Iterum in Arcadia ego

How lovely to be back in the sandlands. Good riddance to the garish azure skies and terrifyingly verdant environment of the southern hemisphere, with its obscenely scenic headlands, golden sands and crystal clear waters. Welcome again to the gentle, smoggy dawn of the Arabian Gulf, the softly sludgily polluted oceans that soothe the skin with their oily balm, and the reassuring spaciousness of arid tree-less wastes.

What a relief to be away from the interminable irritation of polite, safe drivers and boringly correctly-observed road rules, and the socialist horror of an extensive, relatively efficient public transport system. Instead, such joy to back on the meritocratic and exciting life-or-death race track of Sheikh Zayed Road, not having to bother to give way to other drivers, and the glorious commuter camaraderie of the ever-lengthening rush hour(s) gridlock.

Back at Cell Block G, a mile-high pile of newspapers barricades the door, the houseplants are just clinging onto life, and the desert ant brigade marches ever onwards over the verandah. Hovel sweet hovel.