A long time coming

Golly, it's been a very long time since I last updated this blog, but for those of you still kind enough to check in once in a while (and for those of you who keep asking if we're still together) here's a short update.

Yes, we're still together, very happily so, thank God. We now have two wonderful children, a boy and a girl aged 5 and 1.

And aside from that major news, I'm also happy to announce that we're now back in the UK. We were abroad for six years, but returned in April after my husband landed (pun intended) a great job back home. We're delighted to be back. 

It's been a while...

So, this blog has been dead since May, for which I sincerely apologise. My life has been so busy I don't really have the time or the drive to blog these days. It's a natural process, I think - I started blogging years ago, when there wasn't much support for pilots' wives online, but now there are hundreds of blogs just like this one, so I don't feel the need to fill that void anymore.

What news from me? Well, we're still living in the sandpit, enjoying life for the most part. There are a few niggles of living out here that get us down from time to time (crazy roads and local management styles, mostly) but it's also been very good to us. We've just bought our second property in the UK, which is already let. It's part of our grand plan to buy as many properties as we can, to build up a nest egg for retirement.

We've had some glorious tropical holidays, our son is growing by leaps and bounds (2 and a half now!) and he loves his nursery, where he's learning Arabic, which makes us very proud.

We're heading home for Christmas, which will be fabulous. We miss the UK still, but accept that it's still no place for a stable job in aviation. My husband will probably have his long-haul command here in 2 years, so we'll stay put for now.

Oh, and last but by no means least, my career is blooming! Being out here has given it a new lease of life, for which I'm eternally grateful.

I'd better get back to it! Best wishes to all of you.

Facebook's "hide" option

Continuing on the Facebook theme, I've been reflecting on the brilliance of the "hide" option.

Deciding on Facebook "friends" is tricky. If you don't accept someone's request, you're sending out a clear signal to them that you don't like them. But if you do accept someone's request, you're allowing them into your life (well, the online part of it) and you're also committing to seeing their updates and photos on a regular basis. 

As I wrote in my last post, "unfriending" someone (and even worse, blocking them) is a very dramatic and actually quite a nasty thing to do. It's also pretty risky when you still see that person on a regular basis, as is the case out here in the Middle East. We pilots' wives often meet at social events; it's very hard to write someone out of your life completely in such a small, tight-knit community.

Therein is the joy of "hide". There are several women out here who I don't see eye to eye with. If I had my choice, I wouldn't see them very much, and the last thing I want to do is see them online every day. But "unfriending" them would offend them, and I don't want to do that. Hoorah for hiding, because this means they have no idea I'm not following them, and we get to keep the status quo. (I do also have several friends on limited profile - I'm not sure they've ever noticed.) 

Recently, a couple we'd just got to know announced that they were moving to another Gulf airline. We were pleased for them, as they were unhappy here. Unfortunately, said couple are complainers, and public ones at that. Lots of public bashing of our adopted home ensued, bitching about the company, etc. It made for depressing (and annoying reading.) And yesterday, Facebook was full of the wife's joy at new villa (6 beds with a swimming pool apparently) which is SO much nicer than she would have had here, given the PALTRY housing allowance here (£2000 a month!) , people, company, country much better, yadda yadda yadda.

So guess what? HIDE. 

Brilliant.

Unfriendly Facebook

Today, someone I used to be friends with blocked me on Facebook.

I found out because when I looked at a nasty comment she'd left on a status update of mine, I could no longer view her page. When I tried searching for her, she was no longer there. So there it was: I had become a victim of the new definition of bullying and small-mindedness for the internet age.

When someone blocks you on Facebook, you become invisible on Facebook to them, and them to you. You can't search for them, see their page or send them messages. Luckily, they can't see the person they've blocked either, unless they decide to lift the block. Annoyingly, it's impossible to block someone back once they've done it to you. They can, in theory, keep lifting the block and peek and you, then block you again. So far, so annoying.

The irony of the whole thing is that I really wanted to unfriend said nasty woman, but didn't want to do it for fear of upsetting her. I was trying to keep the peace. I'd gone for the more sensible option of "hiding" her on Facebook so I no longer had to put up with her posts in my timeline. She's obviously not clever enough to have worked out you can do this.

