‘Hey WLG. I have to cancel Thursday. Sorry,’ Eric, the visiting Scandinavian texted. It’s easy to spot a lame excuse because a reason for a cancellation isn’t offered. During drinks at Zuma with my landlord on Friday night, Eric texted, asking if I was out. ‘Head over here. I’m staying at Four Seasons Jumeirah’.

‘I don’t understand what’s happened to him,’ I said to Samantha over lunch a few days later. ‘Eric used to be a gentleman. First, he cancelled on me. Then, he sent me a booty message. And I was at work on Sunday afternoon – in my open plan office – when he messaged from his hotel room, requesting some pictures.’

‘You should have sent a pic of your colleagues at work,’ Samantha replied. ‘I think guys take a “Dubai injection” in preparation for arriving here.’ We both laughed. ‘To be honest, I had to reread your postmortem message,’ Samantha continued. ‘I thought you said you were so drunk that you snogged the taxi driver.’
‘Snogging the landlord in the back of a cab in Dubai is bad enough,’ I replied.

I relayed the story to Anthony, my former colleague, assuming he would find it as amusing as I had.
‘What! The landlord again? Don’t be his toy. Don’t be naïve. You are a smart and beautiful woman,’ he said, clearly unamused.
‘It was only a kiss! Why are you so against my landlord?’
‘He’s old and creepy.’
‘He’s eight years older than me.’
‘And he has a Ferrari – he probably picks up a different girl every few hours.’

I updated my mum during our next Skype call, adding that the landlord was now in Europe for three weeks. ‘He is probably with his wife and kids,’ I said.
‘At least he told you that he was going,’ mum replied.
‘That’s true,’ I laughed. ‘Usually guys just run away from me after a few dates.’

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