, this is indeed fitting...

Belfast: Of Marches, Parades And Protests

We put away a serious Irish Breakfast Merchant style, then took to the rainy streets to clear our heads having put in a considerable amount of 'research' at various venues, a team effort that concluded at The Spaniard, the nearest thing to a Hamra bar to be found outside Hamra. Belfast's weekend nightlife has got SO much of Beirut about it - the same frenetic, buzzed vibe packed with shiny, happy people and dotted with oddballs, eccentrics and generally eclectic splashes of colour in the serried hordes of overdressed fellas and half-dressed Lovely Girls.

A glorious evening, not without its subsequent toll exacted on Mr Potato Head.

We started spotting coppers dotted around, our first thought being maybe TK Maxx had been turned over by some enterprising souls as we - and the rest of Belfast - were busy carousing. And then a column of white PSNI (Police Service Northern Ireland) Range Rovers filed by, all black cages and white concrete roofs. Yes, I kid you not, concrete. They each weigh six tonnes and are designed not to be a pushover. These babies are riot equipped and if we didn't by now work out something serioo was up, the appearance of two water cannon tankers put things beyond all doubt.

I wandered up to one of the clearly hundreds of officers on duty, little clumps of them at every street corner, huddled in shuttered shop doorways away from the rain. What's the craic? I mean, it's nice of you chaps to be putting on the Range Rover Fan Club annual gathering but...

They were happy to chat: they were all on time and a half or double time, but none of them were particularly pleased at spending most of their Sunday arsing around in the downpour waiting for 4,000 marchers protesting internment (the controversial imprisonment of suspects without trial employed by the Brits during 'the troubles' in the 1970s) and the opposing marchers protesting the protests against internment.

'Put it this way, when I've finished being dressed up like a Ninja Turtle this afternoon, I'll pulling on me jeans and shirt and going for a load of pints an' try and catch up on me weekend,' one chap told us. They were all cheerful, approachable and open - pretty impressive PR for a force created out of the sectarian disaster that was the infamous RUC - and all clearly had no time for the marchers or their opponents, seeing it all as a throwback out of pace with the movement of the times.

'Who wants this? Who, our age - with a life and kids and a future - wants to go back to this?'

I have to say, I never thought I'd see the like on Belfast's streets these days. Roads blockaded with Rapid Response Unit Range Rovers, phalanxes of cops in high-viz gilets and bullet-proof armour festooned with batons, CS gas spray and radio handsets, the lot. 'Yeah, I know. Forget us, you didn't see us. This isn't Belfast, our beautiful city.'

Well, it's all a bit, you know, Gaza... 'Don't. We've got a cruise ship in full of Israelis. You couldn't write this stuff...'

We missed the march, or parade or protest or whatever it was they were calling it. Unlike last year, when 56 cops got pounced by a group of loyalist protest protesters ('swhy we're all deployed here so early this year, we've got over a thousand officers on extra duty today. What a waste of money we could be using for schools or hospitals, eh?) it went off peacefully with only a couple of minor injuries.

It all felt a little like a tourist attraction, but then again we were just tourists anyway. We heard an Italian tourist ask a copper, 'Which side is protesting?'

'Both, love. It's always both.'

Bee Bones

Back in 2007, a post on uber-blog Boing Boing alerted me to a new website from Harper Collins Publishers called 'Authonomy'. The site allowed you to upload the first 10,000 words of your book and then have other writers critique your work or vote it to the top of a pile to be read by a Harper editor.

I posted about it a lot at the time, pimping my first, silly, book Space - which I uploaded to the site. I also posted about my disaffection for a process and website I came to see as debased, not because my book didn't win a gold star (because it did) but because the gold star was actually duller under its micron of plating than the average Shiny.

Authonomy did something marvellous for me, though. It allowed me to meet other writers - to learn from them, to share the ups and downs with them. It transformed my approach to writing and led to me writing more books and, I like to think, better books.

I've kept in touch on a regular and almost formal basis with a group of ex-authonomites, the feared and shadowy Grey Havens Gang. And I've kept in looser contact with a number of the people I met during my month-long odyssey propelling Space to the top of the greasy pole. You know how Twitter, Facebook and all can keep people sort of popping up every now and then.

