I currently have no internet connection so can't check where I left off last time, and I don't even remember when last time was, so it's highly likely I'll either repeat myself, or skip vital parts of the story, or both. Forgive me, for I am in Loony Land and exceptions must be made. Let's start with the work stuff.

A little over 2 weeks ago, I was sent to Imam Mohammed Bin Saud Islamic University, Female Section, for an interview for a teaching position in the English department. I wasn't told when to arrive, who to ask for, how to find them, or what to bring, even when I asked specifically about each of these. Applying normal logic, I therefore assumed it didn't matter when I arrived, I didn't need to bring anything, and finding the right person would be self-explanatory upon arrival. How wrong I was. Fortunately it turned out timing really didn't matter that day, but everything else did. Luckily, just as I arrived at the university (after a very expensive 40-minute taxi ride) I just happened to bump into Nicole and Cheryl, who were leaving. Nicole had to be somewhere else, but Cheryl kindly offered to stay with me and help me find the right place, which was just as well because I found myself wandering around a maze of identical buildings, interconnected with identical bridges, with no defining features or labels. Even the fountain in the centre of the atrium in each building was identical, right down to it not working. And no one we asked could offer us any meaningful help - no one seemed to be able to explain where we were or how to get to the English department. We were even told there was no English department, and we were told at various points that we were in building 4, building 7, building 12, and later on even building 21. I felt like I'd walked into a Kafka novel. It took two hours to re-locate the office Cheryl knew she'd been to before, and when we did, the woman simply told me to come back the following morning at 8.30 with a copy of my CV, all my original certificates, and a lesson plan. Lesson plan - no problem, I could work on it in the afternoon; CV - ok, but I didn't have access to a printer and the university didn't seem to have any I could borrow; certificates - who travels with originals of their certificates? Mine were all in England. Despite telling her they were in a different country, she still asked me to bring the originals in the morning. I gave up and went home. Made my lesson plan, managed to use a printer in the hotel I'd spent my first 2 weeks staying in (I needed to go there anyway for other reasons so it wasn't completely off-track), and printed out my CV and the scans I keep on my laptop of my certificates.

In the morning I managed to get to the right office with considerably less trouble, although I was told off in the car park for not covering my face. This is an Islamic university, after all. The interview seemed to me to go well, they didn't object to my certificates being scans, and then they asked me to teach the lesson I'd planned, with less than 5 minutes' notice. It would have been nice if they'd warned me the day before, but never mind. That also seemed to go ok. Off home again. For the remainder of the week and most of the next week all those of us who'd had interviews sat in the university familiarising ourselves with the place (which eventually turned out to be just 2 identical buildings, with one connecting bridge), getting advice and stories from a woman called Gehane who has worked there for several years and was part of the interview process, and drinking coffee. We kept getting told we were just waiting for our schedules and the textbooks, and Gehane reassured us that we'd all made it through the interview. After a couple of days the AlKhaleej HQ gave each of us an official letter sending us to work at Imam Mohammed University, which we were to hand in to the secretary of the sub Dean, or someone. We did it. We thought we were through. We mostly were. But then one day Cheryl and Maysah and I were summoned and told not to come in anymore because we hadn't been approved by the university, and we probably didn't have the job. No apology or anything. No explanation either. So we duly left.

The next day I went to HQ to see Waleed and try to get more information, and find out what would happen to me next. He told me he had no information. I told him that wasn't good enough. He summoned a man called Mohammed Qudah. I'd encountered him before, he was the one responsible for getting me out of Jouf and left me hanging there for a week with nothing to do when I knew there were cheap flights available. However, this was the first time I'd met him in person. He arrived in Waleed's office, and told me straight out that IMU didn't want to hire me because I didn't have enough experience. Well, ok, that's a legitimate reason not to hire someone, but it slightly begs the question of why they interviewed me in the first place, and why they allowed me to believe I had the job for the best part of two weeks. I signed in and out of their system every day during that time so they knew I was there, they could easily have just told me straight away. I asked Waleed what would happen to me now. He said he'd send me to Ha'il. I said absolutely not. He asked why. I said I didn't want to go to Ha'il, I was happy and settled in Riyadh and therefore would work well there. He seemed to sort of accept this. Just to be sure, I said there was no way I would consider leaving Riyadh. He wasn't happy about it, but said he'd get me placed in one of Al Khaleej's business institutes, where I would work split shifts and almost certainly have to move back to Christina's flat again. Living there again would be fun and more convenient in terms of meeting friends, getting taxis, going to restaurants, but I just can't face the upheaval of moving again, I finally thought I'd settled. More on the house moving later on, it's a story of its own. However, split shifts would make having any kind of social life during the week almost impossible. But at least I would be in Riyadh. Waleed said he'd call me with news. Then it was the weekend.

