They were sat in comfortable leather chairs around a low dark wood coffee table. Each time the main door opened a gust of furnace temperature air hit me like a slap across the face. Clearly the others also felt it. One of them proposed that we cool down with a cold beer then share a taxi downtown for a look around. There was plenty of time before we would be allowed into the exhibition hall at 4 O’clock to start setting up our stands.

So we had a bottle each of ‘probably the best lager in the world’ and asked the doorman to hail a taxi. I offered to settle the bill – it was only four small bottles of beer for heaven sake, while the others negotiated a price with the taxi driver. I paid the waiter and was walking out to join the others thinking to myself how reasonable a hotel it was. Eighty pence for a bottle of beer, not too bad at all. I checked my change and redid the mathematics in my head. There must be some mistake. I went back to the waiter.

“Excuse me, there appears to be a mistake with the bill. I ordered four small beers but you charged me for Dom Perignon.”

The waiter, clad in the ubiquitous white suit and red turban, checked the bill.

“No Sir, sad to tell you that the bill is correct.” Dad heard my reply and he was sat in a taxi outside the hotel.

“Eight quid for a bottle of Danish tonsil wash? Are you out of your tiny mind? I was apoplectic. How could I ever get blotto at these prices? “Three hundred degrees Celsius in the bloody shade and sixteen pounds for a pint of lager! Fuck this I’m going home.”

“Sir I don’t set the prices in the hotel. Believe me Sir they don’t pay me enough to buy a coke in here either.” The conversation was now effectively over.

I headed for the taxi in a state approaching catatonia. The Guy in the Mogul outfit followed me to the door speaking discretely in my ear.

“If I might suggest Sir, there is a rear entrance to the hotel across the gardens at the side of the fitness center. Beyond that and across the road is a bar called Biggles Bar. I understand that they serve pints of very nice cold beer for a mere fraction of the prices in this hotel. Also I notice that Sir is not wearing a wedding ring. Biggles Bar is a favourite haunt of the bored Western nurses from the hospital across town. I am sure Sir would have an interesting evening if he chose to visit.”

What a top bloke!!!

I joined the others in the taxi and imparted this important information. The other two were on company expenses and didn’t care less if beer was eight pounds a bottle. Dad and I however, had not budgeted for these prices and I was already worried we would run out of cash.

The taxi dropped us downtown where we wandered around aimlessly for half an hour – just long enough to look like we had played two hours five a side football in a car wash. It was hot as hell.

So we fell into the first air conditioned hotel we could find and ordered a drink. This time one of our new friends paid, so I had a pint. The bill for four drinks came to eleven pounds. Totally unacceptable in a civilized society in my opinion. I was developing a nervous tick just thinking about it.

In the taxi back to Ali Baba`s cave, sorry the hotel (It really was worth every penny, don’t take any notice of me), I sat in the front and chatted up the taxi driver. I asked him how he coped with the high prices in Dubai.

“What high prices?” he asked. “ Dubai is tax free. Cheapest place in the world, especially for rip off goods.” Looking at him he was indeed clad from head to foot in Versace and wearing a huge Rolex watch. Yet inexplicably he seemed to be unable to afford razor blades. Perhaps nobody has got round to counterfeiting razor blades. I don’t know.