Daughters and Rugby

Isabelle has discovered rugby. This is something her rugby-mad father is extremely pleased about as he now has someone to watch the week's recorded matches with at weekends. Over the years he has tried to turn me into a rugby groupie, but to his frustration the level of my interest tends to be directly proportionate to the ease of the players on the eye rather than how well they play. On this basis, France is always worth a watch, Wales rarely so and New Zealand has been disappointing since Dan Carter got injured.

Isabelle, however, seems genuinely keen on the game. Her interest was piqued a few weeks ago when she played for Ian's office team in a touch rugby tournament at the Bahrain Rugby Club. Any tries by women or children scored double points, so she was forcibly enlisted to maximise their chances. It worked: she scored a fabulous try.

The next day she signed up for the touch rugby club at school and last week took part in a skills day for kids at the rugby club hosted by Jason Robinson, the English former international rugby union and league player. I went along to watch because, as these photos testify, Jason still looks bloody good in a pair of rugby shorts. The day was brilliantly organised. Jason gave the kids some personal coaching, they had a go in a specially constructed skills zone and each came away with a signed rugby ball.

The rugby ball now has pride of place in Isabelle's room. Perhaps it marks the beginning of an illustrious touch rugby career, or maybe just the start of an armchair rugby career. Either way, her father will be happy.

Let's talk!

Bahrain's much vaunted National Dialogue has begun. After weeks of build up and a concerted poster campaign around the island, more than 300 participants have registered to take part in talks which it is hoped will help the kingdom move on from the troubles of February and March.

Political societies, human rights activists, women and children's societies, professional societies and NGOs are among those taking part and will over the next weeks debate more than 180 topics under four broad themes - the political system, the economy, social issues and human rights. The talks, which will take place three times a week, will bring together all spectrums of society under one roof to discuss the kingdom's future. The King has even held special meetings with the expatriate community to canvass their views on change and a website has been set up to keep the public informed of progress (http://www.nd.bh/en/). Many here believe Bahrain has been badly misrepresented in the western press over the last months and are hoping the dialogue will help to change this. The king has also announced an independent inquiry into the riots in consultation with the UN Commissioner for Human Rights.

Al Wefaq, the main opposition party, decided at the last moment to join the Dialogue "for the sake of Bahrain", although it has expressed reservations as to what can be achieved. Of the other opposition parties, some are participating, some are not and there were opposition protests over the weekend and more are planned for this weekend.

The talks are to take place without preconditions as to what can and cannot be raised and the sessions will include sensitive issues such as the handling of state assets, compensation for psychological damage in the recent unrest and human rights issues. After each session is concluded, provided consensus has been reached, the outcome will be sent to the King.

Only time will tell how difficult it will be to reach consensus on the topics under discussion and whether any changes implemented as a result of the talks will be enough to allow the country to heal. Here's a comforting thought though: should things get too heated and blood pressures rise, Bahrain will be well-placed to cope for it has just officially entered the Guinness World Records for the most blood pressure readings taken in 8 hours - 3,252, in case you were wondering. Regular readers of this blog will know Bahrain has had several aborted record attempts in recent years, so I'm pleased to announce it has finally made it into the record books.

A week is a long time in F1

"Back on track: F1 October 30" ran the headline in Saturday's Gulf Daily News, the main English language newspaper in Bahrain. The paper ran lengthy articles thanking the FIA for their decision to reinstate the Grand Prix and saying how it would help the economy, particularly the tourism sector, bounce back from the damage caused by the unrest. The community newspaper, GulfWeekly, has been running a campaign to garner readers' support to reinstate the race. "We did it!" proclaimed yesterday's headline.

Press conferences were held at the Sakhir race circuit where executives told of their delight at the decision and proudly kick-started a 150 day countdown to the event. The Grand Prix, they said, is a source of national pride and an event that transcends politics.

