No place like home

Against the artificial but glitteringly lovely backdrop of Dubai Marina: shining skyscrapers, water, fountains, and assorted cranes, media twosome Kiki and Maurice arrive for some Thai food after a hellish afternoon's househunting. Fifty identical, misnamed, middle-of-desert Bovis-style developments later, the situation remains desperate.

"We absolutely can't buy at The Forests," Kiki states. "Apparently wife-swapping is utterly rife there. Key-rings in ashtrays - the works."

We speculate as to how such a culture formed in so short a time: perhaps an entire swinging suburb of Umm Suqeim upped-sticks and migrated en-masse?

"The Lagoons is no good either. They're teeming with mosquitos. The front doors in layouts A to J open straight into the downstairs lavatory, and K and L have the bathrooms open-plan into the kitchen," she continues.

Sadly, Emirates Alps fares no better. "The only way to get to work from Emirates Alps is to take Emirates Road thirty miles towards Sharjah, do a u-turn at National Paints roundabout, and then head fifty miles back to Dubai Media City," Kiki points out.

We console them. At least with renting, one can continue to enjoy the prospect of the Palm being washed away, the housing bubble bursting, and other people's million-dollar villas crumbling into the sand.