One such is Richard Pierce. Like everyone else I knew on authonomy, he never got picked up by Harper as a result of winning the monthly plugfest, but he did get taken up by British publisher Duckworth, who published his novel, Dead Men. Which I thought was a tad funny as that wasn't the book Richard was shopping on authonomy - that was a book called Bee Bones. It's a long time ago now, but I remember Bee Bones being pretty popular on the site - a stark and yet very human book that explored a young man rooting about in his dead mother's life.

Having had his taste of the conventionally published life, Richard has taken to self publishing - and so Bee Bones is coming out as a self published novel, some seven years after I first came across it on authonomy. Which is a while, I know, but then it took Olives - A Violent Romance about the same length of time to become a book rather than a manuscript.

I'll be buying it - I enjoyed it on authonomy as I enjoyed so many books from a selection which I thought at the time consistently threw up better and more diverse reads than I could find in my local bookshop. A number of the writer friends I made have been published - a few conventionally (a couple becoming best selling novelists) but many more taking the self-published route (a couple becoming best selling novelists).

So if you need a book recommendation, take this one. Richard's Facebook page is linked right here and when he presses the button and lets Bee Bones out into the wild, you can be among the first to know.

I hope he doesn't mind me nicking his cover...

Fake Plastic Souks - The Fear Returns

I've gone and done it again. I couldn't help myself. I've published another collection of 'best of' posts from years passim of this marginal, silly little blog. At the time I did the first volume as a test file for a self-publishing workshop, I joked that if I sold more than ten copies I'd do a second volume. And the first volume has, amazingly, sold significantly more than ten copies. It might even run into the twenties.

The cover image of Fake Plastic Souks - The Fear Returns is taken, as the blog's header and the cover shot of the first volume are, in the Aleppo souk. If you ever doubted Jarvis Cocker's wisdom - everybody hates a tourist - you can see it reflected in the faces of these gentlemen, interrupted in their centuries-old ritual of making fatayer by me and my trusty EOS. I wondered, working on the cover file, what had happened to them and whether they had survived the destruction of that glorious old souk. If you want to get a taste of the timeless alleyways of the C14th Ottoman labyrinth, you have to go no further than buying a copy of that most excellent Middle Eastern spy thriller, Shemlan: A Deadly Tragedy.

The book starts off well, with the story of an Irish building worker whose mobile falls into the hands of police. Trouble was, he'd forgotten taking some spoof shots of him and his mates hooning around with a replica AK47. So plod had him followed around Europe for two weeks as they waged war on terror and our hero just went on an adventurous and boozy holiday. It's a true story, too!

2009-2011 sees us finally realising there's a crisis and the British press ganging up to sling mud at Dubai while it's good and down. Shiny posts crop up as everyone starts to realise the difference between usufruct and freehold, while various inane pronunciations are made then inevitably clarified. I share more of my love for banks and call centres, including a most amusing spoof of 'ten tips for call centres' which the bloke I was parodying was kind enough to not only acknowledge but link to! There's quite a lot of Gulf News slappery, more than I remembered doling out, including the results of deploying my rather fetching Dhs19 weighing scales bought from Lals when I realised GN was looking decidedly Kate Moss these days.

All in all I found it a great deal more amusing than I can remember it being at the time - certainly funnier than the rot I'm posting these days. If you fancy a trip down memory lane and the odd laugh, you can part with £0.77 at this handy link here and have it on your Kindle or your Kindle for iPad app within seconds. If you're in the US and would rather spend $0.99, it's linked here.

If you're in love with paperbacks, that's coming but it takes a few days to populate the Amazon paperback story. Similarly B&N, Kobo and iBooks.

And, yes, if this does over ten copies (making me a princely £3.50) I'll do volume three...

Who Moved My Shiny?