Yet even as celebrations were taking place here, it seems all was not well behind the scenes at the FIA. Teams and drivers were unhappy at the decision to reschedule the race and yesterday Bernie Ecclestone said he believed the race would not go ahead because of the situation here - anti-government protesters had called for a day of rage on the race date - and opposition from teams.

After the euphoria of last week, Bahrain's business leaders have branded the decision shameful and claim it smacks of hypocrisy. The three month State of Emergency has been lifted - although there are still numerous checkpoints, they are now manned by community police and Bahrain's National Guard as opposed to GCC forces - and a national dialogue will start next month to boost reforms within the Kingdom. The Crown Prince has been in the UK and is now in the US holding talks with President Obama. He has emphasised the country's commitment to reform, no matter how difficult the process may be.

Whatever your view on the situation in Bahrain, the decision not to hold the F1 will be a massive blow to an already hard-hit hospitality industry here as well as a huge disappointment to the many F1 fans in Bahrain. Maybe next year...

The Knife Sharpener

One of my memories of childhood is the ritual of the Sunday roast. Mum would spend all afternoon preparing it - roast beef, at least two veg, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, gravy, the lot. Delicious smells would pervade the house and we would gather in the dining room around 6pm for a proper family meal. Dad would always carve and was extremely fussy about having a super-sharp carving knife. Each week he would stand at the head of the table, carving knife in one hand and steel in the other, and make a great play of sharpening the knife. It was something he insisted on, along with smartly polished shoes (I've still never found anyone who can buff school shoes to quite such a sheen as Dad) and good table manners.

Ever since I've left home, Dad has always complained about the bluntness of the knives in my kitchen. One year, he even bought me an expensive carving knife and steel set, but I think he is the only one who has ever used the steel.

Since living in Bahrain though, my knives are so sharp that I regularly slice my fingers when cutting fruit and veg. This is all thanks to Anil, a nice knife-sharpener gentleman from Andhra Pradesh.

Once a month, Anil settles himself down on my terrace, opens an ancient-looking wooden box and sets to work on all my knives and scissors until they are razor sharp. Of course, some of them don't really need sharpening every month, but Anil told me once that on top of his living expenses, he has to pay his Bahraini sponsor nearly GBP 1,500 for his work visa: that's an awful lot of knives.

On his last visit, he was so happy as he was heading home for the first time in over 2 years to see his wife and four young children, to whom he sends money each month. Bahrain is full of expats like Anil, separated from their families, sometimes for years, because of a lack of jobs in their homelands. I can't imagine how hard it must be not being around to see your children grow up. I hope he has a wonderful holiday and until he returns at the end of the summer, I'll just have to dust off Dad's steel.

Shopping for fish

When we lived in Brussels, we had a fishmongers on our street. Family-run for generations, it was enormously popular and on Sunday mornings the Bruxellois would queue out of the door for the fresh mussels, prawns, sole and monkfish to conjure up some culinary delight for their family lunch. Fish was filleted in front of you on a huge, ancient wooden block and on your way out you could pick up a bottle of the best Sancerre or Chablis to enjoy with your purchase.

The Bahrainis are also fish-lovers and many families have been fishermen for generations. They have been suffering in recent years as reclamation and development work has not only robbed them of their harbours and jetties, but has also led to a loss of fish stock to Qatari and Iranian waters.

While some fish is available in supermarkets, the best place to go for the freshest catch is the fish market. Fishermen yell out the prices of their daily catch, the floor swims with briny water and the smell by midday is overwhelming. It is a part of Bahrain that, for now, remains unchanged, unmodernised. And while the fishmongers may not have the panache of their Belgian counterparts, they have a charm all of their own.

By Royal invitation

I had a taste of Kate Middleton's future this week. On the morning her engagement to Prince William was announced, I was being presented to Her Highness Shaikha Sabika, first wife of King Hamad of Bahrain.

It's Eid Al Adha and a friend of mine, who is an Ambassador's wife, had been invited to attend the Shaikha's majlis (a special gathering) to offer good wishes. She's allowed to bring along fellow upstanding members of the community and so it was I found myself in the Ambassadorial Jag heading to the royal palace at Riffa.

