Feeling Good

I haven’t written in a while, I have wanted to, but the seemingly constant stream of depressing reports, surveys, and news coming out of Egypt has left me feeling my normally fluffy take on things would be somehow inappropriate.

My Facebook timeline and twitter feed Is filled with “Egypt voted worst place to be an expat, worst for quality of primary education, worst to be a woman and highest for the percentage of women who undergo female genital mutilation” horrific. Life here for a lot of people is hard, very very hard.

Well, that’s the guilt trip out of the way, that was just to show you I am aware, I understand, I empathise, but you can’t let the Ba$tards grind you down!

So moving swiftly on…..I was just walking back from the Metro, I don’t take taxis any more unless I have my bambi legs on and am incapable of walking, and I had a little encounter to warm the cockles of your heart. Two youngish boys, say about 13 decided I would be the target for their perverted verbal abuse today. They were shouting what they’d like to do to me, you know the normal stuff, although at 13 I’m not sure they could have followed through.

Next thing an elderly gentleman on a motorbike pulled up along side me, said “I’m very sorry madam” and spun his bike round to chase the boys. Well, he was approaching them from behind so they didn’t see him coming. He drove right between them with both his legs sticking out and managed to kick both of them on the back of their knees. Down they went as he speeded of leaving them lying there, and waved me goodbye.

So, you see there are things to be positive about, the fact that the punishment may have been a little severe, and that anywhere else in the world he would have been taken up for child abuse is irrelevant. Going back to the taxi thing, I have decided to walk everywhere, but make sure I have the taxi fare handy. This money I use to salve my conscience, basically it’s to make me feel better.

The disabled boy in the wheelchair who sits at Midan Victoria, beside the daffy duck balloon man, you know who I mean, and the 90year old toothless road sweeper who does Port Said Street are the normal recipients. There is no bloody welfare system here and whilst I can’t do much their smiles make my day. Have a go yourself, don’t be giving it to the beggars though there is a mafia of them, and they use the kids to milk it. I do succumb to them now and again but I actually take the tissues which seriously pisses them off.

For those of you outside Cairo, and for whom the last sentence probably didn’t make any sense, here is a synopsis. It’s illegal to beg here so they pretend they are selling you tissues, you’re meant to just give them some money and walk away without the tissues. But I can’t be bothered with this lot, they are raking it in, so I always take the tissues. That’s the reason I keep getting new handbags, they are all full up with little handi-paks, well that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Now, let’s see what else have I been up to…..I’ve been very busy actually. I told you last time that I got elected to the Ace Club committee. In my little speech I sold it to the crowd by saying, I am a lady who lunches who was a hotel manager in my previous life. I have a good understanding of what needs to go on behind the scenes to allow you lot to just turn up and get pished, blah, blah,blah. I think they heard the pished part and i was a shoo-in.

It’s been a blast so far I have to say. They are refitting the bar so basically I get to shop for chairs tables etc without spending any of my own money, perfect. This is definitely a job for a lady who lunches. The hubby is pretty happy about the money part too, I’m far too busy to be spending any of his.

We are off to Dubai in a week or two for the Rugby 7s, I can’t wait. I’m going as the team manager, well there are two managers, the other one does the managing. I once again have been tasked with shopping. I’ve been down the Khan El Khalili to collect Galebayas and T-shirts for the tour. I did get sidelined in Mohamed Khalis Jewellery shop but that’s another story. I forgot to get the Fez’s so I guess I’ll have to go back….no jewellery this time, note to self.

I’m rather excited because as a manager I get one of those dongle things you hang round your neck to access all areas. Dongle is not the right word, my minds gone blank, but you know what I mean. That means I get to have lunch in the players tent surrounded by heaps and heaps of international rugby players, ahh eye candy at its best. The hubby will be there too and he will obviously outshine them all….just covering myself there.

Speaking of the hubby he got to do the shopping for the playing kit, that’s the shirts, shorts and socks, Well him and his accomplice in crime Dr T. They did unfortunately copy me in on all their emails during the design process which was painful to say the least. Suffice to say its very very scary, I don’t think it would be possible to fit in any more clashing colours or patterns. Here is a shot of last years effort which is very tame in comparison. I do have a shot of this years but I can’t post it for security reasons. Plus they would both kill me if I ruined their grand unveiling ceremony.


Im off to see if I can find any sheep dog training facilities here, highly unlikely, I may have to “You tube” it. I feel I need to brush up on my skills of corralling prior to Dubai. If I picked up some handy hints they would assist me in my management duties. Basically my duties will entail gathering up 15 drunken players and ensuring they find their way to the right pitch, no mean feat.

I will need to have on hand some spare inhalers, lots of tape, various types of strapping and lots of deep heat and freeze spray. There is a professional physio tent which our players can use free of charge, but after last years debacle whereby I missed a match because the one and only Dr T had me running back to the tent in search of his credit card I may ban them from using this facility.

Lots of wives and supporters are coming this year but I can’t decide if it will be a help or a hindrance. It will relieve me of one duty though, the “minding” of wedding rings. It’s not what you think, they take them off to play, give them to me, and then have mild panic attacks when they forget I have them. It’s usually about 10 at night in the Irish village when it kicks in, I’ve decided this year I will be mean and accidentally misplace at least one., you have been warned, ahh life is good!

Bye, Masalama Slainte