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

"Oi! You! Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm moving in to my new place. I've got a Shiny, I have!"
"Not without a moving in/moving out form you haven't! Where is it?"
"I haven't got 'it' whatever 'it' is!"
"Well then, you can't move in, can you? If you haven't got a moving in/moving out form, duly completed and submitted five days before you move, you can't move. It's quite clear."
"What's quite clear? Nobody told me about this!"
"It's in black and white, in the regulations. Duly available to any member of the public who presents himself to the regulation archive and requests a copy."
"Where's the regulation archive?"
"We don't know. We lost it. We'd have put it in The Archive, but we're turning that into a shopping mall. Anyway, that's beside the point. No moving in/moving out form, no move."
"But this is mine. I bought it. Freehold."
"Usufruct."
"I'm sorry?"
"Usufruct. Not freehold. That's in the regulations, too. Which gives us the right to insist on you completing a moving in/moving out form before you move in. And tell you what colour you can paint your Shiny and all the other stuff we get up to when we conjure up daft new schemes and ideas."
"In the advert, it didn't say 'Dare to dream, live to love, enjoy a scintillating lifestyle in paradisical sunshine by the way it's usufruct so you can't even move in without filling in some arbitrary form to pander to some odious jobsworth who couldn't even organise a shawarma stand."
"Okay, that's it, mate. You can't say shawarma to me like that. I'm only doing my job and I won't have random strangers throwing obscenities at me. I'm calling the law, I am."
"What about this lorry and all my stuff?"
"Take 'em back. You'll not need 'em for a while anyway once the law get hold of you. Your feet aren't going to touch the floor. 'Hello, police? I'd like to lodge a complaint against someone who just said 'shawarma' to me. I know, I know. I am indeed grievously insulted. Right away. Thank you, officer.' Right, mate, I'll give you shawarma, so'n I will."
"Have you seriously just called the police and complained I said 'shawarma' to you?"
"You can pick up a copy of the moving in/moving out form on your way down to the nick or you can fill in the online form and print that out to submit an application for the moving in/moving out form at the same office. You can suit yourself, I've had enough of standing around being insulted by the likes of you. Good day to you."

In case the above doesn't make much sense this link to the moving/in moving out form story might help and this one to the shawarma insult story may shed further light in the gloom. 

Book Post - Shemlan On Target

As they climbed up into the hills above Beirut, Hartmoor gazed out of the car window at the buildings around them. No scent of spring for this trip, he reflected, the February rain greying out the scenery. Misty tendrils snaked around the treetops. He remembered his first journey on this road, past the sprawling village of Bchamoun at the foothills then the road winding through the villages clinging to the plunging gorges of the Chouf Mountains. Now, as then, the houses in the villages seemed stacked up on top of each other, densely packed on the steep hillsides.
To the side of the road ran a concrete storm drain that crossed the tarmac as the camber and direction changed, the grating covering it clanging under the taxi’s wheels. The taxi hit a pothole hard, the engine note jumping and a dark cloud left behind as the driver changed down a gear. The rosary hanging on his rear mirror jangled.
They passed the village of Ainab, Hartmoor marvelling at the number of new stone-clad villas, gated developments and building sites overlooking Beirut spread out far below. A blue sign proclaimed ‘Shimlan.’ He leaned forward and asked the driver to slow down, ‘Shway, Shway.’
From Shemlan - A Deadly Tragedy

The mornings and evenings this week have been a tad hectic, with proofreader Katie Stine chucking up no less than 230 line errors (where the hell did THEY come from?) in her edit of the MS of Shemlan - A Deadly Tragedy and my last editing round, performed using a Kindle, now almost over.

Its amazing that after so many edits, beta reads, a professional edit and a professional proof read (Katie's VERY good) that I'm still chucking stuff up but that's the way it goes with books. You can do a lot with 85,000 words, including word repetitions, lazy adjectives, little touches to clarify points, better word choices, filters (he saw the shiny spoon = the spoon shone) and more.

I'm giving a follow up workshop for the Hunna Ladies Writer's Group on Saturday at the Emirates LitFest's home, the Dar Al Adab - on how to self-publish a book. Last time we looked at how to write and edit, so now we're going to complete the exercise and look at how you can use POD and ebooks to make your work available to a truly global audience. What better example to use in the live demos than Shemlan itself? So I'll be publishing the e-book on Saturday.

That doesn't mean you'll be able to get your hands on it Saturday. Amazon Kindle takes 12-24 hours to populate, Createspace for the paperback can take longer (including the Book Depository which can actually take a couple of weeks to bring up a title) and Smashwords' Premium Catalogue (iBooks and the like) can similarly take a while. I reckon by my 'official' target publishing date of November 5th you'll be good to go and the links can go up.

The Citadel Of Sigiriya - Lion Rock

 "Right lads, I'll have a palace up there and some pleasure gardens please. 

Quick as you like now. Chop chop!"

Sigiriya is an ancient palace built by a king who decided that if you're going to do 'palace', then it might as well be a gigantic, sprawling moated complex topped by a 200-metre high rock with a pleasure garden, pools and harem at its top.

The guy certainly had style, I'll give him that. 