As we swept up the long driveway lined on each side with gold coloured lampposts topped with a castle, my friend pointed out the Royal stables where a magnificent collection of Arabian horses is housed.

The palace itself is enormous. We were dropped at the door and entered a huge glass-roofed room with marble floors and chandeliers. Off to one side was another large room with sofas and low tables stretching its length and magnificent rugs in the middle. At the end of the room, under the Royal crest, stood the Shaikha, dressed in an exquisite jalabiya and with a long necklace of the largest diamonds, rubies and emeralds I've ever clapped eyes on. Without her head covering she looked younger than in her photos.

Protocol at such gatherings demands that we first waited in line to be presented to the Shaikha (curtsy was optional) and then had to be presented to all the other members of the Royal family at the female only gathering. We could then retire to one of the sofas, drink juice from a glass engraved with the Royal crest, scoff one of the cakes on offer, be doused with smoke from an incense burner and make polite conversation with other dignatories before once again lining up to bid farewell to the Shaikha and Royal family members.

Before leaving, we of course checked out the Royal loos (very posh) and were expected to spray ourselves with one of a huge selection of perfumes set out on tables next to the exit. The smell as we lined up for our limo alongside the other Ambassador's wives was quite over-powering.

Who knows, one day Kate Middleton may be invited to the Shaikha's majlis as part of the endless round of Royal engagements which will now become her life. And, fascinating though the experience was, I don't envy her one little bit.

Happy Halloween!

I hadn't realised it before, but Halloween is big business in the Middle East, which is strange given that it is a mix of Celtic practices, Catholic and Roman religious rituals with a few European folk traditions thrown in. Yet the Bahrainis love it.

Our compound takes Halloween very seriously. The owners, a wealthy Bahraini family, even go so far as to deck out an entire section of their home as a haunted house. The "Ghost Gazette" was delivered to the door last week, with instructions for Halloween proceedings and for the first time ever, I felt obliged to invest in some cobwebs and spiders, costumes for the girls and bucketfuls of sweets and lollies. And our black cat, Enid, was an authentic live accessory on the night.

The shop where I went to purchase these Halloween goodies was packed with Bahrainis clutching everything from flashing ghoul lights to vampire fangs. They were queuing out of the door and two women in abayas were having a heated exchange about who had seen a witch's hat first.

At just before six this evening, the first Trick or Treaters arrived and it was a steady stream for the next couple of hours - at least 150 people, I reckon, including quite a lot of dodgy looking teenagers (why are they still interested?) and a fair few domestic staff clearly after the free choccies like everybody else.

Isabelle dressed as a dwarf and Olivia was a witch. She managed to chip her front tooth over the weekend, so could also sport a crooked smile. The tooth now has an infection and she may need an expensive dental procedure. The false teeth I bought her for her costume would have been a far cheaper witch's grin.

Happy Halloween! What did you get up to?

Where's the envelope?

On Monday I went to the local post office to send off a copy of a report to the UK. Handing over my brown A4 size envelope to the clerk I waited while he weighed the letter twice and then waited while he spent ages tearing stamps out of various books and assembling them in a pile on the counter. He ended by handing over what looked like postcards of the Royal family.

"These are the world's largest stamp" he told me proudly. I'm not sure if this is true, but the stamp was of gargantuan proportions. And I needed three of them.

I stared at the pile. Then I began sticking and when I'd finished, the envelope looked like this:

Nine stamps in all. Admittedly not as many as Manoj Kumar Mondal, who managed to use 3809 Indian postal stamps in March to break the world record for the maximum number of stamps on a parcel, but not bad for someone who wasn't really trying.

Local fashion

From spices to jewellery and shoes to singing camels, you can find just about anything in Bahrain's souks. I was after some buttons, so headed down to the area with all the tailors and clothing shops. I thought you might enjoy these photos of local fashions.

