The best laid schemes o’Mice an’ Men gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’t joy!

– To a Mouse, Robert Burns

This photo shows a bunch of what is called, according to Carrefour, ‘leek herbs’. I mistakenly ordered them to go in a pie. We are at ‘that’ point in term: assessments are frantically  being completed, deadlines loom and the light at the end of the report writing tunnel is not yet bright enough to lighten my morale. The weekend had been spent catching up on sleep and work; my chicken and leek pie recipe was summoned forth to give me the strength to head boldly into another week of mask-adorned hybrid classrooms.

Imagine my dismay, then, dear reader, when instead of some fresh leeks for the pot, this bunch of oddly smelling grass was left darkening my doorstep. A quick taste placed it somewhere between chives, tarragon and, well, grass, so I was staring down the barrel of a chicken and chicken pie for my Saturday feast. Some frozen peas were dug out of the back of the freezer.

(Any loyal readers will have read of the comedy potential provided by previous grocery deliveries from Carrefour: I declare this to be the new number 1. It sneaks in above samosa pastry that I didn’t even order).

The point of this tale of erroneous foliage is that there are many things going on in the world at the moment that I do not have a clue about. Which irritates me. As a known know-it-all, not knowing is a no-no. You know? Examples: I don’t know why Carrefour think I need samosa pastry. I don’t know how Liverpool managed to get 3rd place in a complete disaster of a season (mainly as I don’t have good enough access to sports channels). I don’t know when I will be able to make music in school again. I don’t know what in God’s name leek herbs are.

And I don’t know for sure how I’m getting back to the UK this summer.

The last blog ended with the sad news that the UAE is not on the UK green list. It is not even on the Amber list. The general consensus amongst friends and colleagues was to wait three weeks until the next update to see if this changes. The update was three days ago. It did not. One more update remains between now and the end of term and Amber Glory is looking less and less likely. A contingency would surely be to see if there is anywhere that will accept travellers from the UAE that is also on the UK green list….

This is a plane ticket to Reykjavik, for Iceland is on the UK green list. It is also accepting visitors from anywhere in the world who can present a certificate of vaccination which, faithful reader, as you know from previous missives, I am proud to possess. A 10 day holiday in this wonderfully unlikely destination will therefore permit me entry to the UK, my friends, family and the summer that I desperately need.

But the problem is, you just don’t know. This is the best plan a mouse or man could possibly lay at the moment, but the potential for it to gang agley is high. Very high. Stories abound at the moment of nightmares at border controls, immigrations and airlines. Rules change on a daily basis. It is not so much that goalposts are moved as they never even resembled goals in the first place. They are the leek herbs of sporting equipment, and my mind is as mixed up as my metaphors.

So before I rush out to shop for coats, scarves and hats (the one lightweight sweater I have here will nowhere near cut it) it seems timely to reflect. In what may be the last Abu Dhabi blog of my first year it is safe to say that things have not gone as planned. My best laid scheme did indeed promise joy. The joy of travel, seeing the world, documenting it here. But has the ganging agley of this promise left me with nought but fear and pain? Not a chance. There are far, far worse places to have spent a year of pandemic, and I am grateful for it.

It doesn’t, however, mean that I am not beyond excited to get on that plane in 3 weeks time and go from the sublime to the ridiculous. Or vice versa. From hot to cold. Desert to glacier. Dune to geyzer. Speedos to scarves. You step out of your door in a pandemic, and if you want to get home for the summer, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to. There’s no place, after all, like home.

I want it so, it’s like I’m losing my mind…