The boys are back in town

They're back - my trio of story-tellers from a nearby land. They have, however, requested anonymity, as they firmly believe that their Government is watching them at all points, and that the worldwide web is merely a convenient tracking device for their secret services to monitor them at all times. I was going to tell them that they will soon be stars of the cyberworld, but decide discretion is more appropriate.

I agree to preserve their real identities, and we settle upon some noms de guerre. From henceforward my friends are to be known as The Black Prince, a man whose origins are in the Horn of Africa; the Donkey, whose eating habits have been chronicled far and wide; and Sindbad. The last-mentioned has travelled to the four corners of the Earth, in the manner of his illustrious namesake. His stories, too, are as about as far removed from the truth. I had not appreciated how those tales from so long ago were really just a statement of the norm for these people!

Sindbad is travelling again, this time to the Land of Silk. He offers to buy presents for all and sundry, and we are expecting t-shirts and pyjamas on his return - the modern equivalent of jewels and spices, I suppose. In true Middle Eastern fashion, his friends ask if I wish to join them in receiving him at the airport next Wednesday when he returns. Luckily, I have no visa for their country, but they assure me that they will call me once they are in Bahrain. I am a great fan of this reception-at-the-airport business. Our ruling family seems to spend a great deal of its time doing it, and the local newspaper's Court Circular is crammed daily with triumphant gatherings in the Arrivals Hall. Certainly, if you show sporting achievement on behalf of the Kingdom you can be sure of an heroic State welcome. Some young royal tyros recently rode their horses across Malaysia in some sort of endurance event, and the local rag celebrated their derring-do across many pages.

We may struggle with the tactics of association football, but we damn well know our horses!

My British colleague has made contact with some patriots from the Land of Oz, and he is to accompany them on a day out to watch the Socceroos take on Bahrain. We understand that he will be expected to wear a team T-shirt, especially commissioned for the day. Either side of the match there are to be light refreshments, so we are eagerly awaiting his performance on the Thursday morning! He believes this is a networking opportunity, and I am sure he is correct, but I hope that his network doesn't crash in the face of heavy social traffic. Given that the ringleader of the said group has just flown in and out of the UK for a one-hour meeting so that he could add in a trip to Twickenham, I feel my friend maybe out of his depth.

I would dearly love to arrange a reception where my Arabians play host to the Australians, as I think that would be an endurance test well worth recording.