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Tripoli, Lebanon I blame Henry, or maybe Henrietta, as without him…or her...I simply would never have known. The agency has sent me to some truly strange places, and to do some truly strange things. You would have thought I would know what to do in any circumstance, or would at least know whom to ask. And then along came Henry, I have made him a boy, although he could easily have been a she, and female. Sexing animals, you see, has not formed part of agency training. If someone drops a bomb,[...]

Blea Rigg, near Grasmere, Cumbria, United Kingdom Many years ago, I met a farmer who had spent much of his life shepherding sheep. “You know,” the farmer said one day as we sat together swopping stories of the world, a thoughtful expression to his face, “I have yet to learn why sheep were invented.” “Wool?” I suggested. “Maybe,” he replied, “although the breed I handle is pretty hopeless for that.” “Grub?” “The world’s turning vegetarian.” “Are they as daft as they look?” I asked. “Dafter,” came the farmer’s reply, as he shrugged[...]

Tripoli, Lebanon Tell me, please, how four fully grown adults, some more ancient than the rest, can resist temptation? I may be aged a million, I may have wrinkles three metres deep, but surround me with sticky, gushy, succulent cakes and I might as well be three. When it comes to will-power, and with food I have total zero, I give way on each occasion. Diet? Me? Not a hope. Just think what I would be missing. It was Hallab 1881, somewhere near the centre of Lebanon’s Tripoli, a family business that[...]

Everywhere, worldwide Please, Mr Sniper, or Mrs as you may be, listen to me for a moment as I write. When you lie on your stomach, telescopic sight to your eye, as you adjust for veer and drift, allow for yaw, and as all your training takes hold, let me remind you of what you are just about to do. You are aiming at someone you have been told is an enemy, although on occasion you could have aimed at me. As you settle the crosshairs on your target, you will allow[...]

Gaza City, Palestine Gaza is a land of paradox, where things are rarely what they seem. It is a country where all living things strive to continue. It hit me this morning, as I stood behind my reinforced metal security gate, waiting to be driven to a hospital. I am a surgeon, doing what I can for the injured. There is plenty to keep me on edge. Another day of mayhem lay ahead. A day of filled hospital beds, of nowhere to house new admissions, of working out what to do with[...]

Newmarket, United Kingdom “You don’t understand...” “I do understand.” “Well you don’t understand modern fashion.” And that, of course, was true. I wear trousers until they fall off, rotate two shirts until they are in tatters, love my open-toe sandals, and have all but forgotten how to tie my tie. It was Newmarket’s Guineas Saturday, the first Classic flat race of the year, and the world had come to Suffolk. The Jockey Club, that beacon of the race-going fraternity, had been in full throttle for ages. Somehow, they had told the world[...]