Fighting off the insistent and rather seedy-seeming gentleman who wanted to be our guide to the sight, we bought our tickets (Rs3,900 for foreigners, Rs50 for Sri Lankans). These were expensive by UK standards, let alone Sri Lankan and our Sri Lankan friends felt shamed by the difference in prices. Oddly enough they seemed more annoyed by it than we were. 

But to be honest, we were a little taken aback. Understanding we earn more than Sri Lankans do, put in a system of concessions for schoolkids and the aged then find ways of presenting the experience that wealthier European or Asian travellers would pay premiums for rather than out-and-out gouging. There was no guidebook to the site and no audio guide on offer. There were no official guides and little evidence of any attempt to structure the experience as a value-added one beyond 'pay up and go up'. 

In some ways, this adds to its charm - it's not slick and over-developed. But then in others it detracts - the pestering freelance tour guide, the lack of any facilities or information. Even the availability of cold water until you get to the stalls in the drivers' car park at the exit. That apart, the site itself is splendorous.

I'm sure there was more information in the museum, but that was 500 metres the wrong way away from the site and we decided to skip it and get on with what looked to promise a hot, gruelling climb.

You travel through the ruins of glorious water gardens and what once must have been an amazing citadel towards the rock towering above you. You can see the steps stretching up to the foot of the rock, then the gantries and walkways stuck to the side of it and vertigo already cuts in. We chose a hot, sunny day and it was certainly warm going. There are delightful signs all over the place telling you to stay silent to prevent hornet attacks. Shame they weren't in Korean or Japanese. 

The hornets, presumably unable to speak Korean or Japanese themselves, let the babblers pass. 

The climb up, taken with care, is not onerous if you are relatively fit. Many choose to go as far as the 'lion's feet' and leave the final - and most vertiginous - part of the climb to more foolish folk. 

The Mirror Wall. No, it's no longer shiny. 

Not even Dubai could be shiny after 2,000 years...

On the way up you pass the Mirror Wall, a porcelain wall once apparently so burnished the king who built his palace atop this 200 meter-high boulder could see his face in it. You also get the chance to clamber up a spiral staircase to look at the remains of the frescoes some experts believe once adorned much of the rock. We passed, it was too hot, too busy and none of us much liked the look of the buttressing holding the viewing platform together. 

It's only when you're traversing rock a couple of hundred feet from the staging point below looking out over vistas of Sri Lanka's forest carpet that you realise you're standing on a flimsy structure nailed to a rock and maintained by the Sri Lankan Office of Public Works (or some such). The presence of a broken strut on the ground below doesn't add to any vestigial feelings of confidence.

It's not until you're on the way out you get to see what you've been walking on. 

Which is lucky, really...

Struggling to the top (not because of the climb, but negotiating the press of people coming down - even a section which had two walkways, clearly intended to be one for up and one for down, was crammed with people going both ways), you're rewarded by an amazing view of the lush countryside, as well as a scramble through the stepped ruins of the palace, complete with a huge cistern and water pools. 

Apparently yer one had 200 wives and liked to disport with them here. You can't blame him. If I were the King Of All I Surveyed, I'd be tempted meself...

Mind, it didn't do him much good - he was defeated and fell on his own sword in AD495. 

This is where Sri Lankans discover why their ticket only cost Rs50...

Delightfully, once you've struggled to the top and wandered around a bit, you come across a sign that says 'GOING DOWN IS DANGEROUS'. Thanks, you might have mentioned that before...

Sigiriya is a true marvel. Suck it up, cough and pay the inflated fee. Give this at least half a day. Do not, under any circumstance, pass it by.