Let me tell you about this woman. She arrived in the sandpit from the UK about 2 years ago. She left 9 months later, unable to settle. She's left her husband here working, and only comes out during school holidays to visit (except Christmas, because she will only have Christmas in the UK. Of course.) Her pilot husband can't find a job in the UK and is pretty miserable and knackered, commuting home for maybe 3 days at a time once a month.

She used to be our neighbour in company accommodation. Her husband came out first, and we were always there for him, inviting him to dinner, offering him our PC for Skype with the family before he had an internet connection, etc. When she came out, she was extremely friendly, suggesting she and I have dinner some nights, share babysitting, etc. She was even very helpful when I had post-natal depression. All good, you'd think.

Then, it began to go wrong. We decided to move out as I was so unhappy. She told me I was isolating myself. I disagreed. When we'd moved in, her family trooped round to ours and she and her husband inspected it at high speed, loudly declaring flaws like "why didn't they fit a better kitchen?" and "I bet it costs a fortune to cool, I hear it's zillions of pounds a year..." (like hell.)

When I was younger and girls at school were saying nasty things, my Mum used to say that they were jealous of me. I knew this was a line she was spinning me at the time - but I do wonder if that's the factor at play here.

Since moving out, I've been far happier, have a new circle of friends and clearly love my home. My career has also gone from strength to strength. I never talk about my job on here, but suffice to say, it's got glamorous connotations and what I do gets noticed. I think this gets up her nose. Moreover, I've chosen to stay in this country, and I'm making it work. Our family is together.

My theory, therefore, is that she's blocked me on Facebook because she can't bear to see that I'm happy with a situation she rejected rashly last year. And in doing so, reduced herself to the level of the playground.

Still wish I'd unfriended her weeks ago, though...  Who needs enemies when you have Facebook "friends" like these?

A career of one's own

Radio 4's Woman's Hour recently asked its listeners to tell them whether they felt their career defined them. The implicit question was -  is motherhood enough, or do you need a career to make you feel happy?

I was reflecting recently how stressed I used to be in my job in London. My commute was horrendous, my colleagues occasionally bullying or bitchy, my shifts anti-social. I wasn't conceiving. When we moved out to the Gulf, I looked at it as a blessing in disguise. I realised that not working gave my body a break from the rat race, and would probably make fertility treatment more successful; and so it proved to be. I was pregnant within five months of arriving in my new home.

What I hadn't prepared myself for was the shock of losing my career. I felt like I'd lost my identity. I realised I'd worked for so many years to reach the position I had (in a career that many people aspire to) that I coudn't just let it go.

I don't talk about my career on here as I want to keep that side of life separate from this blog, but let's say, for argument's sake, that I'm a doctor. I've trained for many years to get this far, and obviously people are interested in what I do. When we go out, people are equally as interested in my career as they are in my husband's. When I go somewhere for work, I'm treated as a professional, someone who's worked hard to get where they are.

Once I became a Mum and remained unemployed, all conversation turned to our baby. Social gatherings always involved talking about sleeping patterns and my difficulties breast feeding. No-one ever asked what "I did" anymore, although they continued to ask my husband about his flying career.

Not only this, but my self-esteem began to plummet. I hadn't realised just how much of  buzz I got from my job, from working hard and seeing a concrete result at the end of it. Not to mention the self-worth you feel when you're making at least some of the money you're spending. Motherhood had no deadlines, just long, long, bleary eyed shifts. I told my husband more than once that I envied his work. He looked at me like I was mad, as he was wishing (logically enough) that he could spend more time at home with our little boy. Meanwhile I craved a few hours away from home, dressed to impress, doing the job I loved and getting paid for it. I was as surprised to feel that way as many of you will be reading this.

I also noticed a subtle shift in the way my husband behaved towards me. Call me paranoid, but I felt that he looked at me differently now I wasn't working and achieving in the workplace. I felt, to be honest, that he wasn't as proud of me as he had been. That's probably the post-natal depression that was talking, but it certainly added to the desperation I felt to get back to work.

Fast forward nearly two years, and our son is at nursery three days a week. I have miraculously managed to find a part-time job which means I can balance time with my family with the work I love to do. There are still challenges (the battle to fit decent family time into my husband's roster is never ending) but I'm overjoyed to have my career back.

