March Madness
I'm mainly missing daffodils at the moment. The other day I saw some yellow flowers from a distance and stopped in my tracks. Could it be? Surely not. Not. However, in spite of the lack of daffodils, I have been going slightly mad to celebrate the month. Strangely, this month has been busy busy busy. The first weekend I was off to Ab Dabs to stay with a friend who used to work here in Al Ain. It was a good overnighter, involving the quest for purple shoes, Brazilian dancers and unlocking the Pandora's Box of discovering that I really, really needed a designer handbag. This desire for over-priced leather remains unrequited, which is good news for my bank balance and bad news for the inner teenager.
Talking of the inner teenager, I've been behaving atypically for my age again. Last weekend I was in Dubai for a teaching conference (yes, a hotel full of teachers giving up their weekend to sit in rooms watching boring presentations IS close to hell), staying for 2 nights in the excellent Ibis Hotel in City Centre. Betty and I share the same eclectic taste in music - basically anything with a bit of a beat which doesn't involve a cowboy hat. We had been talking about going to Dubai to 'go clubbing', as opposed to 'going to a disco' which is what I did 30 years ago. The conference seemed the ideal opportunity to do something risque involving wobbling my bits in a dark corner near a too loud speaker. Betty went one better. She found information about the No 1 or No 2 DJ in the world (the rating varies depending on where you read the blurb) called Tiesto who was doing a 'gig' at Dubai Festival City last Friday night. Never heard of him. Still, No 1 or No 2 must be good. The tickets were expensive too, but as Betty had already bought her ticket I decided to tag along.
Preparations for transforming myself back to being a 'dude' began two weeks ago in BHS. Yes, I know that it's a rare young person who gets her clothes from BHS, but they had a sale on. I picked up a pair of cropped pants with the requisite number of button-down pockets in which I could place my credit card, lip gloss and online ticket and thus make a handbag, designer or otherwise, redundant. I may not be 'with it', but I have learned, from my recent experiences at the V Festival and the Waterfront, that girls no longer dance around handbags. Handbags just get in the way. And so it came to pass that last Friday night I donned my pants (trousers - I've been mixing with North Americans for too long and isn't it showing?), filled my pockets with the essentials, including a small water bottle filled with non water type mood enhancing refreshment, and met Betty in the lobby. Betty was impressed at my lack of handbag, but wasn't so happy about my lack of mobile phone (no space for that due to water bottle - I have my priorities). Since she couldn't phone me if we got separated, it meant that she had to keep tabs on me for the whole evening. Ah, there's worse things in life.
When we arrived at the venue there were long lines of people waiting to go in. Suddenly the possibility of being searched entered my head. Oops. I faced the possibility of prison for carrying refreshments unlawfully or something. I planned how I would dump said water bottle if I could see searching going on ahead of me. Then I breathed a sigh of relief as I realised the hold up was because of the obligatory wrist band which had to be clamped on to my arm. For some reason, as soon as the wrist band goes on I lose 20 years. Mentally rather than physically of course.
As for the show - well I have mixed feelings. It was my first time at a DJ concert and probably my last. We had one and a half hours of a warm up which was basically the same boom, boom, boom with a few twiddly bits thrown in. However, I stayed in the middle of things and did a few jiggy things. Dancing to trance music is very discreet. Then the great man came on and, apart from some video images, I couldn't really tell the difference. Perhaps he played his brilliant stuff after I left, but I had to go at 1.15 am as I had to be up for an 8 am presentation and I can't manage without sleep any more.
The pants worked very well. However, I didn't fool the real young people. Since the age of 40 I've been pretty well invisible, so didn't expect any reaction about my presence at the concert, although I was probably the oldest person there. It's a difficult fact for me to face, but I am old enough to be Tiesto's mother. Aargh. As I closed my eyes to a bit of an upbeat, I thought I was blending in pretty well. Then a group of young men, British therefore particularly judgemental, spotted me. The tallest one leaned over to his mates and said "Look at that old woman over there." He must have thought I was deaf too. I ignored them and hoped they would go away. British young men who have scented prey never go away, particularly when in a pack and on their own territory. Spurred on by the others, one of them, a short chap with retriever hair, zoomed over and, in a very familiar way, draped his arm around my shoulders while the others snapped a photo. I could tell from his leery grin that this was not because he thought I was 'cool'. He asked me something and I replied "Que?" in my best Manuel. He got the message after the second Que? and left me alone. Ah well, I thought philosophically, hopefully they'll get bored soon. I carried on jigging around, but felt more vulnerable. Betty had disappeared for a Red Bull and a bit of a sit down, but once I'm on the dance floor I like to stay there. After a few minutes, a young man with a violent hairdo involving peaks and luminous blond highlights with matching T shirt came over. He too felt it was acceptable to drape his arm over my shoulder (I haven't had so much masculine contact in quite a while), but he did actually ask if it was OK if he had a photo taken with me as he got the camera ready. "Why?" I asked in bewilderment. "Why do you want a photograph with an old woman?" You see, I'm not afraid to take the shame. "Cos I think it's awesome." he replied. "What?" "I think it's awesome that you're here," he continued, "and that you're raving harder than anyone here. I think it's f****** awesome." I took that as a compliment and smiled for the first time in this whole encounter. "I think it's f****** awesome too." I replied as he went back to his mates. I still hope that when they woke up on Saturday morning and discovered this fat old woman glaring out in the photos that they decide it was a huge mistake and delete them. Let's hope that I'm not somewhere in cyberspace being ridiculed as I write. Madness indeed.