Dubai Real Estate Boom Bubble Flashback

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

"Ah, there you are! Come in! Come in! Have a seat. Fancy a Fanta? Teem? Mirinda? Sprite?"
"I'll have a water please."
"Sure. Masafi do you? Sorry about the bottle, it's one of those annoying flimsy new ones that's worse than a paper bag. There, see? You've got water all over yourself now. Those skinny lids don't fit too well, I know."
"That's fine, thanks. Look, it's about this new Shiny you're selling."
"Oh, yes. Shiny 2.0! It's brilliant. You can dare to dream of a fulfilment of your desert lifestyle as you tantalise your ultimate desires with an abundance of urban satisfaction."
"Yes, that's the one. How is it different to the old Shiny?"
"Different? Oh, my dear boy, it's a leap - a quantum leap, I should say. We're back and it's official - there are crowds of people scuffling to get their hands on the new Shiny 2.0. Simply flocks of them. We've had to put pit bull terriers on our stand at Cityscape just to keep the masses in check. Shiny 2.0 has got what the market wants, no doubt about it. We've made a few changes along the way as we've refined the product for today's discerning buyer, of course."
"Like what?"
"Well, we've dropped the Falkirk Wheel and the life sized model of Mount Everest and the working volcano with real lava. It's a simpler, more effective product. And it's regulated, look."
"You've just put on a cap that says 'regulator' on it."
"That's the one. Your quality guarantee."
"So what about the bubble?"
"What bubble?"
"The one that burst in 2008 taking away the aspirations, hopes and dreams of thousands of unwary investors who rushed to buy something they didn't understand from people that weren't interested in helping them understand anything beyond how to write a blank cheque?"
"Hahaha! Oh, you're such a cynic and I do like that in you. There was a global financial crisis dear chap, not a bubble. There was no bubble. It never happened. Lalalalala. Anyway, moving on, how many Shiny 2.0s do you want?"
"Well I swore I'd never buy another one after the first one went dull and my kids got sick and you stopped me from watching my TV or planting red flowers in my garden..."
"Ah, those were the times, eh? All water under the bridge now. Shiny 2.0 is going up 50% in value year on year, you know. It's got a fingerprint sensor, too. You'll need to get in quick before you lose out to the rest of the market. Have you seen the skyline? Isn't it marvellous? The cranes are back!"
"But what about how it was before? The mad traffic, the groaning infrastructure?"
"It's all coming back! Isn't it just glorious? We're going to make fortunes! We're back at the brunch tables and they're simply groaning! Nomnomnom as they say. Here - have some Bolly! I'll get the hog saddled up."
"You learnt nothing didn't you? It's as if the past five years never happened."
"What five years? Here you go, just sign here. It's a perfect plot, right next to the lakes and near to the shopping centre we're building on top of that old monument thingy that had to go. We'll move the plot on you by the time it's built and it'll be a three bed instead of a five bed, but you know that this time around. You'll have so much less to complain about, in fact."
"Okay, I signed. What about my old Shiny?"
"Rent it! You'll be living off the rental income and then some the way things are going. Through the roof, rents are! Do you want us to tell you who you can rent it to, how much you can charge and what your tenants are allowed to do in their home?"
"No, not really."
"Shame, that. Because that's precisely what we're going to do. Have a nice Shiny!!!"

(Old Shiny posts linked here for your listening pleasure)

A Buffed And Shiny Shiny

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

"I thought I told my secretary..."
"It's okay, I lied. I told her there was a ladder in her stockings and while she was checking, I popped in."
"So what's the problem now?'
"No problem. I called in just to say thank you so much for selling me my Shiny."
"Ah, here's my secretary now. No, it's okay, Joyce, you can tell security to stand down. We'll only be a minute here. Yes, I know he lied. No, there isn't a ladder in your stockings. Right, what's this about being pleased with your Shiny? You've done nothing but complain since the day you bought it."
"Well, let's face it, you've done nothing but move the goalposts since the day I bought it. But I haven't come to talk about that. I've come to say thank you."
"Well, I'm speechless. What can I say? It has been our pleasure."
"And I brought you these chocolates. There's no need to look so suspicious, they're not poisoned or anything. Honestly, you can try the first one on Joyce."
"So what's gone so right then?"
"Well, for a start property prices are on the up! Almost 22% this year, the highest rise in property values in the world! Isn't that great? If this keeps going for another couple of years, my Shiny will be shiny again and worth what I paid for it!"
"That's great news. Of course, we always knew that would happen. Just stick with us and you'll be alright, laddie. Live your dreams out in your sunshine lifestyle and leave the rest to us."
"And if that's not good enough, it's official - we're in the fourteenth happiest place on earth! Isn't that cool?"
"Very cool. Just dream of happiness and your exclusive tailored community dream can live rampant again in your most fruitful fantasy. I'm overjoyed at your pleasure. Would you like to buy another Shiny?"
"Umm, no thanks. I'm pleased but not that pleased."
"Go on. You know it makes sense. Live to love to dream to beam! The value can only go up and they're undervalued at the moment. Plus, you know exactly what you're getting now. Ensure your family's enchanted rapture in a celebration of being! We've got regulation and everything."
"Look, enjoy the chocolates. I'll just nip off now. Thanks for everything."
"Come on! Special offer on Shinies! Roll up! Roll up! Dream pleasure sensual relax lovely muffins! Extra shine and a free Duster! It's a car, you know, not those yellow clothy things."
"I've got to run. Cheers all the same. Bye!"
"Funny chap. Everyone else is clamouring for new shiny Shinies. Oh well!"