No Sex in this City...or is there?

It looks like I'll have to wait until I'm back in the UK or Oz to catch up with the latest exploits of Carrie and friends. Warner Brothers have no plans to release the new Sex and the City movie in any country in the Middle East. So although Sex and the City 2 is supposedly set in Abu Dhabi (the producers were in fact denied permission to film in the Emirate and went to Morocco instead) no-one there will be able to watch it.

This is not surprising. Film censorship in the Gulf is very strict, with no kissing, sex scenes, nudity or bad language being allowed on screen. Films are cut as couples are about to embark on some amorous encounter and resume the next morning when they are fully dressed for breakfast. I took the girls to see the new Shrek film this weekend and the censors had even cut Shrek giving Fiona true love's kiss. Of course this can make some films very disjointed and, in the case of Sex and the City, presumably very short.

And while Bahrain is considered one of the more liberal countries in the Gulf, open displays of sexuality are frowned upon. Women are supposed to dress modestly and cover their heads. Most wear the traditional abaya (black floor-length cloak). Couples are rarely seen walking hand in hand or with their arms round each other and (thankfully) snogging in public is an absolute no-no. Things are significantly stricter across the water in Saudi where a court this week sentenced a man to four months in prison and 90 lashes for "engaging in immoral movements in front of other shoppers". He was caught on camera kissing and hugging a woman in a mall.

So I was extremely surprised to read this week that Bahrain has a sex shop, run by Khadija Ahmed, a Bahraini lady dressed in abaya and headscarf. Her "Khadija Fashion House" (use of the word sex in the shop name would be forbidden) sells a wide range of lingerie, creams to delay male orgasm and sex toys. Islamic scholars have said sex toys are legitimate if used by married couples, although Islam bans the replication of sensitive parts of the body so vibrators are forbidden. Vibration rings, however, are apparently fine. Mrs Ahmed claims her shop helps keep marriages on track and discourages extra-marital affairs.

Judging by the ensuing letters to the local paper, I was not the only person rather taken aback by the shop's existence. One reader using the pseudonym Loyal Bahraini raged about how such shops would corrupt the minds of the younger generation. "Marriage is not about lust" she wrote and "...these products are suitable for countries like Taiwan and Thailand, which have a large uneducated population" but not for Bahrain. Loyal Bahraini has clearly not heard of political correctness.

It seems this is not a view shared by all. Mrs Ahmed's shop has been so successful she is now considering opening another branch in Bahrain and outlets in Dubai and Lebanon.

Driving Middle East style

Need an adrenalin rush? Want to take your life in your hands? Try doing the daily school run - in Bahrain.

Roads in the Middle East are the second most dangerous in the world - only Africa's are worse. This statistic comes as no surprise to those who live here. Venture onto Bahrain's roads on any given day and chances are you will see an accident, or at the very least several near misses brought about by unbelievably stupid driving manouevres.

When I applied for my Bahraini driving licence, I received a copy of the Bahraini Highway Code. The rules of the road are all in there, all up to international standards. The trouble is, no-one adheres to them and no-one enforces them.

So just so you are in the know should you ever come to the Middle East and be stupid enough to hire a car, here are my top ten tips for driving like a local:

1. Seatbelts: don't fasten them, they are a nuisance and will crease your clothes. And never, ever allow your child to wear one - much better to keep them amused while you are on the motorway by bounding around the car, leaping from front to back, draping themselves across the dashboard or sticking their heads out of the windows or sunshine roof.

2. Car seats: don't buy them; they are totally unnecessary. Put baby in the front on his mother's lap or if you are a lone driver, sit him on your lap.

3. Mobile phones: only use them while driving. Journeys can be so boring and a good chat with your buddies provides a welcome distraction from everything else going on around you.

4. Seat position: if you are male, under 25 and drive any sort of Toyota or Nissan, then your seat should be near to horizontal so that you struggle to see over the steering wheel (which you must only clasp with one hand as the other is holding either your phone or cigarette). For anyone else, the only rule is that you must position your seat so that you can't see in any of your mirrors (if you are even aware they are there and serve other purposes than applying lip gloss).

