I spy with my little eye... the World Cup.

The World Cup, for the neophytes: the Dubai version of the horse races. It's huge, it's eccentric and it's over the top. Last year was my first time experiencing it, (remember this post), I had a great time but this year the logistics were clearly against me. I was suppose to go, then I wasn't, then I was, then I wasn't, then finally at 6pm, I was. No need to say my energy was a little bit down at that stage, but what do you say when one of the best stylists in town, and may I add, one of the most inspired people I met here so far, rings you and tells you she has a VIP ticket for you (if you don't know Farah yet, go have a look at her work)? You just say yes, that's what you do. Then you put on your vintage hat, vintage skirt and Chanel pumps, get a shot of sugar and pray to find a cab in the next 15 minutes. And this is how I ended up on a balcony, on the 7th floor, overlooking the racecourse. No journalists, no weird outfit, no fur (yes, I did spot fur last year, by 30°C, that's right), just lovely company, champagne, and the races. You can actually follow the races from up there. Follow and be loudly enthusiastic. So no cover of Grazia this year, no best dressed, but an other (amazing) experience of the races.