More Search Madness - Strange Searches Redux

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Occasionally I post some of the stranger searches to have landed in these dusty little rooms somewhere at the end of a long, dark corridor in a little-visited subterranean complex somewhere to the west of the Internet.

This harmless pastime is enabled by Sitemeter, a little widget that lets me know you have searched the World Wide Web for Cobblers in Satwa and ended up here as a result. This in itself wouldn't be interesting or strange if you weren't based in Helsinki, googling like a mad thing from the offices of Cargotech Corporation on your WindowsNT Macintosh. Why in heaven's name would anyone in Helsinki want to know about cobblers in Satwa? I've just come back from there, there are perfectly good shoe repair places in Helsinki!

Mind you, anyone using Safari when they've got both Firefox and Chrome installed on their desktop is a worry.

I'm very pleased that three to five-odd searches a day are landing on this post, which tells of how you can turn off the otherwise highly obtrusive Samsung Series 5 Ultrabook touchpad. It was a huge issue for me when I first got the machine and appears to have been blighting others all over the planet. It's easy to fix when you know how - the problem is Samsung won't tell you how. Similarly, a couple of searches a day are landing on this analysis of quite what's in Tim Horton's French Vanilla coffee and that's just as much a public service (the answer boiling down to no vanilla and a lot of ugly goo). And the ingredients of Pringles, tappiness of Aquafina, vileness of chicken rib meat and other food posts are perennially popular.

I should do more of them, actually - the fact that one person found the Pringles post by searching 'Pringles chip lips numb' is something of a concern - I hope they feel better now. Oh, I forgot to mention the post that details what egregious gleet is pumped into Subway's '9 grain wheat' bread. That's always good for a few ews.

Thanks to another nifty technology I use called Zemanta, someone landed here having searched Google images for 'Shaved West Highland Terriers', which is something of a worry. I've never actually posted about shaved Westies, you'll be pleased to know. Zemanta is responsible for the pictures I use to illustrate posts - it contextually suggests images (and links, but I don't use that) for posts derived from copyright free sources. One quirk of the system is that where I have more search 'grunt' than the original image location, people get to the image linked to this blog before they get to the image owner's site or Flickr or whatever. And I used a picture of a Westie to illustrate this here post about Nokia maps and the evolution of PC based mapping in general. I didn't know it was shaved, though. Honest.

Someone from Romania (working at Romania Data Systems, actually) googled nmkl pjkl ftmch for some reason best known to themselves and instead got a silly 'Shiny' post, for which I suppose I should apologise. I wonder if it's Romanian for something? Or is there an underground Young Ones fan scene developing there?

I am delighted to find myself a world authority on how to pronounce GITEX, but am baffled as to why anyone in Turkey should google 'Alexander McNabb Shemlan' - the blasted book's not even out yet!

I would appear to 'own' the search phrase 'rage Indian' which I think is odd. And I do get a grin every time someone googles something like 'what does "what to do yani" mean?', leading them invariably to this old but eternally popular post and leading me to think of someone else who's just been right royally shafted.

You can generally find your way here by appending the word 'fake' to any number of permutations, as the person who searched Yahoo! for 'Fake Boobbies' found out. And, in retrospect, I shouldn't have titled a post about Simian maniac George W Bush visitng Dubai 'Bush tickled' and apologise to the person who searched for that phrase and was so clearly disappointed. Similarly, the person googling 'best Philippine hooker bar in Dubai' must have felt suitably bilked to arrive here at this rant about the Observer's lazy piece on fleshpot Dubai.

And, finally, a raise of the glass to the most excellent individual who searched The Internet for 'Death To Modhesh'. I can only hope they found what they were looking for...