I love being a mother, but I refuse to give up my career as a result. No-one ever asks men to do that, do they? No-one ever asks a Dad why he's going back to work so soon, or why he's letting someone else look after his child when he could resign and stay at home and look after his child. Well, do they?

Big fat nope.

Frequently asked questions - some answers

Whenever I meet new people, conversation always gets round to what my husband does for a living. It's such a huge part of our daily lives, it's not surprising, really. The questions I get asked are pretty similar. People are very curious about what our lives are really like. So, I thought I'd answer a few of the questions here for people who come across this by googling "what's it like being married to a pilot" and who'd like some answers!

1) Do you get free flights?

Nope. We get ID90s, which means we pay 10% of the fare, plus tax. These tickets are always standby, which means we don't get on if the plane is full. It can be a pretty hairy experience trying to get anywhere.

2) But you always fly up the front, don't you?

Sadly, not any more.My husband's current airline doesn't allow staff kids into Business or First, so even the most senior Captains have to travel in economy with their young families! Gets my goat, this one. I flew Biz all the time before I had my son.

3) Your husband flies long haul - that must mean he's away a lot, but then home a lot, too?

Not really true at the moment, although it used to be. His current airline has a pilot shortage (huge expansion with not enough recruitment to keep up) so he and his fellow pilots are working far too hard. It surprises many of my friends that my husband often only has 24 hours off between long haul trips, often switching over from East to West or vice versa. He's knackered. How long his airline can carry on like this, I don't know. The pilots are so tired and hardly see their families. Some months recently he's just had the minimum days off at home that are legally required - 8.

4) Do all pilots cheat?

Nope. My husband is far too tired most of the time to even go out! And he's also more of a culture vulture than a party guy, and his cabin crew are rarely seen outside of their rooms downroute. Having said that, his first airline was more of a "party airline" and there was a great deal of socialising there. I never worried he'd cheat (we have complete trust, thankfully) but I did get annoyed about the girls flirting with him, as they often did. My husband used to come home and tell me all about it :) It has to be said, though, that I'm one of the lucky ones. I've lost count of the number of times my husband has told me that one of his colleagues is cheating on his wife. It's sad, but a fact of life. The aviation lifestyle can be toxic to family life. You have to work very hard at your marriage.

5) But you must be rich?

This is one thing the Middle East airlines do well. Their salaries are fantastic, we don't pay any tax (at all!) and our accommodation is paid for, too.

6) Aren't planes flown by computers nowadays anyway?

Nope. Well, in the cruise they are, but you only have to look at the number of accidents related to pilot error to see how much influence over the aircraft the pilots have.

7) So, your husband is a First Officer. When does he actually get to fly the plane?

Arrrrgggghhhhhh! There are TWO pilots on the plane. Both the First Officer and the Captain are fully trained pilots, who share the flying. But the Captain is in charge overall, and has more experience. (Generally - but there are some very experienced FOs out there.)

That's all for now. If you have any more questions, post them in a comment and I'll answer them!

Wedding presents

We've just got back from a wonderful break in a very snowy uk. We were back for my father in law's 80th. We had some wonderful family time, but also some very precious time for just the three of us. It snowed whilst we were staying at my parents' house, which we had to ourselves as they were away on holiday for some of our stay. We loved it, sitting by the fire in a beautiful country house surrounded by snowy hills and lakes. Taking our little boy sledging for the first time was such a joyful experience. We will never forget it.

While we were home, I did something I've been meaning to do for a while. I went into one of mum and dad's sheds (where most of our belongings from our previous lives are stored) and retrieved the cutlery we were given as a wedding present. We were given so many beautiful things that we decided to leave behind because they were too heavy, too precious or too fragile to ship to the middle east. We also had no idea whether we'd be staying, and we knew we'd have to ship everything back that we decided to take with us. Consequently, we parted with a lot of our belongings, and it's got to the point where we've forgotten we owned most of it. I realised this was ridiculous, so this trip, I decided to bring something back. Crockery and saucepans are too large, but we managed to bring the whole cutlery set back with us in our suitcases.

It's a small thing, but I'm so happy to have it here. We've well and truly settled here, and it makes sense to have our lovely things here, rather than just 'managing' with cheap stuff we bought in a hurry 3 years ago. This is our home now, after all.

