"You need to be a hotel resident to take an abra trip, sir"

"We've just checked out, room 212"

The security man rummages into a pile of paper, then reluctantly nods us towards Iqbal who kindly invites us onto the boat. We take a tour of the hotel complex, like an Arabic town built on canals. There are even royal quarters, screened from eyes by sandy whitewashed walls and lush trees. We learn a bit about Iqbal's life in Southern India. He's worked here for 5 years and sends back most of his pay to India to support his family and children's education. His employer pays an air fare every two years for him to see his family. Nine thousand employees live in the workers' complex, and are bussed to work at all hours of the day and night. There are two men to a room now, better he says than three which it used to be. Anyone caught fighting or with drink in their room is sent home without further warning. Our guide is a pleasant and helpful fellow and we reward him with a tip thrust into his hand lest the security guard sees it.

"You need a Visa to enter Australia, sir"

"Eh?"

"The Visa is not showing on your passport, sir"

Midnight : we arrive timeously to check in for our Sydney flight, and we hear this! Brits needing a visa, wasn't like that 30 years ago. Looks exchanged with the check in clerk and Lesley. Aye well doesn't look like we're going anywhere tonight other than another night in Dubai. The clerk is exceptionally helpful, and offers to complete our application there on the internet. It only takes 5 minutes he says. Optimism - we might just make the flight! After an hour we're defeated, he's phoned the Australian helpline and the passengers themselves have to complete the form. So we rebook our flight for the next day. Lesley books the night at the Sheraton over the airport internet, we line up for a taxi and shoot through Dubai again, getting to bed at 3.30am. That's Lesley working for the first three days to pay off the extra bills we've rung up!!