SCRABBLE ON THE NILE
Itʼs 1992 and I am in Cairo. Itʼs a hot Egyptian night and the taxi driver is called Ahmed. Weʼre stuck in traffic the likes of which I have never seen and to make matters much worse, Ahmed is driving like an idiot.
Weaving through the night crowds, singing a cheery Arab song, offering himself up as a sex toy, dodging little North African donkeys, Ahmed is using his beat-up 10-seater cab like a battering ram.
When I threaten to call down the wrath of the Cairo constabulary on his
