We like where we live. Quite a bit. Particularly given where we lived the first three years in Abu Dhabi. “Functional” would be the biggest compliment we could pay those two apartments.

Where we are now is a tower of about 20 stories. Maybe four years old. With a gym, a swimming pool and several businesses on the ground floor.

And it’s not particularly expensive, by Abu Dhabi standards — which run a bit high.

So, a nice place … but not a posh place. (Further evidence: No fewer than four of our newspaper colleagues live in the building.)

And if all the journalists and all the one-bedroom apartments don’t tell the story, the garage certainly does. Our 2004 Audi does not look particularly out of place, even with the hulking SUVs and the occasional sports car down there.

Our garage does not, however, usually house the very recent Rolls-Royce (above) we have seen in the past few days.

And that is not just any ol’ Rolls-Royce.

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Actually, we’re pushing 60 percent finished with the current decade, given that we persist in starting decades and centuries and millennia on years that end in zero.

(Digression alert!) And, by the by, what are we calling this decade? Apparently we haven’t decided because it’s varieties of stupid/awkward.

Back in 2009, the BBC did a story suggesting the first decade of this century would probably be known as the Noughties, which works (sorta) if you are English, and “nought” is sometimes used as a synonym for zero. What is the past decade called, back in the states? No idea.

And this decade? The BBC, on the eve of 2010, trotted out some notions: “2010s”, “tens” or “10s”, “teens” “tensies”, “teensies”, “one-ders”. And, perhaps anticipating another fraught decade: “ten-sions”.

Digression over.

Recently, I was searching this site for something else and came across an interesting post. (Yeah, what were the odds.)

It seems I had a pretty good decade covering events, back in the Oughties (as I called them. I did a countdown of the most memorable events, from 10 on down to 1, and about three times (it had been a while since I re-read it) I figured, “Well, what beats that?” And then something did.

So, halfway-plus through the “ten-sions” I was thinking of what might make a future list for this decade, and it’s kinda sad.

Here’s what I have:

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Forty-five UAE soldiers were killed in Yemen yesterday and the government has called for three days of mourning.

One of the hallmarks of a mourning period here is “no pop music” on the radio. Which has led to lots and lots of classical.

Which led to us being in the car when one of my favorite “sad” bits of music appeared on the radio, setting off what often is a frustrating experience:

Knowing the classical tune, but not the name.

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This is one of those random events you sometimes experience on YouTube.

You begin by looking for one thing, and then you follow a few more, and in not all that many minutes you stumble across something you didn’t plan to play — and didn’t know existed.

Such as 10,000 Japanese performing the fourth movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony — also known as the Ode to Joy.

Give it a look. It’s oddly compelling.

Some facts:

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The routs rolled across the world’s biggest continent.

Iraq 5, Chinese Taipei 1.

South Korea 8, Laos 0.

Iran 6, Guam 0.

UAE 10, Malaysia 0.

Qatar 15, Bhutan 0.

And that last one eclipsed a couple more blowouts that came slightly later: Kuwait 9, Myanmar 0, and Saudi Arabia 7, East Timor 0.

At the end of the day, the higher-ranked home teams had outscored the visitors by an astonishing 73-3 and Asian qualifying for the 2018 World Cup was made to look silly — by the Asian Football Confederation honchos who agreed to go ahead with a new and deeply flawed system.

The problem is this:

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Maybe this delayed insight is mostly a function of advancing years on the part of the author. Or self-recognition of some new twinges and extrapolations, going forward.

But it comes down to this:

What I once thought was an aversion to exercise among some older people?

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So, giving more thought to the phenomenon that is Vin Scully …

The secret to his popularity, I believe, lies in two areas.

–His voice. It is a pleasure to hear. Well-modulated, mellifluous. Never shouting, never mumbling, easy to understand, easy on the ear. The voice of a natural storyteller.

–His words. Scully uses proper English and generally it does not leave a person of average intelligence at a loss for what he is saying. That is, he is a great communicator, and a great describer of scenes and actions. He shifts seamlessly from an anecdote about a player’s collection of stuffed pandas … to said player banging the ball off the wall in right-center and beating the relay throw to third. At no time are we confused about what’s going on. Instant understanding.

And that’s what we love about him — that voice and the words. Well, along with his modesty and consistency.

To listen to him is to relax. Unwind. My grandmother went to bed with the Dodgers on her radio. I mentioned this to Scully and he said, “I’ve put a lot of people to sleep.”

But the point here?

Tape recordings of Vin Scully could be used to great advantage in circumstances where people are under stress. In every case where we hear that classical music can be of aid … Vinny would be too.

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Vin Scully plans to return next season for his 67th season as the voice of the Dodgers.

Hurrah!

The club made the announcement late last week, and then a few days ago Vinny, who will be 88 in November, talked to reporters about his decision.

His planned return is great news for everyone who loves Vinny, which is just about everyone.

(I mean, really; who hates Vinny? Is that the definition of “someone too mean to live”?

(“Well, yeah, the guy robbed widows and beat up children and kicked dogs … and he hates Vin Scully.”)

The only fly in the ointment?

Vinny suggested 2016 would be his last season.

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Apparently, I am supposed to have a phone that does everything but whistle Dixie. A flat, rectangular thing that covers my palm and connects me to news events and the very latest ridiculous thing on Twitter.

And allows me to be overtly rude by staring at it while I am in a group of people.

That phone also should be able to take quite nice photos and record videos … and, well, do a bunch of other stuff. Make me breakfast, direct me to the lost island of Atlantis. Things like that.

Smartphones they call them.

I, however, am sticking with my six-year-old dumbphone.

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August has been an ugly month for the Best Player in Ball. Through games today, Mike Trout looked like a slow, tired impostor who somehow had gotten access to Trout’s No. 27 jersey.

With two games left in August, the Los Angeles Angels outfielder was 18-for-93. That’s a batting average of .194. With five runs and six RBI. And one home run.

It is the worst stretch of his career and it has him on the way to the least impressive season. And if it hasn’t shaken the faith of Trout’s numerous fans, it does have them asking “what the hell is going on?”

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