Well, I missed the first day of the rugby sevens (allegedly Dubai's biggest social event) because I was at work, was way too messed up on Friday after seeing fit to dance until 4am on a table and yesterday, it was pouring with rain. And this is a city in no way geared towards coping with anything vaguely resembling precipitation. My housemate and I finally decided to head out there around lunchtime after some vino lubrication (which made it seem like a marvellous idea to get cold and wet voluntarily). There was mud to rival the trenches of Ypres, drunk girls wearing minimal clothing (which in plenty of cases was an example of too-much-girl-not-enough-fabric. Shudder.) and the rain pelted down so much that it wasn't so much cats and dogs but panthers and wolves. In the Heineken Tent, the only remotely warm and dry place, stress balls were being thrown around. One hit me in the neck. That improved my demeanour. Then it was off to the BP stand to get even more wet and cold. By this time, Australia had lost to Samoa, the music was excruciating and I realised that watching rugby is an activity best done in a pub, on the couch, at more civilised (and permanent) stadiums or with my dad.