Married pilot gets cabin crew girl pregnant - shock

Since when is this news?  I'm linking to a story in the Telegraph from December about a married British Airways pilot (I assume a Captain from the salary they refer to) who got a young female cabin crew member pregnant downroute.

Oh, to live in a world where this a surprise. Blimey, this goes on all the time, as anyone involved in the aviation industry unfortunately knows. I think this got into the press due to the recent (and completely misunderstood) BA "hug a pilot" training. His poor wife.

Who knows where on earth the Torygraph dug it up from - probably Facebook, or someone's mate. Quite frankly, they could have made it up and it would still be true ten times over. But come on, it's not news, is it?

Hong Kong

We've just got back from an amazing trip to Hong Kong. My husband had a four day layover there, so we took advantage and went with him. His roster is crazy at the moment (11 days away with only 2 visits home in that time, each for less than 24 hours.) This way, then, we actually got to spend some precious family time together.

I must admit I was nervous. Our son is now 21 months and tremendously active. Flying with him is a challenge to say the least. Hong Kong is 7 hours' flight from here (and unbeknown to me, 9.5 hours back because of the winds) so it's no short hop. And it didn't begin well; our outbound flight was delayed for three hours, so we'd been in the airport for 5 hours by the time we took off. And when we arrived in Hong Kong, exhausted, we were greeted by the longest immigration queue I've ever seen (and I've been to JFK!) It snaked out of the usual barriers and down the corridor, looping a couple of times. Luckily it moved fairly quickly, and we were out of it in about 45 minutes. Then, things started to look up. We had a limo pick up at the airport and were at the hotel, a lovely brand new 5*, in minutes. Our room was on the Executive floor, and had a super comfy bed for me, a super comfy cot for my son and a dragon toy to celebrate the Chinese New Year, which made me smile and which the fella loved.

Later that night, my husband arrived. He was flying freight to Hong Kong, so we'd taken separate flights. In the back of my mind I'd been worrying his roster might change at the last minute and he wouldn't actually turn up, so when he did, I was overjoyed. From then on in, we had a magic time. We went into Kowloon to shop and see the sound and light show, went up to the Big Buddha at Ngong Ping, and took the tram up to the Peak. I loved the city. I could easily live there - if Cathay wasn't such a bum job nowadays.

When we left to go home in the early hours of Tuesday, I must admit I shed a tear. It had been just a perfect break for the three of us - unexpectedly, one of the best family holidays we've ever had. I'm so glad we made the effort to go. It would have been tremendously easy to decide the effort wasn't worth it, but we'd have been wrong. I'm determined now that we'll be more adventurous in future and do this again. Why not - that's what staff travel's for!

Dementia

My 95 year old Grandma is in hospital. She fell before Christmas and broke her hip. Since her operation, her dementia has worsened. A businesswoman all her life, she's now convinced that she's owns the hospital and is paying all the staff. She got very angry the other day when the nurses saw to the lady in the next bed first - after all, she owns the hospital, doesn't she?

It's all so sad. She remembers quite a lot and recognises people with prompting, but it's becoming clear now that her nastiness when I last saw her (see this post from last year) may all have been part and parcel of the same thing.

I think we have to face the fact that this is now the beginning of the end. Always a fussy eater, she's refusing hospital food and living on biscuits and crisps, and not many of those, either. I wish I was closer and able to go and see her. All of her other grandchildren have been. Sometimes being an expat is hard.

Merry (authentic) Christmas

Unlike last year, we're spending this Christmas in the Gulf. My husband wasn't given any of the leave he asked for over the holiday period, so we're making the best of the three days off he *does* have (which we're very grateful for, mind you) and staying put.

God willing, he'll land tomorrow night after a trip to New York and then have three full, wonderful days to spend with us - Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day.

This year has been a mixed one.  A few hopes have been dashed, but a few doors have opened, too.  One thing that's certainly true is that we've grown together as a family. I'm certainly more confident as a Mummy (after my very shaky start) and there is simply nothing like spending time together, just the three of us. Sometimes I catch myself, grinning as my husband plays with our beautiful son, and want to record the moment in my head so I can remember it forever. I think we make precious memories daily at the moment.

