THERE’S A TIME AND PLACE FOR EVERYTHING…

AA couple of weeks ago I was in the supermarket, having my wallet drained, and, as usual, my children were ignoring global obesity statistics whilst filling our trolley with enough chocolate to make Willy Wonka blush. Towards the end of the aisle, one of them reached for a tin of Quality Street. “WHOOOAAAA” I yelled. The kids looked my way and froze. I asked what they were playing at and they replied something about “just getting chocolates” before continuing the tin’s trajectory towards our trolley. I’m going to digress here, and say they were going to plonk it on the bread, because that’s what kids do (and have done for all eternity)… they always put all the heavy stuff straight on top of the bread.

I intercepted the tin and it went straight back on the shelf. I then paused our shopping expedition to deliver some sage, fatherly advice on keeping some things sacred. Tins of Quality Street are sacred to December and early January. That is the only time they can be eaten. The same goes for Roses, Chocolate Oranges, and After Eights.

My children began to disagree, because they are not actually small human beings. They are, in fact, chocolate disposal systems. In retort, I swept my arm back towards the confectionary aisle we’d just walked along and pointed out that there are worlds of treats that can be eaten year-round but only the aforementioned are sacred to the festive season.

They still didn’t get it. So I asked them about Easter Eggs and how exciting the prospect of getting them was. This they understood.

I’m the same about football and the Olympics. I’m one of those blokes who gets very passionate about the World Cup and Olympics but I don’t watch football or athletics the rest of the time. That way, when they come around, it’s a proper occasion. Which brings me on to Dubai. Dubai is guilty of this with something else that has always been sacred to me: fireworks.

When I was a young boy, November 5th’s Bonfire Night was up there with Christmas, birthdays and the summer holidays. For that one night it was like everywhere around us went crazy. The air would smell different. Huge pyramids of waste timber would be on fire and, for as far as the eye could see, the night sky would be filled with a rainbow of colourful explosions. And then, just as quickly as it came, it would be over. We knew the next time we’d experience this assault on the senses would be in another year.

The problem with Dubai is there are firework displays all the time. We live close to Global Village and, during their operational season, there are epic firework displays every night.

And these aren’t a few Catherine wheels and a box of sparklers. Oh no. Dubai fireworks are probably the best fireworks in the world. Sadly, because they’re so often, the extraordinary becomes the ordinary and we all become a bit “meh” about it.

So, I’m pulling back. I will watch one firework display per year (New Year’s Eve), I’ll eat chocolate eggs at Easter, tinned chocolates at Christmas, limit my brunches to once every couple of months and that’ll keep them all exciting. Far more exciting than supermarket shopping with me, which my children would miserably attest.