Pretty fly for a white guy

When I worked for Standard Life in Edinburgh, leaving the office at lunchtime involved a 'Bits' Meal Deal, a 'fit lang' Subway or, flexi-time permitting, a pub (I've forgotten the name) where the burgers were so big they needed a small piece of wood shoved through the middle to keep them upright.

Now that I work for the Oman Tourism College, the options are a trip to the Golden Tulip hotel for an over-priced buffet or a visit to the local shwarma stall, which has become the place of choice for my mate John and I. The stall takes the form of a little hut which is manned day and night by three or four Indians who can rustle up a sausage and cheese omlette and a freshly squeezed apple and banana smoothie in about 5 minutes for the princely sum of £1.50.

Outside, the tables are a bit messy and you constantly have to ward off the flies, but the place has a certain charm to it. The guys in the hut are always happy to see us arrive, standing out as we do against their usual customers by placing our orders at the window in a polite and friendly manner. Omanis tend to whizz up in their cars and beep their horns to make their order from the comfort of their air-conditioned front seat. John and I find this behaviour very lazy and extremely rude, as do the staff.

Munching away on his egg roll, John became particularly animated with a story he was telling and managed to swat a fly with his finger by accident.

Highly amusing for me. Not so amusing for John, or indeed the fly.