Typically, my Monday mornings in the Middle East start with a ritual of opening the balcony doors to let the sun pour in, followed by enjoying a relaxing coffee on the veranda with a serene view of a championship golf course’s fifth hole.

Today was anything but typical. The loud roar of a jet overhead jolted me out of bed. With UAE airspace shut for the last 48 hours, I knew instantly that this could only mean one thing: an interception of an Iranian missile was underway.

Just five minutes later, a message came through on WhatsApp from a friend living nearby. While he was out walking his dog, just a stone’s throw away, an explosion occurred. A drone had crashed onto the pavement, landing between two villas.

Describing this surreal experience is challenging. While many endure daily drone and missile attacks in war-torn regions, Dubai is renowned for being one of the safest cities globally. It’s a stark contrast to my usual visits here at 54 years old, where my primary intention is to soak up some sun, not dodge debris from Iranian offensives.

My husband, Keith, who is 58, has resided here for nearly nine years due to his career in energy consulting. Our marriage might seem unconventional to some; I visit him a few times a year, and he reciprocates by returning to our family home in Chichester, West Sussex. We manage the 4,000-mile distance and four-hour time difference through daily calls and careful planning, jointly raising our four children.

While it’s not always smooth or ideal, I must admit that one of the significant benefits has been the frequent chance to catch an Emirates flight from Gatwick to Dubai—a city I’ve grown to adore.

In fact, I often joke that I’m not really flying out to see Keith at all. Of course I miss him. But we’ve been married for more than 26 years, and the reality of our situation is that absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

Shona Sibary in the UAE, pictured 30 minutes before the attacks

The Palm Jumeirah Fairmont Hotel after being hit by a drone attack. UAE airspace has been closed and jets can be heard roaring overhead in previously peaceful skies

However, the lure of endless sunshine, the calm waters of the Persian Gulf and world-class restaurants, shopping and hotels? Well, that’s a temptation too hard to resist.

So last week, just when I was thinking, ‘I cannot stand this rain another second’, I dragged my suitcase from under the bed and told the kids I was going to visit Dad.

Of course, they were mutinous. I still have two children living at home. Dolly, who is 16, usually joins me to visit her father, but she is currently in the middle of GCSE mocks and can’t go anywhere. Annie, 25, is a first-year paramedic degree student on regular overnight placements with the ambulance service (their siblings Flo, 27, and Monty, 23, have flown the nest). I know the last thing Annie needs right now is the responsibility of dragging her teenage sister out of bed every morning to get her on the school bus. 

And then there’s the two labradoodles. We don’t have a garden, and they need taking out three times a day. It’s a relentless labour of love, especially right now with the mud and the limited daylight.

I just had to take one look at Annie’s face as I was lobbing my swimming costume into the suitcase to feel a stab of guilt. I needed a break, but there was no denying I was dumping her in it. ‘It’s just a week, darling,’ I said, in a hopelessly vain attempt to justify my selfishness. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’

And now here I am, stuck in the Middle East. As I type this, I am supposed to be on a return flight home. Annie, I know, has been counting down the hours to my return. She’s had a difficult week with the dogs. They always get diarrhoea when I’m away due to the separation anxiety and one of them now has a viral infection, too.

The dishwasher has broken down, Dolly is buckling under the stress of exams and – perhaps worst of all – I left my Mounjaro pen in the fridge at home because I thought I was only going to be away for a week. It appears that I’m not only trapped in a warzone, but I’m going to get fat again as well.

But it’s no joking matter. Keith recently moved from Dubai an hour north to Ras al Khaimah, somewhere this very paper recently hailed as the new, ‘classy’ Dubai and a place where hundreds of British expats are now flocking. But this northern Emirate is even closer to Iran – just 50 miles from its nearest military garrison, and directly on the flight path from Dubai to southern Iran.

While there is a pervading sense of calm here and a ‘business as usual’ attitude, we can hear booms in the distance. Thanks to the drone explosion this morning, the golf course has also been shut, which in itself is unprecedented. And there is a noticeable lack of bottled water in the Waitrose across the road. Weirdly, I’m reminded of Covid and loo rolls. I can’t help feeling like we are on the brink of something big.

‘Dubai is supposed to be the safest city in the world. Not only that, it’s where I come, at the age of 54, to top up my tan… not dodge debris from Iranian onslaughts,’ writes Shona

Shona in the UAE with her husband Keith, who has lived there for nearly nine years while working in the energy consulting industry. Shona visits him from their family home in Chichester

What is there to do but sit tight and endlessly monitor news websites and Facebook (while avoiding furious phone calls from Annie)? Nobody knows when we are getting out of here – though I’m more frightened by the wrath of my daughter right now than any imminent threat to life.

It is comforting to know that, since the start of the attacks, the UAE’s Ministry of Defence – one of the best in the world – has destroyed 506 of 541 drones detected, with just 35 falling inside the country. It added that 165 Iranian ballistic missiles have also been tracked, 152 of which were intercepted, while 13 fell into the sea.

Still, terrifying stuff. Perhaps even more so because it’s a stark reminder that a bubble has burst. Yes, Dubai is full of Instagram influencers and ex-Love Island stars, but that means nothing when the politics of the Middle East kicks off.

Whether you love or hate Dubai you can’t argue that it isn’t an adult’s playground – somewhere, if you’ve got money and a healthy lip pout, you come to show off your fake tan and indulge yourself. Will that now change for ever?

The UK is apparently drawing up one of the most ambitious rescue plans in history for the 100,000 or so Brits currently trapped here to escape the 1,000km overland to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. If this does happen, I suspect many will think twice before ever returning.

I don’t know how I feel about having to get into the back of an army truck to travel, by land, through the desert. Usually, my flight back to England involves a couple of Bloody Marys on the plane, maybe a movie or two and the relishing of my last moments of freedom before throwing myself back into family duty.

I am swiftly beginning to realise that, if I ever do manage to get out of this gilded cage, my journey back to the UK is going to be a very different experience indeed.