5. Indicators: don't use them. All that pushing the lever up and down - such a waste of energy. And anyway, you know where you are going.

6. Parking: if you must park in a designated parking area, then make sure you park at such an angle that you take up at least three spaces. Otherwise, use pavements, garage entrances, verges, the hard shoulder and, on Fridays, the lane of the dual carriageway closest to the mosque.

7. Motorway driving: overtake or undertake - both are fine as long as you are exceeding the speed limit and then cut in front of the person in the next lane close enough to take out their front wing. Oh, and tailgating is de rigueur.

8. Roundabouts: always make sure you are in the wrong lane to exit so that you have to suddenly and dramatically cut across cars in the other lanes to reach your destination - without indicating, of course: see rule 5 above.

9. Traffic lights: if you are at the front of the queue for a red light, make sure you edge forward into the junction ahead so that you get the best possible racing start when the lights change. As soon as the lights are green, any car behind the lead car should honk its horn madly and incessantly in the hope that all the cars in front will instantly vapourise. And most importantly, never forget the 10-second-rule: once the lights turn red again, cars must continue through them for at least 10 seconds or risk the car behind ramming into them.

10. Road markings and signs: on the whole, it is best to ignore these. Drive the wrong way up that one-way street if it's your quickest route home; always drive into that yellow box to make sure you block rush hour traffic from all other directions; and never ever take any notice of chevrons or double yellow lines.

Good luck! You'll need it.

Adam's not coming home

I last posted about Adam Jones in November. 10-year-old Adam attends the same Bahrain school as my daughters. Last October he went to Qatar with his British mother, Rebecca, to visit the family of his late Qatari father. His 77-year-old Qatari grandmother was supposedly ill and wanted to see him.

During the visit, Adam's mother was asked by his uncle to sign some legal papers, ostensibly concerning property in Qatar. In fact, the papers were nothing to do with land but instead allowed the grandmother to file for custody of Adam, which she duly did.

Rebecca has been in Qatar ever since, fighting for Adam's return. She feared that if she left Qatar, she may not have been allowed to return. Her second husband, Barrie, has remained in Bahrain taking care of their four-year-old daughter.

The Qatari court awarded full custody to the grandmother in November and Rebecca was denied visitation rights. She immediately appealed the decision and was awarded visitation rights at the end of November, allowing her to see Adam twice a week. He was distraught when he discovered the truth of what had been happening. Up until that time he had been told he was staying in Qatar because of the swine flu scare in Bahrain.

Rebecca has received threats from locals in Qatar and the Qatari uncle has supposedly used his influence with the police to intimidate members of the court and Rebecca's Qatari sponsors, without whom she has no standing to bring a court case.

During the appeal process, the court heard from Adam for the first time. He said he wanted to come home to Bahrain with his mother. His wishes have been denied. Judges have now dismissed Rebecca's appeal against the custody order. Adam will remain with his Qatari family and Rebecca's visitation rights will be entirely at their discretion. Rebecca and her family are devastated.

Throughout her ordeal, there has been strong support for Rebecca in the English-speaking Bahraini press and from the Bahrain Human Rights Watch Society, which claims that by not properly considering Adam's wishes and welfare Qatar has breached the UN Convention on Rights of the Child, to which it is a signatory.

There have also been letters to the local English-speaking paper from people who have experienced similar custody battles, whether as parents or as children who were forced to leave their mothers to live with their father or their father's family. Rebecca and Adam's case is not unusual, particularly given the large number of Gulf residents who are married to expatriates.

The Qatari courts apply Sharia law, which generally awards custody of male children over a certain age to the father or, if he is unable to be custodian, to another of his family members. In particular the court considers the parents' religion, where they live and to whom they are married. Rebecca remarried without the consent of her former husband's family, resides in Bahrain and sends Adam to an international school - along with many other Arab children - and all this will have counted against her. However, whatever the court's guidelines, it will often make exceptions, particularly in cases in which a parent is from an influential family or has powerful connections in Qatar, as seems to have been the case here.

