The region's eponymous hotel

How marvellously we named our original premier hotel. Set aside the most azure vista, we determined that this would become our flagship in the battle for primacy of the tourist treasure. Alas, as our land reclamation took place, the hotel found itself further and further from the sea. It is now but a short kilometre for our guests to find the warm waters of the Gulf, but oddly most of them prefer to stay by our pool adjacent to the back door.

To the Gulf, then, for the traditional 'Friday' night, this being Thursday. Due to the Holy Day being Friday, a Middle Eastern weekend begins hedonistically on Thursday, triumphs in all-in-brunches for most of Friday, and treats Saturday as normal, but without Jeff Stelling on Sky. Sunday it is back to the coalface, or sandcastle as they term it out here. You Brits will be aware of the Friday brunch due to our esteemed compatriots' beach performance in Dubai. Here in our much more economical land the charge for such extravagance is £30 rather than £90, but this is only because there are no beaches here any longer.

At the Gulf a thousand dishes from as many lands fill our menus in more than a score of fanciful restaurants. Our chefs are selected from the honey-pots of the globe to excite the palates of our clientele. We also have a signature bar, resplendent with red telephone box at its entrance, rejoicing in the name of The Sherlock Holmes. My companion and I chose a semi-Archer (shepherd's pie and lager) and settled in to watch the band. A beguiling ensemble, mainly from the Ukraine. They played pleasingly, but most of their music was unrecognisable, and the singer certainly gave us no clues. We imagine their playlist included O Bla Di, as at one point Deshmon had a marrow somewhere, but other than that we remained blissfully unaware of their oeuvre.

The band's saving grace was a guitarist who modelled himself upon Carlos Santana, and his playing truly entertained us for the evening. As did the veritable Septic pool that flooded the bar. Our allies' youth appear to have a problem with their diets. They are all shaped like potatoes, including the girls, who chose to accentuate this by wearing puff-ball dresses. Perhaps this is why Bahrain is supposedly sinking.

Our indigenous youth, however, take the sweetmeat for dress sense. Stuck between a rigidly conservative political and religious society and the obvious delights of MTV Arabia, they turn out at the weekend aping some boys from some 'hood somewhere. It is wonderful to the eye to see heavy woollen hats and surly sneers in the desert heat. Their dancing is also marvellous to behold. Being a largely male society, these lads play with themselves, but they seem to enjoy it.

A word on smoking, for those of you who have not yet adopted this joyful pursuit. Here you will find our cigarettes are surprisingly cheap, and because of this you will find that everyone smokes, everywhere, at all times. This is particularly pleasant in restaurants. I am sure you British will wish to repeal your laws to take advantage of the wonderful benefits of smoking. Our Saudi cousins have had the temerity to suggest fining our glorious tobacco companies for filling their hospitals, but we have no such ludicrous desire here. Our published waiting list for hospital beds numbered five as of today.

Our King, the Deputy King and the ruling family will doubtless have sent cables of congratulation to his Bonniness Prince Charlie upon the occasion of his birthday. Have a very pleasant weekend.

Maa salaama.