dervswerve

Bed Dance 1

In our Doobying in Dubai adventures thus far, we have “swum” with the fishes, waded in Wadi waters, and “kaused” kayak “khaos”, not to mention the regular downing of large brandies, and the lying in darkened rooms seeking enlightenment (no smart comments about switches and bulbs please).

We are now at the mid-way point of this tragi-comic travelog and still alive, just about.

The next day was spent idling on the beach, and I mean idling.  No swimming, no paddling, no acrobatics.  Just-a-laying on the lounger, slathered in factor for fair folk, Evian facial mist and a large “bockle” of Water.  Safe as houses.

Anon.

That evening, the duney desert beckoned.

The hotel organised trips a bit further afield, a bit “Romancing the Stone” without Michael Douglas, where Polly Punter gets  brought to the Desert, driven over the Dunes, served “Dinner” (uses term loosely) and beholds Bedouin dancing.  Due to medical circumstances beyond my control, God, (YET AGAIN),

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