The clientèle of the fabulous Dubai race course were a mixed lot, eclectically dressed in Arab head-dresses and robes, as well as morning suits and top-hats, their female companions in dresses and headgear which would have graced any ladies’ day at Ascot.

But even against this background of sartorial incongruity, the four cut strange figures, dressed in nautical attire, pirate’s costume, and garb of cabin boy and castaway. Not unsurprisingly, they attracted some questioning glances in the royal compound of the Emir of Dubai.

Their unease was relieved by the appearance of one dressed in morning suit, top-hat, binoculars round his neck, and some books in one hand. This figure came striding towards them, quite at ease in this unusual environment, and welcomed them proprietorially. “So you finally tracked me down!” he commented, looking at their outlandish outfits. “You must recommend me to your tailors.”

“Enough of that!” said the Elderly Sage gruffly, snapping shut his telescope and returning it smartly to the brass and leather holder which hung from his side. “Just give us the complimentary copies of the commentary, which you have so deviously outwitted us in having produced through some middle-eastern half-baked back-street underground printing outfit!”

“Steady on old boy!” remarked the Young Man, mollifyingly. “And by the way, have you placed your stakes yet? I hear that Desert Storm is tipped as a winner, 4 to 1 on, though the clever money is going on Chemical Ali, 14 to 6 both ways.” A waiter glided past with glasses of champagne, which they each took, the four rather awkwardly.

“What about the books?” demanded the piratical Antipodean, glaring menacingly at the Westerner through the one eye not covered by an eye-patch.

“Ah yes, I have your copies here, signed and dated of course.” The Young Man handed the four copies, fresh off the printing press, to each of the four. Despite their annoyance, they handled the glossy items lovingly, admiring the lavishly illustrated front cover, and wondering at the commendations on the back.

“And now if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, eyeing the retinue of a rotund and evidently highly important person who was coming into view, none other than the Emir himself, “I have an important conversation to continue.”

He moved away from the little group of four, towards the bustling figure and his entourage who were approaching from the far end of the royal compound. Suddenly remembering something he turned back to them: “You’ll find the return half of the airtickets inside the front cover.”

And with that he was gone.