Called up the power company - they have a phone that rings but is never answered.
Apparently, if you translate "24 hour hotline" into local-speak it becomes "Blood-pressure building to the point of self-harm hotline."
But it always happens at the wrong time, doesn't it?
The night before would have been fine.
We were as poor as church mice.
Sitting at home, watching the internet banking service ticking through the seconds to midnight and then bouncing up and down on the bed with glee as my salary popped in. (We all behave like that don't we?)
So we celebrated with wild abandon, while the lights beamed away happily, as we lay there thinking of the magic of City Centre Day tomorrow.
But now, I sit here in the glumness of the bedroom that the rep told us had "sunlight in the morning". It does. It's just that morning is gone by 7am as the only place that gets light here between then and 4pm is the roof.
The AC is not working, nor are the fans or the water cooler or most importantly.....the fridge.
Yesterday's celebrations and trolley racing around Carrefour with the carelessness that all young lovers have, now seems like the torturous memories of a drunken night during the hangover of the next day.
The cries of "Oh what did we DO?"
Well, here's what we did...
There is an entire cow's worth of tenderloin and rib-eye now rotting away in the top of what used to be the freezer.
Keeping it company is a month's supply of Chicken Nuggets, Hot Dogs, Beef Burgers, Mixed Veg, and of course, 8 litres of ice-cream which is now running down the outside of the fridge door in a gloppy lattice of pink, white, yellow and brown which Dali himself would have admired.
The battery is running out on my laptop, so I will have to tear myself away from here, have a cold shower and, assuming that they have some, go and steal electricity from Starbucks, comforting myself with a fresh Cappuchino and a stodgy, soft and spongey Double Chocolate Muffin.
However, this being Oman and that being Starbucks, one can imagine the countless sighs of disappointment that I will have to make on my way there, when I get there, and all through the eating process of what will probably turn out to be bitter, overheated Arabica and a rock solid specimen of what might of been on the muffin front.
Later my friends, for I must go and face my demons.