If there's a slight somnolence in these parts, it's because Mr. Muscato and I have escaped the National Day madness and holed up at our favorite little place in Dubai. It's not quite what Messrs. Rodgers and Hart had in mind in terms of A Small Hotel, but we enjoy it. The Villa Muscato pays, once a year, for its enviable location by being in the very heart of this annual celebration, which mostly consists of local youth backfiring their enormous SUVs and tiny, exotic sportscars all night long while covering any unwary foreigners in silly string and foam. It's terribly pleasant, if you like that sort of thing - which, of course, being sane people (most of the time) we don't.
Meanwhile, today has been memorable in the Sandlands because we've had rain, and not just a drop or two - great sheets of it, for hours at a time. In a place where there is simply no drainage whatsoever, and people have no (but no) idea of how to drive, this poses some problems. Let's just say the drive up was fraught. Fortunately, our Hotel specializes in what local custom forces us to refer to as "free-flowing bubbly grape." We feel much better.