So, to the title of this post. I think we're all so fixated on the idea of a "White Christmas" (me included) that it's so easy to forget that Jesus was born in the Middle East. When I feel homesick (which I always do leading up to Christmas) I try to remember that I'm actually celebrating Christmas in the area Jesus lived in his entire life. He never saw a snow flake or frost - nope, he woke up to the sun shining (almost) every day, just like me. It's a thought that gives me a lot of comfort.

So - Merry Christmas to all my readers. May you have a wonderful, love filled Christmas, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for reading, I do appreciate it.

What really happened on Air France flight 447

Recently, I came across this. It's an article in the magazine Popular Mechanics which contains the transcript of the flight deck recording just prior to the aircraft breaking up and crashing into the sea.

Personally, I think the article is sensationalist and rather unfair. It lays the blame firmly on the most junior of the two FOs at the controls. Admittedly he did react in an incredibly stupid way (pulling the control column up rather than pushing it down) but we all know that humans can behave insanely under extreme stress. As usual, the causes of the accident are many - both pitot tubes freezing at once, Air France failing to train its crews properly on this scenario in the simulator, the extreme weather, and who knows, fatigue may have played a part, too.

What this article does do, though, is remind us that today's aircraft, clever as they are, are not infallible. These pilots felt it was impossible to stall an Airbus, but learned to their cost that it wasn't.

As for that FO in the right hand seat - I can't stop thinking about his family reading this. The poor things. How awful that his final moments are available for all to read - and for all to condemn him, too.

Aviation - the most antiquated career path imaginable

Recently, we've been reflecting on how infuriating the aviation career path is. In what other industry can an employee NOT take their skills and experience and transfer to another company at the same level? Let me elaborate.

My husband has thousands of hours as an FO of a large widebody jet, one of the biggest there is. Great, you'll be thinking, surely he's in demand? Well, yes, but only to people who also fly this said same plane. And that's not the whole story. If he chooses to leave his current airline and move to another one on this same aircraft, he will drop right to the bottom of that airline's "seniority list".

Seniority is everything. In his current company, it can make all the difference with issues as diverse as promotion to the left-hand seat, annual leave bids and whether you get a seat on stand-by or not. In other airlines, it can also affect whether you get the days off and routes you ask for, too.

So, if he decided to move companies, he would be giving up a lot. Really key to all of this is promotion. If he moved, he would go right to the bottom of the list for that, possibly delaying his promotion by as much as 10+ years (in the case of Virgin Atlantic, for example.)

So, simple you think - he just needs to stay where he is and get promoted in a couple of years. Yep, he will do, and he'll earn lots of money doing it. All good so far. The problem then is, however, that entering another airline as a Captain is a rare thing indeed. All major airlines in the UK (BA, Virgin, Monarch, EasyJet etc) don't take direct entry Captains. So if my husband wanted to move home to work (which he'd like to, eventually) he'd be forced to give up his command and start at the bottom again as an FO, for a very paltry salary, or work for a lesser charter airline that might be accepting direct entry Captains.

This particular option is a tricky one, as charters like these are prone to collapse. You could therefore leave a well paid job in the Gulf for a less well paid one in the UK, only to find it disappear completely overnight, something we are of course very familiar with. Aircraft type is also an issue. That particular charter might not want pilots who fly my husband's aircraft, and specifically ask for, say, 737 time, an aircraft he no longer flies. Are you getting how tricky this is?

The other option is contract flying. There are some well paid jobs out there for direct entry Captains on commuting contracts. Still, commuting is a loose term, generally meaning a pilot would only make it home for 2 weeks out of 6 on average. The affect this would have on our family life is a price we don't want to pay.

So, what are we left with? Staying where we are! No matter how many times we discuss this conundrum, that's the only answer we come up with.

At least we have a great family life here, and no money worries to boot. In fact, we're currently negotiating to buy a second investment property in the UK. Every cloud has a silver lining, etc...

Home

Recently, I've been pondering what "home" really means to me. Facebook has a section for "home town", and I haven't put one, because I honestly don't know where my home town is. Is it where I grew up (but left when I was 17?) Is it London, where I lived for 10 years after that? Is it the town in Surrey where we bought our first house together? Or is it, in fact, the city in the Gulf which I now call home?