A Shiny Car No More

"Oh hello, it's you. My secretary said it was a Mr Brown."
"I gave her a false name. You were busy for three days solid when I was using my real name."
"She said you wanted to buy a Shiny. But you've already got a Shiny."
"Like I said. You wouldn't see me."
"So you're not buying a Shiny."
"No."
"You're just coming to complain about your old Shiny, aren't you?"
"On the nail, I must say."
"Right. Out with it then."
"You've arrested my gardener for washing my car."
"I should hope so, too. If he was washing cars, he should be an accredited car washer."
"Well, he's not. He's a gardener. But he washes cars on the side. It's been a perfectly satisfactory arrangement for years now and I don't see why a real estate developer is able to dictate who does and does not wash my car."
"We've only got your best interests at heart, you know. This sort of criminality usually starts small, but there's no knowing where it'll end up. Nip it in the bud, we say. Gardeners garden, car washers car wash."
"But there are no car washers. I'd have to take it to a petrol station and pay Dhs30 to get it washed. The gardener washes it every day for a hundred dirhams a month. Why are you even getting involved in the who or how of washing my car?"
"We're the developer. We're responsible for contractors and services."
"But you're just restricting us all the time. You said we could dare to dream and live to love with an executive lifestyle in the heart of the new economic miracle! You said it was about the freedom to live a life of dreams. But I can only have my shiny painted Dubai beige, I can't have my own satellite dish, I have to use your telecom provider, your gardeners, your contractors and your maintenance company. Where are the freedoms? I can't even get my car washed the way I want."
"I'm sorry, but the law's the law. He's an illegal car washer moonlighting out of company hours and we won't have it. You're lucky we don't fine you for employing illegal labour."
"I suppose you'll be telling me I can't plant this tree in my garden next."
"What tree?"
"The new palm tree my gardener's planted."
"Oh, that'll have to come out. He's not an approved gardening contractor."
"HE'S MY GARDENER!"
"I thought you said he was washing your car?"
"He was."
"Well, he'd be a car washer, then. Right lads, come on, back it up. We'll have this thing uprooted in no time! You'd better pop indoors and have a nice cup of tea and calm down. Meanwhile, we'll have your grassy patch back to the approved uniform green sward in no time."

(Blame this story here)

Shiny New Access Control System at International City

(Photo credit: Donna Cymek)

"I can't get to my Shiny. The door's locked."
"Really? Try using a key."
"What are you doing with that magnifying glass?"
"Inspecting you. Right, thanks for dropping by for this little chat. Always lovely to see you."
"No, hang on. I'm not talking about the key to my own door. The door to the whole building is locked."
"Yes, that's right. It's to stop overcrowding and illegal subletting. Only one person per 200 square feet will be allowed to occupy any apartment or villa."
"But this is my freehold property. If I want to share it, that's entirely up to me."
"Not according to the accepted practice of nmkl pjkl ftmch. That's what we're applying here."
"Hang on. When you sold me this Shiny it was freehold and then you said it was usufruct and now it's nmkl pjkl ftmch. What does that mean?"
"It means we have the right to inspect you, to use CCTV cameras to monitor you and an access control system to stop people coming to your apartment. And to fine you if you or your tenants don't comply with our regulations what we make up every now and then."
"Why don't I go and live in a concentration camp?"
"We just branded it differently. We hope you're daring to dream and loving life itself."
"So where's my access card then?"
"You can't have one until you've been properly inspected."
"Well you just said you were inspecting me."
"And so I have. Here's your satisfactory inspection form. Now remember, inspections are daily and you'll be fined Dhs108 per square metre if you decide to let the property and your tenants overcrowd it."
"You mean I'm responsible for policing my tenants' adherence to your arbitrary regulations if I rent my 'freehold' flat out?"
"Of course. That's only fair, isn't it?"
"So where's my access card?"
"You have to apply for it. Right. Super to see you again, do give my regards to everyone."
"Where? Where do I apply for it? What do I need to apply? How long's the queue going to be? What's it going to cost? Where do I collect it? How long does it last for? What about visitors who want to come for tea and cakes? How do I apply for an access card if I want to let my apartment to a tenant?"
"Lalalalalalalalalalalala. Gone yet? Lalalalalalalalalala."

* International City is installing an access control system.

