Tuesday, August 25, 2009

We're Deprived...

Not, sadly, on account of we're depraved (there's that Bernstein thing again), but much less amusingly, by fiat. We've got the Ramadan Blues. It's illegal, you see, to be seen eating, drinking, or otherwise consuming (chewing gum and smoking included) in public in these parts between sunrise and sunset. No lunches or brunches for us, for something like four more weeks...

Oh, yes, the best hotels keep open a bolthole for infidels, but it feels rather sordid. Those of us who work in mixed-faith workplaces and have the advantage of an office-with-door spend considerably more time than usual in "private meetings" or "just getting some writing done," all the time trying silently to guzzle coffee or wolf down provisions brought in in discreetly bagged packages.

We'll soldier through, I know - and at least we're spared having to totally invert all our eating habits, as our Muslim colleagues do. Local bloggers have come up with several diverting accounts of what havoc this can wreak, although I do warn that neither of these two are especially recommended for weak stomachs.

And then there's the whole more-or-less teetotalling thing, but that will doubtless be the subject for a future moan...


  1. One of the happier joys of my childhood was sneaking into the kitchen after school on Fridays during Lent, with Mom just a few yards away in the living room, and cramming a slice of bologna into my mouth. It was only really fun if done with, or in view of, one of my sisters.

    Ah, to again be so innocent and yet feel so brazen and bold.

    But my life has been well-lived and there is so little left that feels so deliciously scandalous.

  2. Well, darling, come to this side of the world - you'd be amazed, for example, at how naughty you can feel just wearing shorts to the mall. There have been times when I've felt like Divine, as Babs Johnson, parading along to the tune of "The Girl Can't Help It," all for wearing a discreet pair of bermudas...

  3. So do you meditate on this orange-y cover shot of a grease fest to feel better or worse?