Custody battles are always distressing. Sharia law appears to favour the father, certainly in the case of boys. Although they are now adopting a more balanced approach, where joint custody couldn't be agreed, UK courts traditionally awarded custody to the mother, often resulting in loss of contact with the father. However, in the UK, the best interests of the child are paramount when considering any custody issue and where a child is old enough to express his wishes, he should be listened to. To me, this is where the Qatari decision has fallen down. Adam wants to go home to his mother; he has expressly said so in court. He should have been heard.

Rebecca now intends returning to the UK to commence proceedings under the UK court system. I wish her luck.

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.

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?

Urban oasis post script

For my new follower, Hibiscus Bloem, thanks for joining and here is my very own hibiscus bloom. Photo taken this morning in my new front garden!

Urban Oasis

Most houses in Bahrain are surrounded by high concrete walls; not for security (there are few break-ins) but for privacy. After all, if you're not supposed to wander the streets uncovered, the last thing the locals want is for everyone in the neighbourhood to be able to peer at the women in their family over the garden gate.

And while it is useful at times to be totally secluded, after two years of living behind these walls, I began to feel a little, well, hemmed-in.

So last week we moved to a compound just round the corner. Normally I wouldn't be one for compound living, but this place is different. It's still in the centre of town, the houses are older and, in estate agent-speak, ooze colonial charm and best of all, they have large, mature gardens. I've had my name down for months and someone finally left.

Yes, I know. A voluntary house move - madness. And this week I've been knee, no, waist-deep in boxes, dealing with unreliable phone/internet/gas and electricity companies and wondering why I have put myself through moving hell yet again. Nine times in fifteen years, no less.

But then I walk outside and see this, which I think you will agree is infinitely better than my old view of sand-coloured concrete.

I can't tell you how uplifting it is to look out onto trees and flowers every day. The grass seed is being delivered tomorrow and with the help of my new gardener, Joy from Kerala, I am well on the way to creating my very own urban oasis in the heart of Manama.

Tolerance

I've been sorting through my holiday pictures and wanted to share these with you. They were taken at Bahrain airport just before Christmas and, to me, represent all that is good about this tiny Gulf kingdom.

Political correctness in the UK seems intent on stifling the Christmas spirit. Cards sent in December should now read "Festive Greetings" rather than "Merry Christmas" and people are asked by their local councils to tone down Christmas lights on their houses for fear of offending neighbours of other religions.

Yet here in Bahrain, a Muslim country, it appears the Christmas spirit is alive and well. The lady in the picture below was clapping along to "Jingle Bells" with her toddler and loving it.

And why not? I love learning about other cultures and religions, and so do my kids. It helps promote tolerance and understanding.

Bahrain has residents of many ethnic backgrounds and I have found people here are generally inquisitive about the differences between them rather than wary and mistrusting.

Yes, as residents we are expected to observe certain rules, particularly during Muslim religious festivals, but in return we are allowed freely to celebrate our own festivals, such as Christmas and Easter, whether that be through putting up decorations at school, performing plays at church or organising carol singing or Easter egg hunts.

All of which goes to show it is possible for a country to have a strong religious and cultural identity and yet still be tolerant and accepting of others.

The Return

I can't believe I haven't blogged for a whole month. My excuses: Christmas, overseas travel, scant internet access and, for the last two weeks, a total preoccupation with baggage tracing.

Let me explain the baggage tracing bit. We left Bahrain in mid-December for a Christmas trip to the UK and a week of skiing in France. All went swimmingly until we left the slopes for Geneva to catch the first of our flights home. The following few days went something like this:

Geneva airport, January 3rd: arrive 3 hours before departure time for Swiss Air flight to London Heathrow via Zurich.

