How to prune a palm tree

I came home the other day to be confronted by a strange rustling sound in the garden. Looking up, I saw the gardener up one of my palm trees with a machete and no form of safety equipment. And it's a long way up (or down, depending on how you look at it).

It turns out that date palms need pruning at this time of year, so the gardener shins his way up the trunk using only a small band of cloth attached to a circular chain for support. Once he reaches the top of the trunk, he slithers out of the cloth and climbs, totally unsupported onto the palm leaves, draws the machete out of his belt and begins hacking away.

Pruning over, he hurls the machete down to the ground (luckily I'd ushered the kids into the house), wriggles back into his "harness", poses for a quick photo and them shimmies back down the tree. Time taken: 10 minutes.

Now imagine the same scenario back in Europe: the health and safety issues; hydraulic platforms to transport the gardener; the required permits; not to mention the cost.

Some aspects of life in Bahrain are definitely simpler.

Photo meme

I have been tagged by both Julie at The Sardine Tin and Natural Mummy in a photo meme. My first, so I hope I get it right.

The instructions are:

1. Open the first (oldest) photo folder in your computer library

2. Scroll to the 10th photo

3. Post the photo and the story behind it

4. Tag 5 or more people to continue the thread.

So here's the photo. The quality isn't great as it was a photo taken with a video camera.

The date is 5 November 1999. The place, St Luc Hospital in Brussels. And after about 16 hours of labour, Isabelle was born. I'd forgotten to pack a hat for her (they insisted on newborns wearing them in Brussels) so she wore a sock on her head for the first couple of hours.

The day after she was born was the final of the Rugby World Cup and Ian came into the hospital to watch it with some friends and some champagne. Just what a breast-feeding new mother needs - alcohol she can't drink and friends she's too exhausted to converse with.

The Wallabies won. Ian was ecstatic. "Aussies rule the world again" ran the sporting headlines.

But my little Aussie and I slept through it all.

So now let me tag the following bloggers with this one:

London City Mum

Selma at Selma in the City

Fraught Mummy at Brits in Bosnia

Anne at The Pineapple Tart

Celeste at Coconut Radio

Vroom vroom

Kangaroos were spotted in the Bahrain desert last weekend and the locals loved them. The giant roos were fully kitted out with springs in their feet and Biggles helmets and goggles and were part of the entertainment at the Gulf Air Desert 400 V8 Supercars series.

This bloke was hanging round with his bird.

And these fellows were playing their latest tunes.

The girls each had henna tattoos on their arms. It's amazing to watch how quickly and skillfully the local ladies draw such incredibly intricate patterns.

Oh, and there were a few car races, of course. Petrol-head Aussie hubbie was in his element, but wishing, I think, for a son to enjoy it with rather than these two glum faces.

Some bloke called Jamie won every race. I was backing the car with the best name: Fair Dinkum. It came nearly last in each race before catching alight in the final laps of the last race and retiring. The car was a pretty colour though (before the fire, obviously).

And as if we haven't had enough motorsport this month, it's the Grand Prix on Sunday. Can life get any more exciting?