Forecast: fine, but cloudy

I let them pull the suitcases off the belt and arrange them on our trolley. They aren’t heavy. We have three jumpers between us and six pairs of trousers. Two years in Abu Dhabi have left us ill-equipped for winter trips.

‘We’ll catch the underground,’ I tell them. ‘Trains are much more fun than cars.’

‘We want to get a taxi,’ youngest says. ‘We prefer taxis.’

‘It’s cheaper on the underground,’ I say. ‘Faster too.’ I can’t do a sum to prove either of those things.

‘I always have a murky feeling in my heart when we land,’ eldest lad says and rubs his palm in circles on his chest. ‘Do you get that?’

I put my arm around his shoulder. He has grown so tall that he can almost rest his head on mine.

‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘We’ll be in our apartment soon. Before it’s even dark.’ I don’t tell him, ‘Yes, I do.’

We make our own fun

Did I tell you that these days the mister gets a text from the bank whenever I withdraw money or use my credit card? On account of, you know, it’s not my bank account. If the mister were to sign a No Objection Certificate I could get my own bank account, texts from which he would not receive. But the energy for setting up another bank account? Where would I getz it?

Sometimes, especially if I’ve done his ironing, the night before, the mister rings me after I’ve paid for my lunch but before I get to the car and says, ‘So, did you enjoy your lunch at Dome?’

Such larks, being man and wife.