Gloss

From the glossy airport through which we re-entered Spain, through the glossy black Mercedes taxi to our glossy magazine subscriptions, it is hard not to be struck by the smooth and easy life we lead here compared to the vast majority of people in Egypt, the land we left just yesterday.

Reading some of the article titles on the covers provides, at one level, a terrible contrast with what people have to endure there; that we should occupy ourselves with such trivialities!

I remember on my first return from Egypt as a 21 year old making straight for 10 Downing Street in London from Heathrow airport, still dressed in my skimpy shorts, light cotton shirt and carrying a full rucksack, and naively seeking a meeting with The Prime Minister of the day, Margaret Thatcher.

I walked straight up to the front door and asked the policeman if the Prime Minister was in. 'Have you got an appointment?', he replied. Of course, I hadn't, and that was the end of my proposed plea making venture. I about turned, but not before convincing myself that I could see the famous bouffant through a net curtain on a ground floor window. 'Move along there, young man,' said the copper and I went, still practicing my speech for her to do something, anything, and quickly, to help the Egyptian people.

DD caught me unawares preparing today's shot here!