I've realised I have lots of "homes". Sure, the UK will always be our home country, the place our families are, and there are certainly places there that make us feel "at home." But still - driving back to our villa the other night as the huge, orange sun was just setting, I felt very at home here, too. We've been here nearly three years. We have a great house which is getting ever lovelier as we gradually furnish it, some great friends (amongst some not so great ones - such is life) and our son was born here. My career is really taking off here, too.

In the last couple of weeks, there was a small chance we might have been able to move back to the UK. I surprised myself by feeling very mixed about the chance to move "home."  The UK, as you all know, is in a very bad way financially at the moment. Many of my old colleagues' jobs are at risk. The aviation industry is unstable, and salaries there are low. Tax is 40% (if you're lucky.) Fuelling a car is a frightening experience. Food prices are on the rise. And crucially, I'd have to go back to work full time if we were going to be able to afford a nice house and childcare for our son.

So, as sad as I was when the opportunity was taken away, I was a little relieved, too. This way, I get to work part-time and bring up our boy, pay no tax (not a bean!) on anything I earn, and live in a house we'd have to be millionaires to afford in the UK. And we get home to the UK around four times a year, so it's not as if I never see my family.

I do miss my old friends, though. I crave an evening over wine and crisps with girls who've known me for years.  I've had a few depressing short-term friendships here (a fact of expat life) and it's so shallow. Sometimes, only old friends will do.

Still, one of them told me last night that she's planning a trip out to see me very soon. I'm thrilled.

Unrequited love

I was watching a film with a friend the other day, and there was a character in it who was secretly in love with someone who didn't love him back. This led to us swapping stories of unrequited love, and I realised that I've actually, thankfully, never been in that position (aside from my adoration for Take That, still sadly unrequited. Such is life.)

What I did realise, though, was that quite a few blokes over the years have felt that way about me, more, in fact, as I began to think about it. This is not to say that I'm a goddess (far from it) but I think it must have something to do with my personality - I'm always one for the underdog, always keen to incude people and befriend them if they're lonely. Clearly, this has sometimes backfired...

Firstly, there was the son of one of my parents' neighbours. Let's call him D. As a girl I went to a single sex girl's boarding school, so to say I was somewhat starved of contact with the opposite sex would be an understatement. So, when I was home in the holidays I was naturally drawn to a group of lads who hung out near my house. My parents disapproved of them, which made them only more interesting, of course. Anyhow, one of them asked me, casually, whether I wanted to come over for dinner one night the next week - his parents were away, he explained, and he had to cook for himself anyway. Put like that, how could I refuse?

Now, D was no an oil painting. He was about 5'8" (two inches shorter than me), slightly overweight and sported what I can only describe as a rat's tail pony tail. The idea of him as an object of desire had never once crossed my mind.

Anyhow, I turned up on the appointed evening, only to discover to my horror that far from being out, his Mum was there, and had helped him cook. They'd set up for dinner in the caravan adjoining the house where he slept; linen table cloth, wilting carnation in a vase, and a bottle of Black Tower wine (I've never been able to look at a bottle since.)

I some how made it through dinner, quickly. I have no recollection of what we talked about, but I suspect I spent most of it wolfing the food down so I could make a quick exit.

Then after dinner, "coffee". Before he went out to get it, he went over to his CD player and put on, horror of horrors - Take My Breath Away, by Berlin. Top Gun had recently come out, and this was clearly part of his seduction routine. Him, Tom Cruise, me Kelly McGillis. Or not....

I think I made some very odd sounding excuse about Mum and Dad needing me home to feed the cat immediately or she'd die, and I literally ran out of there.

Oh golly, I had no idea he'd been interested in me. Not at all. What an idiot.

A week or so later, I got together with one of his friends (cruel, I know.) On finding out, D got hold of him and I tell no lie, said he'd "punch his lights out." As much as I was honoured by this medieval jousting type behaviour, I was also astonished. How could I have not seen how he felt?

As I said earlier, this is not the only time I've been insanely stupid. But those stories are for another day...

More goodbyes

We're now back in the sandpit after three glorious weeks of holiday. We spent the first one in the UK visiting family (never as relaxing as we hope it will be) followed by two weeks in a cabin on the south-west coast of France.