Overhead At The Radio Station

Big Shiny Tunes 2 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

"Hello, didn't expect to see you here!"
"Well, you know, like to pop in and say hi now and then. How's tricks?"
"Fine, thanks, bumping along quite nicely, actually."
"How's the Shiny?"
"Oh, you know, can't really complain. Because every time I do your secretary drops the line."
"Oh, gosh. Sorry to hear that. I'll have a word with her. Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about Shinies."
"Oh, right?"
"No. I came to talk to you about Ferris wheels."
"Ferris wheels? You mean like big wheels? The London Eye and all that? Why are you wincing?"
"If we could avoid talking about The Competition, that'd be great."
"Competition? For what?"
"The Dubai Eye of course. The world's largest Ferris wheel. It's going ahead. 210 metres of rotating circular wonderfulness with a ginormous LCD screen displaying premium advertising. It's a beezer scheme. We reckon it's worth a good three million tourists a year. What a marvel, eh?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so."
"Only there's a problem."
"Really? I'm not sure how I can help with that sort of thing. I do radio, not Ferris wheels."
"Well, that's the point, actually. It's your radio station. We can't have two Dubai Eyes, you see? And I'm afraid 103.8 is going to have to, well, you know, rebrand."
"Rebrand? But we're Dubai Eye Radio! The UAE's first and only talk radio station! We're news! Talk! Sport! We've been called Dubai Eye for simply ages! We were here first!"
"Yes, yes, all very interesting. But we've called the big wheel Dubai Eye and you're going to have to change. You can't have two Dubai Eyes when people Google us, let alone look us up on Google maps. We want 'em to be offshore from JBR, not hooning around out by Arabian Ranches."
"Call it something else. Weren't you going to call it the Great Dubai Wheel? Call it that again!"
"Look, that's a project that got cancelled. We don't go raking up Projects That Got Cancelled, right? It might remind people of the Shinies that didn't get finished. You're just going to have change your radio station's name and that's that. In fact, we want to help, so we've picked a name for you. You don't have to thank me, it's all part of the service. They're putting up the new signs outside now, actually."
"This is all rather out of the blue, I must say. Change our name to what?"
"Dubai Ear."
"Are you mad? Dubai Ear? That's the worst thing I've heard since the last ad break!"
"Well you are a radio station. Never quite saw eye to eye with the whole Dubai Eye thing myself. Dubai Ear is much more appropriate for a radio station. The listeners will be all ears! Hahaha! Geddit? "
"What if we hate the idea?"
"Oh come, come. Here are your new business cards. You'll get used to it. We've had a production company in London do you all new sweepers and stuff. 'Dubai Ear. You'll love what you hear!' Great isn't it?"
"You're barmy, you are. Completely barmy."
"Calm down, now. You'd hate to find your Shiny's been painted pink again because of a new Mandatory Pinking Order. Have a nice day. And give my best to the team at Dubai Ear, will you?"

(Part of an occasional series of Shiny dialogues. What's a Shiny? You'll have to read these to find out! :)

The Great Meltdown

I'm not sure what it is with me and technology right now, but following on from the recent Great HTC Self Destruct, my PC has now decided to pine for the fjords.

It all started yesterday with some strange behaviour over a hotel's WiFi network. Whether it was triggered by malicious software, a failed AVG update install or the Will Of The Gods will forever be a mystery, but the machine descended with great rapidity into a constant cycle of great meltdowns, gibbbering fits of tearing around the room pulling its hair out and screaming obscenities followed by curling up in the corner and wailing silently to the heavens before lapsing into long periods of insensibility. It is not, to boil the situation down to its essence, well.

I have long been a fan of IBM laptops, a product choice originally made because of the inevitable sound of indrawn breath through teeth that would accompany every presentation at my lovely client's premises. It got wearing eventually and I succumbed to the black keyboard with the little red button. The move was propitious - these babies are reliable, take a pounding without complaint and just, well, deliver. I have no reason to think that Lenovo has let quality go, but there's little doubt that my current machine, a T61, has for some time been End Of Life. Its hard disk is almost full, the keyboard's worn shiny and MacBook Air users titter when I pull the great slablike wodge of scratched matte black plastic with shiny edges from my enormous laptop bag.

It's a bit like breaking up with a girl you've come to dislike but can't quite muster the energy to go through with the scene. It's a huge relief when she takes the plunge before you. So it is with my PC - it actually feels good to be letting go. The pain has been considerably lessened by the agency's move to Google mail and Docs, although I hadn't quite managed to wean myself away from Office. Now I'm going to see how far I get using the iPad, although I know it's not going to deal with the heavy lifting terribly well - and especially not the video editing or book stuff.

The PC, in the meantime, is sitting curled up in the bathroom, occasionally spitting at passers-by but mostly just staring at the tiles with a lunatic fixaty. I've got the data off it, so I don't care any more.

Anyway, it never really understood me...