Alexander has a lovely blog about Dubai, and it contains both valuable information and witty rants, and I have come to know him a little over blog comments and twitter (I only properly joined the birdy world just over a week ago – find me @dementedbird). He also does a techie talk show on Eye once a week, and this week decided to talk about blogs. He invited a very popular and seasoned Dubai blogger, an ex-journalist with an exotic and exciting past that includes Palestine, and the UK, a Jordanian who’s blog managed to single-handedly close down a public hospital with the blessing of the king, an incredible volunteer teacher in Palestine, another Jordanian with an ancient (six year) old blog and a position as head if marketinghubME and input in bayt.com, and a professional (yes, full time job) fashion blogger…. And me.
Blogging only since October 2010, aproaching middle-aged non-working housewife, no blogging direction, unskilled (except in wine), non-political, cake gobbling, latte lapping me.
The first thought lasted only a moment – “do I agree to do it?” I am petrified of public speaking (even though I have had plenty of practice) and started blogging partially because I can be much more intelligent and articulate when I have time to think about it. Setting my mouth as the speed regulator in a conversation rather than my fingers, and having no “delete” feature is of marked concern. However, to pass up an opportunity like this would be crazy, for the sake of learning, the experience and the fun.
Next question was “what the freak am I going to wear?”. I know, radio is supposed to be the refuge of the ugly and ill-garbed, but i was going to be sitting with a fashion blogger, and obviously a good one, because she gets paid to do this. And I wanted her to like me because I had about a million questions for her, and I didnt want to look like a tramp, or a dowd, or a nerd, or an aproaching middle-aged non-working housewife, with no blogging direction, unskilled (except in wine), non-political, cake gobbling, latte lapping overweight geek….[deep breath Sarah]… or an insane person. So I stayed up all night thinking about it.
Thirdly: how on earth was I going to be able to keep my foot out of my mouth? I am notoriously politically incorrect verbally, but only those who know and love me understand that I only mean about half of what comes out of my big wide gob. I was called by a different radio station a couple of weeks ago (not my fault, I did not ask to be called – they obviously got my number from a rude SMS I sent previously), and they said if I named five songs by Wild Wadi. What do you think was the first song I thought of?….. Remember I live in Arabia… That’s right, “ “. Seriously. Seriously. Dumb.in ten seconds, then I could have three tickets to
I was also wide awake wondering what they would talk about. I lay in the dark at 2am posing questions to myself: “And Sarah, why did you start blogging?” “oh, well, that’s easy. I started doing a photography class and wanted to share my experiences.” nb, don’t mention Julie and Julia….but by 5am I had run out of questions, and so I woke my husband up to tell him that he would be getting the kids ready for school because I hadn’t had a moment of sleep, and the alarm was set for 6am.
I think I did finally get some sleep in there, because I remember waking up in a frenzy for nursery drop-off, washing my hair and not blowdrying it, throwing any old thing on and then shuffling Goldilocks out the door thirty minutes late. I had forgotten I would not have time to go back home, because I was picking up Micheline (Mich Cafe) on the way. Thankfully I had a spare handbag in the car, and so I didn’t have to subject Bebhinn (Hellwafashion) to visions of Karama fakes (which of course I don’t own because that would be immoral, unfashionable and illegal).
When we got to the studio, I was put at ease by the friendly and approachable demeanors of all the other bloggers. (Bebhinn from hellwa is about ten feet tall and dresses impeccably, but didn’t seem to notice my five-year-old stretchy wrap dress, or the three-year-old’s breakfast on the sash). When we entered Alexander and Suzanne welcomed us warmly, and said “let’s not talk about Tunisia”. And so the evil mouse in my head started chanting “, Tunisia, Tunisia.”
I think I managed to get through it without mentioning Tunisia, The Cure, Israel, sex outside if marriage in the Famished in Arabia. But I will have to listen to the podcast to know for sure what damage was done. As will you: find it here, or even any profanity. I think I did rattle on at one point about Palestine, which of course I know nothing about, and I also shamelessly pimped my relationship with UAE foodie group
Luckily, I don’t think it went anything like this: