What do we do when we fall off the horse?

Just like the great man Derek Zoolander, I also have taken a little too long to come up with the answer to this idiomatic expression. I fell of the Detox horse and am finding it bloody hard to get back on. It was a medically instructed 20 day stint where coffee, tea, alcohol, refined sugars, carbs and dairy are the enemy. I soldiered on if I might say so myself, but fell off the wagon at Central Station half way to Circular Quay.

On Friday morning, the giant suggested that we wake up early and take a trip down to Abu Dhabi to see a car that he wants to buy. How this seems to always be how my weekend start. My lack of enthusiasm was apparent, the giant knew he needed to add in something else to seal the deal. It was an easy one and he knew it. Food is the way to my heart and will always get me over the line. At the suggestion of breakfast at the Shangri La I was out of bed in an instant. Buggar it! I forgot I was on detox. Buggar it! Last year when I met the giant in Abu Dhabi, we stayed at the Shangri La and I had never truly experienced a buffet breakfast until I had been here. A place where they have a dessert island for breakfast and a white, milk and dark chocolate fountain flowing like the Persian Gulf, is a place I call home. Funnily enough though, I think Dubai has spoilt me. I remember being blown away last year when I walked into this grand foyer and I remember thinking how my mum would probably sell her three children off to a Bedouin tribe in exchange for the chandelier in the foyer. But it all didn't seem that grand for me now. I was hoping the buffet breakfast wouldn't let me down, but I thought it might as we had been to brunches in Dubai that on top of the normal buffet inside, they had international stands outside with themed foods from around the world, seafood BBQs and all different types of cocktail stands (please see photo to the left- everything you own in a box to the left).

But it didn't let me down. Not only did it have all the usual suspects- the egg stand, mushrooms, sausages, veal and beef bacon (at least you had the option between the two), they went that extra mile to offer different types of quiche, eggs benedict, fillet mignon, teriyaki salmon and those little hot dog pastry things all in breakfast miniature portions. So many dishes looking up at me with red devil horns screaming at me to eat them- but I remained focus on my detox. Coffee? No! 'Tis the broth of Satan! Focused I remained. That was until the giant came back with chocolate filled doughnuts and had ever so sweetly got an array of chocolate covered tid bits especially for me forgetting that I was on detox- or maybe he didn't and thought he was going to get to eat them all himself. As they were 90% fruit, 10% chocolate, I made a call that I thought only just stretched the detox rules. A bit of chocolate won't hurt. Beautiful- It's ok to slip once. Back on the detox I hopped. Until 5pm.

So we headed back to Dubai, because a friend of ours (my jetlagged F1 partner in crime) is looking to buy a new car and called upon the giant for some advice. I understand why. Before I met the giant, I had never met anyone that researches every little thing they buy, and never realised there is a magazine on everything you can buy. I can handle the car magazines, but magazines on hi fi systems, TVs and cameras pushes the limit. Don't the glossy advertising campaigns, point of sale displays and pretty packaging make the decision for you? Do we as marketers do it all in vain? Yes, so it would seem. They see straight through it. Since discovering this about the giant, I have soon learnt that there is a whole species of man that do this. Tallulah with an 'h' lives with one as does my friend 'who is a vet, writing her PHD on bats and enjoys musicals such as Calamity Jane and Fiddler on the Roof'. Probably why we get along so well ladies.

Before reaching Dubai, we stopped off at a service station for some light refreshments which usually involves a chocolate milk of some description for the giant and some sort of chocolate for me, if I weren't back on detox. While I was waiting for the giant, I saw a mum dealing with the screams of a child that wanted a DVD and so I moved out of the way and found myself a perfect spot to watch all the action without it looking like I was staring. Something looked familiar yet foreign about this DVD. I took a second look, then took to DVD section to check that my eyes had not deceived me. Bert, Ernie! What happened to you? Who gave you a mohawk and a monobrow? Who was it? Tell me who?

