New people, old attitudes

Something happened last week that shouldn’t have bothered me, but it played on my mind for a few days. Perhaps it’s because I was hormonal, perhaps it was being on the brink of becoming another year older or perhaps on reflection I was overly sensitive. Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason, something gets to you and that’s that.

As the great summer escape comes to an end, I’m finally getting back into socialising with my fellow desert gals. Now the kids are still on summer break, so my mummy friends are still in trying to find a balance of having a good gossip with the ladies after 10 weeks and entertaining the little people. So happily I’ve gone along to parent friendly events, just to get back into the swing of desert life. This was going swimmingly with my close friends but then I hit a brick wall. I tagged along to another day out, where the kids would enjoy an adventure playground and us girls would coffee and natter for the duration. When I accepted the invitation I had no idea this was a mass outing, so was surprised but at the same time delighted, that there was a group of women, all looking forward to a good old-fashioned expat ladies Starbucks session. Continue reading “New people, old attitudes”


Up on the roof 

This weekend Hubby and I were invited to an expat BBQ. This was only our 2nd invite to a party since our Kuwait landing (not sure why I admitted that, makes us sound like Billy no mates) mainly due to our social circle consisting solely of my female friends or invites given out at school gates which bypass us altogether. Nether the less my lovely friend Mrs S, a Yorkshire lass who for the last year has firmly established herself as my brunch and mani/pedi buddy, invited us along to a family party.

Much to my surprise Hubby was as excited as I to have a social encounter past 5pm, which meant we could break ourselves away from  routine of Walford and the Master Chef final and I could get a much-needed catch up with my friend and meet some potential new ones. We headed off with excitement, nervous anticipation and ready to mingle. Continue reading “Up on the roof “

Square peg, round hole

From the moment we arrive on this earth, we seem to spend our lives being ushered between social groups, the mother’s choice of where she places the baby in the music tots class and what friends they make on the play mat seems to  lead to a predetermined path of where they will fit in. I have often wondered about how my life would have been if I had fallen into the an alternative social group and would the parallel universe me be any different, that Sliding Doors moment of every choice has fated us to be where we are today.

breakfastclub2We have all seen those American teen, coming of age, high school movies, where the cheerleaders, jocks and geeks barely interact, as they have found social acceptance in their worlds and believe that it is better to befriend like-minded people, than give in to social suicide of not belonging and roaming the school corridor alone. We all watched and we all feared that this was real life, so the teenage me gave into the pressure and found a group of friends who accepted me and my school years were saved and I flew under the radar of being fairly unknown therefore avoiding many social nightmares.  Continue reading “Square peg, round hole”

and the Oscar goes to…..

dreamstimeextrasmall_59129272Once the novelty of your new home wears off, lets face it it feels like a holiday for the first 2 weeks, you realise you can’t put it off any longer, you have to put yourself out there.

I know once I have been vetted and accepted into the fold, I can hardly shut up and become social secretary for all our engagements, and the people that know me would probably be surprised to know, that doing the whole meet and greet  is a nightmare to me….honest. . So begins the torturous weeks of making friends, it quite literally is the first day of school scenario, putting yourself up for scrutiny, first impressions count, praying in the taxi you won’t be left in the corner of the playground to play alone. Then hubby comes home that night asking, just like your anxious mum did 30 years ago, “did you meet anyone nice today?” Continue reading “and the Oscar goes to…..”