Each night we would go to a different local restaurant, and on the night before the last, we attended a farewell barbeque, the chef of which claims to be the chef of the late Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat. He didn’t take it lightly when we jokingly blamed him for Arafat’s death. I’m not exactly sure what to believe given the reputation of such storytellers, but I can tell you that at a hairdresser somewhere in Cairo my father once met the driver of Winston Churchill (he produced an actual picture).On the last night, it was, as one would expect, a booze up that lasted longer than the other nights. It was followed by glass breaking and wine spilling. As one would expect