Yesterday morning, while sitting at home waiting for news from Waleed but not expecting any, I received an email from the men's section of the university, sent to several female teachers, welcoming us to the English department and giving us a string of useful pieces of information. In surprise and elation, I rang Nicole to tell her the news. A couple of minutes later she rang back to tell me that the admin staff, upon hearing that I'd had this email, had said the email was a mistake and I shouldn't have had it. I rang the woman who had arranged my interview (one of the few contact numbers I had other than Gehane, and I knew Gehane wanted me in but didn't have access to much information), pretending not to have heard that it was a mistake, asking if she wanted me to come in the same day or in the morning. She again told me that the email had been a mistake and that I should ignore it. When no follow-up email came to apologise for the erroneous one, I decided to continue with my sneaky methods, and replied to the important man who'd sent it, thanking him for his kind email and telling him what a pleasure it was to work somewhere which communicates so effectively with its staff. A few hours later he replied, thanking me for my kind email and saying he looked forward to us all working together to bring success to the programme. And herein was my plan concocted. I am currently sitting in the university on the basis that a very important man in the men's section has contacted me personally saying I have the job. The fact that everyone knows he doesn't have the first clue who I am will inevitably work against me in the long run, but some good may come of it. And the news today is that the other teachers have been given their schedules, but it's expected that as more and more students gradually turn up they'll have to create new classes and then I may be in with a chance. Fingers crossed. I'm not giving up hope yet.

I now sincerely hope I will never have to type that story out ever again.

University dress code: despite there being no men in the female section, trousers are not allowed, elbows must be covered, and skirts must be ankle length.

Moving house. A day or so after my interview, when it was assumed by everyone that I would start work at Imam Mohammed soon, I was moved from Christina's flat in the centre to a flat in a building of serviced apartments much nearer the university. Al Khaleej had arranged two buildings - one for the men, one for the women. I was the last to move over there, and was put in a flat with a squat toilet temporarily until one with a proper toilet became available. They told me one would be ready in about an hour. Three hours later and there was no update. Rob invited me over to his flat for dinner (we had previously been told that it was ok for me to visit male friends in their flats, just not vice versa, so this seemed like a good plan). But the man on the reception in the men's building then completely changed his story (it was him who had told us a couple of days previously) and said it wasn't possible, even if we left the door open. I was already in a pretty foul mood, I was tired and hungry, it was getting late. Rob brought two plates of food down and we ate them in the lobby, then when I was ready to give up on getting a room with a decent toilet, Rob made a magic phone call and got Osama to drive all the way out to our neck of the woods and get me moved. Into the men's building. Who'd have thunk? I have a nice little 1-bedroom flat with a reasonable kitchen and sitting room, the bathroom works (apart from the hot taps but this isn't an issue as the water in the cold taps comes out hot anyway), and the internet's pretty good. Very little was provided in the way of kitchen stuff - I had to spend quite a lot on crockery, saucepans, a kettle, etc etc, and of course it won't be reimbursed. I didn't let myself unpack for several days until I had the official acceptance letter from AlKhaleej telling me I had the job at Imam, because I knew I wouldn't be able to face packing up and moving again. But then I got the letter, unpacked, settled in, and now it looks like I may have to move again after all. Not a happy bunny.

Our boxes from Jouf that we all packed up when we left arrived last week, and it was like Christmas unpacking mine. Clothes I didn't need over the holiday, and lots of kitchen stuff like tea and oats and several cans and bottles and a pile of books including my dictionaries, which has made me very happy.