Check in 3 bags, 1 ski boot bag and 1 pair of skis (belonging to my sister who will meet us at Heathrow to collect them).

Airport manic due to it being busiest day of the year and the baggage handlers having been on strike. Spend nearly 2 hours in queues for check-in and security.

Most flights delayed due to snow throughout Europe. Flight to Zurich leaves over an hour late. No-one can tell us if we will make our connection to London.

Zurich airport, January 3rd: arrive to find London flight has left without us - one of the only ones to leave on time that day. Bummer. Join massive economy class queue at transfer desk to be put on another London flight.

Told no seats on any flight to London from anywhere in Europe that day. Busiest day of the year. First on wait-list for next London flight.

Wait. Wait some more. Drink some really bad coffee. Go to gate.

Told by attendant we are no chance as we are a family of four. Then see him hand boarding passes to a family of four also on wait-list. Restrain husband from decking smarmy attendant. Go back to transfer desk.

Economy queue even bigger than before. Wait. Wait some more. Restrain narky children from decking each other. Get wait-listed for next flight to London.

Wait. Wait some more. Go to gate. Get told we are no chance as we are a family of four. Jealously watch passengers board.

We have missed our connection to Bahrain. No seats now until January 6th.

Return to transfer desk. Even longer economy queue. Bolshy husband marches up to first class desk and demands hotel for night and flight to London for the morning. I cower. He succeeds.

Spend night in airport hotel.

Luckily I'd packed our toothbrushes in our handluggage.

Zurich airport, January 4th: Board flight to London. Blithely assume our luggage does too.

Arrive London. Luggage does not. Neither does that of most others on the flight.

Stand in long queue to fill in lost baggage claim.

Spend night at my father's house.

Luckily I'd packed our toothbrushes in our handluggage.

UK, January 5th: Snow forecast. May even be the wrong type of snow - the settling Alpine "flocon" which grinds UK transport system to a halt rather than the more typical British slush. Decide not to risk early morning journey to airport and spend night in Heathrow airport hotel - same hotel chain as in Zurich. Maybe I could get a job as their inspector?

Heathrow airport, January 6th: Oh God! It's snowing Alpine flocons. Gatwick airport is closed. Luton and Stansted are cancelling flights.

Check in is quick as only have one remaining bag.

Board early. Spend over an hour on the stick while ground crew desperately attempts to de-ice wings. Pray. Pray some more.

Finally we take off. Treat myself to some duty-free to get over the stress.

Abu Dhabi airport, January 6th: Arrive late. Find connecting flight to Bahrain is from another terminal. Grab kids and run.

Take a leaf out of bolshy husband's book and barge to front of security queue manically waving boarding card. Startled Arab security man lets me through. Board plane with minutes to spare.

Arrive Bahrain. No luggage.

Fill in lost luggage form.

Luckily I still have our toothbrushes in our handluggage.

Bahrain, January 7th to date: lost count of the number of hours spent trying to ring baggage tracing at London City Airport. Number permanently engaged.

After 5 days, tracing is transferred to Swiss Air. Ring them. Customer service only open between 8am and 10am Swiss time. What kind of service is that?

Finally get the right number. Am put on hold. For ages. Long enough, in fact, to note their surprisingly apt choice of "on-hold" music, namely: The Three Degrees' "When will I see you again?" (yes, when will I see my Chrissie presents?); Barbra Streisand singing "We have nothing to be guilty of" (yes you bloody have - you're guilty of never answering the phone); and finally Oleta Adams singing "I don't care how you get here, just get here if you can". Quite.

Post script: had a call from Bahrain airport yesterday. One of the four missing bags has arrived. And guess what - it's the skis. Now I have to figure out how to get them back to London!

Happy Birthday Bahrain!

16 December is Bahrain's National Day and the 10th anniversary of King Hamad's accession to the throne. The flags are out all over the island and celebratory events lined up.

So as my own celebration, I thought I'd post some of my favourite Bahrain photos. I hope you like them.