Assuming the sour and disinterested countenance required of the corporate box spectator, a colleague and I brave one of the nadirs of the Dubai expat calendar: the Rugby Sevens. Lovely food, ghastly people, topped off with crucifyingly dire "commentary" from the various low-paid ex Brummie wedding emcees who attempt to pass themselves off as local radio DJs.
The ordeal melted away during a lovely evening at the Royal Madge, catching up on the latest sheikhly gossip with a senior source from Abu Dhabi. Such things as cannot be imagined go on behind the high palace walls and blackened windows.
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