In which the Shah becomes the Sheikh...

I wrote recently that the Shah had been packed up in a large crate and sent off to work in Kuwait for a while.  He has now been there for about a month and has settled quite well, although it is fair to say that he is struggling to fill his leisure time (well that's his story).

I, in turn, have been missing him quite badly.  In fact, unexpectedly so.  That's not a poor reflection on him it's just that, in the course of our married life, he's worked away from home quite a lot but (craftily) never long enough to make it feasible to uproot the children and move with him.

Not having the backup was easier in the past because, when the children were young, they broadly did what I wanted them to do when I wanted them to do it and so I always knew where they were and who they were with.  Fast forward a few years and they are both independent, both driving and it's like herding cats.  I never know who is going to be around at mealtimes so I am either wasting sinful amounts of food or they are complaining that the fridge is empty.  Ironically, it is the 20 year old who is really good at letting me know where he is and when/if he will be home.  This is a skill that still requires a little honing by his sister.  Just the other night we had the mother of all arguments (again) because I didn't agree that it was "fine" to go out to see Ellie at 11.30pm simply because Ellie "is like, bored and so am I".

All this is a long-winded way of saying that I was greatly looking forward to the Shah's first visit home last weekend.  He texted once he got to Passport control to confirm that there wasn't a 2 hour queue despite what the media would have us believe and I set off for the airport.  We'd arranged to meet at the Passenger Drop-off point because its easier to park and wait there for a few minutes if necessary.

I arrived and didn't spot him.  So I parked and hopped out of the car to flag him down in case he hadn't seen me.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed what I can only politely describe as a swarthy gentleman approaching.  I imagined he thought I was a taxi driver.  So I ignored him for as long as I could until he got so close that I thought I was going to have to lamp him one.

And then he spoke.

Well can you blame me for not recognising my own husband?  The goon.

Friends have commented that he looks disturbingly like the real thing.  If only he had the oil dollars to go with it...