Actually it's Friday, but the Arab weekend is Thursday and Friday so...I got up at midday and had a leasurely breakfast of last night's curry leftovers with pepsi cola.
Other people do work as normal at the weekend - coffee shop servers, manual labourers, delivery van driver, electricians, plumbers etc. Or as we call them, Indians, Sri Lankans, Bangladeshis and Pakistanis.
Much like Britain really, the ones who actually rest on the days of rest are the ones who wear suits when they're working.
Which suddenly now includes me. I've abruptly become respectable and upper-middle class. Well, lower-uppper-middle class. And therefore obsessed with fine class distinctions.
So how does a respectable, suit-wearing, intellectual working, foreigner live? Well, here's some snaps of my hotel rooms.
|The air conditioning unit. Gives you a choice - you can either try to sleep in the hot, muggy air, or do it in the cool air - with the loud rattling and grinding directly over your head.|
|The view from my window. Would be more representative with cars swerving and screeching to avoid each other.|
|My bed. Under the air conditioner.|
|Bowls and plates. Always useful - mainly for storing three quarters of the absurdly large takeaways you live on, in the fridge.|
|The, ah, toilet. With hose.|
|My grandmother had one of these, 35 years ago. Except she had a more advanced model. This is where I clean my clothes. The drier part doesn't so much spin as gently rotate. I have an iron and a second bed, on which clothes dry overnight.|
|My windows. Located to let light in as opposed to be looked out of, a previous tennent evidently wanted less light in the morning. Which is understandable - when you go out, take sunglasses.|