Christmas in the UK

Festive Lunacy in KSA
One of the first things I had done when I started the job was to book two or three week’s holiday at Christmas. Bongo was non-committal on this for months and months. Eventually he told me that the company policy was for employees to work eleven months and then take their one-month vacation in one chunk. I explained that he was a git of the highest order and that if I couldn’t have a break at Christmas then I would resign immediately.

Finally Bongo agreed to my request and I booked my flight.

I arrived at Heathrow about 11am one drizzly grey day about a week before Christmas. I was met by my brother-in-law who lived nearby, Offspring and BetterArf who had brought me a nice warm coat to wear (not an abaya). First port of call, naturally, was a pub. I had planned to drink a few million pints, but I think I was under the table after about one and a half.

Needless to say I had a wonderful time, but the Riyadh-induced paranoia did not have enough time to wear off. I felt guilty about drinking alcohol, eating pork and seeing people holding hands and possibly snogging in public. I was also inclined to barter about the price of non-negotiable items like newspapers and stamps.I have no idea how I managed to tear myself away at the end of the holiday. I have never felt less like stepping onto an aeroplane in my life. As I got to the airport I saw guys in thobes and women in abayas and I just wanted to cry. In fact I probably did.