We've been there for a week at a time before, but our decision to opt for two weeks this time was the right one. It allowed us to completely relax, a rare commodity in our usually busy, packed normal lives. We spent most days sitting outside in the sun with a book, going to the pool and sitting on the beach, watching our now 16 month old son (who's just learned to walk) discover the joys of playing with sand. In the evenings, we put our son to bed and had lovely meals out on the deck, lit by candle light and the setting sun.

Anyhow, we're back now, after a marathon drive from the south of France to Charles de Gaulle in Paris (7 hours, and our son was great for the whole journey) followed by a 6 hour flight (when he was less tolerant.) It's great to be back in our villa - no matter how great a holiday is, coming home to your own things, own bed, own kitchen etc is always a pleasure.

A couple of days ago, I went round to see a neighbour of mine, a fellow pilot's wife who arrived pretty much when we did. She had big news; she's leaving. Her husband has got a job flying for SAS, and they are leaving in October. In fact, he husband told me that a lot of the pilots we know are going, and I'm not surprised. Which means, of course, that there will be many more goodbyes over the next few months.

I'm not very good at change. In fact, I'm rubbish at it. And if there's a universal truth about expat life, it's that it's constantly changing. People come, and people go. I just don't like it, that's all. To cope with it, you have to be good at making new friends (which luckily, I am) but also accepting of the loss of old ones all the time. And there's always that nagging feeling that somehow you're being left behind.

All I can do, though, is get on with life as normal, busy myself with work (which I'm getting a lot more of these days) and wait for the announcements to come.

Pilots and divorce: It's not pretty

Whilst idly reading Pprune's (Professional Pilots' Rumour Network) Middle East forum this morning, I came across this.

In a thread entitled "ex-wife", an Emirates pilot asks his Middle Eastern pilot colleagues:

"Does anyone know how successful an ex-wife would be at obtaining all your EK pay and contract benefit history, including provident funds for the time you worked at EK if her lawyer served a a court order for the information? "

Which translates as:

"I'm getting divorced, and I don't want my ex-wife to be able to access any of the money I've made while I've been out in Dubai. Granted, she moved over here with our children, gave up her career and friends at home, and spent years living in a hot desert while I flew all over the world, but sod it, I hate her now, so I don't want her getting any of the money she thought I was making for all of us."

To be honest, the question alone shocked me enough, but as I read further down the thread, some of the comments made my blood pressure shoot up even more.

For example:

"Sell all you have and go into cash, physically hold the money. Keep this burried in the garden not safety dep box (no annonimity in dxb anymore)
Have no money in any account anywhere in world. Hold the cash.
Run up as much dept and personal loans as possible. All goes into the pot + and -.
When the lawyers ask about the dissapearing assets, say you where scammed when you tried to buy gold bars in BKK/JNB/Deira. The rest you lost gambling.....sorry."

"I think perhaps that my present First Officer has the right idea...'Why get married when all this free skirt is around, it's a bit like taking a ham sandwich to a banquet.' "

"Anybody know what happen if you don't pay the full child support amount?
Is it anyway that they could impound your salary from a European country? "

The fact that this sort of view is the majority not the minority on this thread is really a huge cause for concern. What sort of people are these men? I'm amazed at all the bitterness and vitriol.

I do think aviation is an easy route to divorce if a marriage is weak anyhow. It's a tough job for any family to deal with, with frequent absences, moving away from a home country, tiredness and financial instability all coming in to play. My husband often jokes that he's amazed if a Captain he flies with is still on his first wife. And it's not really a joke; it's true, they're definitely in the minority.

And the fact that divorce proceedings often get nasty is not an excuse to refuse to offer financial support to your wife and children, particularly if it was you who opted out of the marriage.

Girls (and boys!) I suggest you have your say on that thread. They deserve to have a bit of a reality check, I think!

Apache

Sorry it's been a while since I last posted - we only got back from the UK two weeks ago and we're heading back again next week (en route to France for a holiday) and my feet don't seem to have touched the ground.

My work is busier than ever, and I had a big break recently which has been taking up a lot of my energy. I was reflecting the other day that our move out here has, ironically, re-energised my career, and helped me see my options much more clearly. When you're in the UK, a wage slave, it's much harder to see the bigger picture.

It's topping 50c here some days, and our plants are looking withered/dying. Hey ho. Thank God for aircon. It's too hot to do much outside except swim, which is fine, as we have lots of work to be getting on with! The little'un is now 15 months, and he's just taken his first steps. Magic.

