Walk a mile...

Madonna's adoptions, why people become expatriates and the Arabic adaptation of Shakespeare's Richard III

Madonna holds her adopted son, David, as they meet with the boy's biological father, Yohane Banda, left, on Monday at a lodge where the pop star is staying in Lilongwe, Malawi.

We would do well to stop criticising Madonna for adopting A young pal of mine is wondering if Madonna would like to adopt an older child. She's 27 years old and would like to volunteer. Actually, I was rather hoping the star might like an older sister. If so, I'm available to fly by private jet all over the world with her, live in the lap of luxury in her various homes, help her spend some of her millions, eat in all the best restaurants, mingle with her show business friends, go on glamorous holidays and attend all the A-list parties.

In exchange for this opportunity, I'd be happy to listen to her troubles, help with the kids, generally be part of her extended family and take her side against the mean old witches who say she's a ruthless predator tearing babies away from their families and wrecking lives. Not that she really needs defending. Madonna tends to do exactly what she pleases. It's hardly a secret that she has an ego the size of Mount Everest, but what is so very wrong about plucking an orphan from a life of poverty and hardship and giving that child an education, a comfortable home (or homes) and a hugely privileged existence?

Perhaps all the hand wringers who are criticising her for trying to adopt four-year-old Mercy James from Malawi, where her adopted son David Banda comes from, should consider the alternative life they are trying to force upon the child. Malawi is one of the world's poorest countries, where the average lifespan has dropped to 40 because of the Aids pandemic. Life for a young woman tends to revolve around children. If Mercy follows the national average she would have six children in her lifetime. In a country where girls mature young, her first pregnancy could happen when she is barely into her teens. Malawi also has the highest maternity mortality rate in the world, so she would be lucky to survive. The expression for pregnancy in Chichewa, the country's most common language, translates into English as "in between life and death".

Madonna has been branded a child kidnapper and a bully, and members of Mercy's family are popping out of the woodwork to say she is being stolen from them. If they were so concerned about the child, why did they bung her in an orphanage when her mother died. Why didn't they take her into their homes, no matter how poor and basic, and give her the love that Madonna wants to give her? You have only to look at the pictures of David Banda, proudly clutching his toy cowhide guitar, to see he is a happy, healthy little boy. If the judge decides to let the adoption go through, Mercy will also receive a good education and have all the advantages money can buy. If we could fast forward her life 20 years and ask her what she would have chosen for herself, I bet she wouldn't opt for Malawi.

People have suggested Madonna could help more children by supporting orphanages and hospitals. Well, guess what, she's doing that, too. She may be a strange, egocentric woman and we may not understand her compulsion to extend her family like this but how many of us would take on a couple of kids from a Third World country and give them a better life? I think we should stop criticising her and let her get on with it.

Clarkson's comments on expatriates are hardly worth our time Jeremy Clarkson, the outspoken television presenter, was once described by the Daily Mirror newspaper as a "dazzling hero of political incorrectness". The motoring programme Top Gear is as popular in the UAE as it is in the UK, mainly because of his forthright assessments of the cars he road tests on our behalf. His comments on subjects other than motoring outrage as many people as they amuse and have earned him a regular place on those people we love to hate lists. Now he has upset expatriates all over the world by suggesting that they are "failures" who couldn't cut the mustard in their own countries.

In his column in The Times he writes: "The fact of the matter is this: every single person who ever moves to another country - with the exception of America where you go to grow - is a failure. Seriously, no one has ever woken up and said: 'I am completely happy. I have a lovely family, many friends, a great job and plenty of savings. So I shall move to Australia.'" Those of us who have moved to another country such as the UAE to broaden our horizons, enjoy a better lifestyle and learn about different cultures, or even those who have lost jobs at home or whose marriages have failed, should not take his remarks too seriously. As a BBC spokesman once said, this is "not a man given to considered opinion".

He says he's been to a great many palm-fronted island paradises and thought how lovely it would be to live in a place where you just wear shorts and read books. How I wish I had more time to do just that. And what on earth gave him the impression that all we do is sit around in cafes pretending the waiter is our best friend? He says he feels sorry for expatriates who bought plots of land on which to build their "haciendas" because now the recession has made their homes worthless. Maybe he hasn't noticed that property prices all over the world have plummeted. It's no worse in the Costa del Sol or Jumeirah 3 than it is in Weybridge, Surrey.

Clarkson believes it's always better to stay at home and face the music. Home, he says, is where your friends are, but if he knew anything about expatriate life he would understand that most of us see more of our friends out here than we would at home, wherever it might be. So next time I have a group of pals around on a warm balmy evening with some delicious food sizzling away on the barbecue, I shall look around my pretty garden in Dubai, filled with purple, pink and white bougainvillaea and the scent of jasmine, and I shall raise the subject of our collective failed lives and think about Clarkson's words.

But not for very long. A vibrant, funny and exhilarating adaptation that makes people think If I hadn't been to see Richard III in Arabic for myself, I might have asked the same question as many of my friends have asked: What's the point? It's a question that the writer and director of the innovative work has been asked many times, and if he wasn't such a polite and educated person, Sulayman al Bassam might be tempted to give a short and sharp answer.

In a forum after a performance on Sunday at the Cultural Foundation in Abu Dhabi, the question came up again. He answered it by questioning why actors, dancers, painters, musicians, writers and directors attempt any form of artistic endeavour. The answer is to make people think. Commissioned by the Royal Shakespeare Company, the work, which is not a literal translation of the original, certainly does that. It takes its main themes and places them in the context of a modern oil-rich state. Some of the parallels it draws are fascinating considering that Shakespeare wrote his play more than 500 years ago in England. Al Bassam's Arab tragedy is a vibrant, funny and exhilarating piece of work. It is easily followed by non Arabic speakers with the help of surtitles, although some knowledge of the original adds to the enjoyment. It pokes gentle and sometimes not so gentle fun at East and West in equal measure.

Al Bassam was born in Kuwait to an Arab father and an English mother. He speaks both languages fluently and understands the nuances of both cultures perfectly. For that reason alone his work is worth watching in a world where so much is so easily misunderstood. The elements of surprise for cricketers A group of former international cricketers playing charity matches in Abu Dhabi last week must have wondered what on earth had hit them.

First they were blasted by a fierce sandstorm accompanied by wild winds. Then rain stopped play and famous players such as Graeme Hick, Stuart Law, Saqlain Mushtaq, Devon Malcolm, Damien Martin and Chris Harris were left kicking their heels in the hospitality tents. Like everyone else who comes out here, they were looking forward to blazing sunshine. Instead they got pouring rain. The name of the visiting team was entirely appropriate in the circumstances... Lashings.

A master's degree in Twittering? It's no joke As the late comedian Frankie Howerd might have said: "Titter ye not about Twitter." It's not a joke. It has become such a serious business that Birmingham City University in the UK is now offering a master's degree in social media. For the princely sum of £4,000 (Dh20,975), students will explore how we communicate using Twitter and other networking websites and how they could be used in business. Sounds like teaching your grandmother to suck eggs. Organisers say the course is "very relevant and very scholarly". One student is quoted as saying it was a complete waste of the university's resources. Imagine the ignominy of having to reveal for the rest of your life that you have an MA in Twittering.