One more company-related thing and then we're onto the fun stuff. I went into HQ to collect my August salary, and the accountant gave me a cheque for a significantly smaller sum than I was expecting. I queried it and he couldn't explain. My pay slip said I was being deducted 24 days' "WP Leave" but he was incapable of telling me what that was. So I went to see Waleed. Waleed told me that "WP Leave" is leave without permission. I said I hadn't had any leave without permission. He asked if I'd applied for an exit visa over the holiday, I said no I hadn't, he asked why not, and I reminded him that I CAN'T LEAVE THE COUNTRY. Fortunately at this point, he said "Ahhhh … this is a big mistake," and went immediately to speak to the accountant again. I'm still waiting on the follow-up cheque with the greater part of my August salary, but Waleed promises me it's being dealt with. It had better be.

Oh wait, sorry, one more thing, but it's more Saudi law than work stuff, although work is where it's going to affect me. Ambulances are driven by men. Ambulance crews are men. Men aren't allowed into the female section of the university. Therefore ambulances aren't allowed into the female section. So if I collapse, or sever an artery, or have a surprise allergic reation to something and can't breathe, or just generally need an ambulance, I have to rely on people around me being kind enough to wrestle my unconscious foaming-at-the-mouth bleeding convulsing body with its broken neck that we all know you shouldn't move if you're not trained, back into my abaya and niqab (assuming they know where I left it) and carrying me outside to the car park to the ambulance. Taking modesty too far?

Fun stuff.

About 3 weeks ago, or whenever the last full moon was, a group of about 12 of us drove out of Riyadh in a convoy to a place in the surrounding desert called the Red Sands, or something. We had a meal together sitting on the ground, the boys built a fire, then dug a hole in the ground and put the fire in it to protect it from the wind. Those of us watching from a distance kept our smirks to ourselves, but then took pity on them when the hole wasn't deep enough, and helped find large stones to build a wall around the fire. At sunset, we started some yoga, with Christina instructing. We were a mix of complete beginners and people who'd been doing yoga for some time, with most of us falling somewhere in the middle. The whole evening was enjoyable, and it was nice to be out of the city in the quiet for a few hours, and also to meet a few new people. Having only started yoga a couple of months ago and then not done any for the best part of 2 weeks, I counted myself among the beginners, but then did better than I expected, stuck it out to the end of the session (about an hour and a half, which included me nearly collapsing at one point, and having to get some water very quickly, but then joining in again) and felt pretty good afterwards. Those who had previous thought (genuinely) that yoga was just sitting cross-legged with your finger and thumb together, humming, were forced to admit that it does actually take a lot of strength, skill and balance. And energy.

Riyadh is famous for its shopping malls. I have no idea how many there are, but I've heard a joke that each time a new prince or princess is born, or someone in the royal family gets married, another mall is built in Riyadh. Now remember that the Saudi royal family is considerably larger than the British royal family. They're pretty impressive places, and even though I'm not much of a shopper these days they're good places to go and pass the time at the weekend, and to be with friends. However, the religious police patrol the malls, checking for unmarried couples flouting the rules, and telling me to cover my hair. No. It's not a legal requirement. If someone from the religious police is accompanied by a real policeman, they can actually arrest you. Another peculiarity to Saudi malls is that none of the shops have fitting rooms. I'm not 100% sure if men have fitting rooms or not, but women certainly don't. And I don't get it. It wouldn't be hard to build a few cubicles with doors that shut completely (rather than the dodgy curtains you often get at home which leave a gap down the side) so that people can actually try clothes on before they buy them. So you have to buy whatever it is, try it on at home, and then take it back if it doesn't fit. A lot of shops will give you a full cash refund, but just as many will only exchange or give you vouchers for the same store. This bugs me because I need to get some jeans, but I'm incapable of buying trousers without trying on about 10 pairs (with skirts and tops it's different, I'm better at judging what will fit). I don't fancy buying 10 pairs of jeans and then taking 9 back and being left with a huge voucher for a shop (or selection of shops) I'm unlikely to want to buy anything else from.

I went to a pretty cool party last weekend. I have to be discreet about it. Sorry.

Let's finish with a sentence of Nicole's from a few days ago: "let me assure you, women putting bags over their heads has not stopped the men here from harassing them." True story.