On the way to meet my 'jetlagged F1 partner in crime', his other half and I (who I will refer to as 'the fine cheese slicer'- and not as in 'fine', 'decadent' cheese, but as in a person who will go through a slab of cheese in front of you by eating a 0.01mm slither at a time) had already made plans with eachother so we both couldn't be dragged along on this car adventure. The 'fine cheese slicer' had a friend over from Australia and insisted that I join them on their expedition after a few Terence of Arabia 'Oh my god I am so sorry to interrupt your special bonding time together' and 'are you sure you don't mind's. It took us ladies approximately 30 seconds to work out what we all wanted to do and an extra 15 seconds to help the boys decide what they were doing before we were on our way. We headed off on foot and were a fair distance when we turned back to where we had left the boys and they were still in that awkward boy stance trying to work out what to do. I'm sure they were there for at least another 10 minutes. As we were walking to Dubai Mall, I warned my friend's friend that I talk a lot and if she wanted to actually get a word in she should watch my breathing patterns and try and slip one in then. True to my word, I don't think I did actually stop talking- not even for a moment.

We found a manicure place that would take all three of us as a walk-in appointment and after choosing a nail colour we sat down at our nail stations and took in the ambiance and the sounds of a pirated copy of the Michael Jackson movie with Russian subtitles. My nail lady sat down and started on my hands. A proper 10 minute head start on the other two girls. I took a moment to be silent and reflect- I started to feel bad that I had just crashed my friend's romantic girly day and that they both had to wait while my nail technician Candy went full speed ahead on my gnawed knobs. Not too long after, all three of us were in full flight. The usual questions started "you married?", "you have children?", "you bite you nails?" - "Yes, I do. Sorry...Please don't cut around there"- I instructed her not to go near my finger flesh bits, and I was quickly put in my place and told "I know you! If I no cut, you will eat! I cut!". I let her do what she had to do. I was too scared to argue. She was quite the perfectionist and took ages to finish my french polish. I looked up and both of the girls were done and dusted and were at their drying stations. Candy hadn't even finished one hand. FIFO, LIFO this situation was (first in first out, last in last out for the non-accounting majors in the room...yes, I remembered something)- or more like FILO- first in last out... hmmm filo pastry greek triangles- spanakopita. Hmm. Anyway, that's ok I thought, Candy's just a perfectionist- I'm ok with that, but if she did look under the table she would have noticed my blotchy fake tan on my legs that I'm also quite ok with- I wouldn't even really care if one of my nails smudged as I walked out the door. Get a move on Candy! She finished my nails, looked at my hands as if to say to herself, 'another job well done', then flicked them over to me to take a look and marvel at her work of art. I couldn't help but think they reminded me of the 80's pictures in the nail salons back home where they have the french manicured gel tips holding a red rose or a valentines day 'I love you teddy bear'. Not the best french manicure I've ever had, but hilarious all the same.

What to do next? The boys were about 3 hours and neither of us had heard from them. I knew the giant would be in his element. He would have loved every second of his uninterrupted car perving. The 'fine cheese slicer', knowing full well that I was on my detox suggested what to do next. "Well, I do have a bottle of champagne at home that were had planned to drink this afternoon" to which I responded "Well, look I'm glad you've mentioned it because I think it would be rude not to accept your offer"- and that's when I fell flat on my ass off the detox horse. That and when I found Cadbury scorched almonds (from Australia not the UK) in Waitrose and ate a sold 12-15 with my champagne. It was always going to to happen anyway. The 'fine cheese slicer's' friend had herself a pair of Miu Miu spectacles that kept catching my eye all day. They kept reminding me of the golden arches and put the old Big Mac or FOF on the mind- if I wasn't going to fall off with this champagne and chocolate, I'm pretty sure Sir Ronald McDonald was going to get a visit on the way home.

A wonderful night of stories and laughs, and laughs and stories that were always interrupted by "What is Chakira actually wearing?" and what type of lyrics are "I'm trying to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful???" . The 'fine cheese slicer's friend was a brilliant video clip interpreter and shed the light on the meaning of so may of these unanswered questions. More champagne, a few more scorched almonds and a cold pizza that we sent back. After being transferred to the senior restaurant manager, they then came to collect the cold pizza, re-made it and it was then redelivered by a panting little man who ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. We know because we saw him run for his life from the verandah. It was just a little bit too funny. It reminded me of Manuel from Faulty Towers. The giant then swept me away when I started to mix up names- it was time to detoxify with some sleep. I took the rest of the scorched almonds with me.

A fun filled day. Loved it. Lets do it again soon.