And to finish - this is completely unconnected, but when I was home last I dug around for my old Take That videos, and found Take That, The Party, Live at Wembley, from 1993. This segment, Apache, has stuck with me since. Guess which bit of Howard's section I freeze-framed rather a lot...

Teenagers, eh.

Back to the future

I'm home in the UK at the moment. I flew over last weekend without my hubbie, who can't get leave until next week. This isn't something I'd usually do - I had a special reason. On Tuesday, I went with Mum and one of my best mates to see the glorious Take That live at Birmingham Villa Park. It was an incredible night. As ever, they put on a brilliant show, full of theatrics and energy. And seeing all five of them together again was stella. But, I digress.

Yes, I'm at home with my parents now, with our little boy, but without my husband. It's not great.

Firstly, they have taken my son over. This is great for a couple of days while I get all the sleep I need and enjoy the novelty of being able to read the newspaper, but after that, it rankles. Yesterday, we went to a wildlife centre, and I always seemed to be 10 steps behind them, looking like the older daughter, not the mother of the little boy in the buggy. I know I sound ungrateful, but I AM a grown up, and I DO look after my son day in day out, often alone, when I'm at home!

Secondly, I'm regressing. Going to Take That hasn't improved matters, of course (I feel like a teenager again whenever I see them) but I do feel like I've somehow been transported back to 1994. Suddenly, I'm a hormonally challenged bean-pole once again, sans driving licence and dreaming of something more interesting than a daily routine of hanging the washing out, emptying the dishwasher and going for lengthy walks in the countryside for the rest of the day to avoid having to do any more housework. Back then, I dreamed of the bright lights of London (where I eventually went to University, and lived there for more than 10 years). Cripes, I'd have thought my life now was exotic and thrilling. Which it is, really. Unbelievably, sitting here looking out at my parents' gorgeous English garden alive with all things summer, I'm pining for our villa, which is caked in dust and baking in 45c. After all, that's our home, mine, our boy's, my husband's. Our family's place. Not here.

Which makes me think of the women I know who've decided to move back to the UK, leaving their husbands to live alone in the sandpit. This short spell home has proved to me I couldn't do it. Staying here doesn't feel like a positive step forward - it feels like a step back. Living with or near my parents, as many of these women are choosing to do, for childcare reasons, would drive me (and my parents) bonkers. We love each other, but living that close would drive us crazy. We all need our space. I need to be independent.

And that feeling that all I've fought for over the years - my career, travel, living somewhere that challenges me daily - I'd lose it the minute I moved back.

Nope, moving back to the UK without my hubbie is a complete no-go. I'm staying put, thanks very much. Plus, it's apparently summer here in the UK, but I'm freezing! Brrrrrrr! Take me back to where the sun shines brightly, take to where the sea is blue...

Take That - they're only human...

I'm currently very excited about my imminent date with a certain fab fivesome at Villa Park. Yes, it's Take That in concert - all five of them, including Robbie. I'm heading back to the UK especially.

In the run up to the big event, I've been watching a few old DVDs and generally reminiscing - each of their songs and videos seems to hold a snapshot of my past. The idolisation of my teenage years has long gone, but I must admit I do still have moments when I forget each band member is a human being, and project something more other-wordly on them.

Then this morning, a friend came round for coffee and we got chatting about Take That. This particular friend loves gossip magazines, and she filled me in on some less than savoury behaviour Howard and Mark have admitted to recently. I guess I'm a little behind now I don't read the British papers every day, so news of Mark's post-marriage shenanigans and Howard's super-injunction on a woman he'd had a 10 year affair with had thus far passed me by.

I feel rather let down by them. I know this isn't fair; they're human after all, and they're in a very rarefied environment, which undoubtedly puts them in temptation's way more than most. I suppose an illogical side of me just wants these blokes I've followed for 20 years to be something more than normal, fallible human beings.

When I look at them on stage in a couple of weeks, a large part of me wants to see them in the same childish, innocent way I did way back in the 90s, when Doc Martens were cool and the more holes you had in your jumper, the better.  Instead, I will see five very good looking, very talented men, but just men, nonetheless. Putting someone on a pedestal isn't wise anyhow, is it. They can only fall.