The THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS RESORT in the oasis at Tschub was modelled on a nomadic Berber settlement – or, to be more precise, on what market researchers thought a first-class tourist to Tunisia might imagine when he pictured a typical Berber settlement. Assuming, that is, he could picture such a thing at all and wasn’t, impartial as a blank sheet of paper and receptive as an empty vessel, simply being spoon-fed ideas by a world-renowned resort designer from Magdeburg …

The camel-driver was leading the beast by its reins. Jenny had made him swap his Rooney football shirt for a costume that she’d got an intern from the trading floor – who’d vainly hoped to get an invitation to the wedding in return – to copy from pictures of Tuareg horsemen in a travel brochure. She was pleased with the outcome; Kelly’s white dress was set off wonderfully by the man’s indigo-coloured robes, exactly the effect she’d intended. It also confirmed that she’d been right to pooh-pooh the intern’s objections that there weren’t actually any Tuareg in Tunisia.

But as he attempted to lead the camel up the two steps onto the stage, the fake desert warrior, his vision obscured by the unfamiliar headdress, stumbled and tripped over the over-long hem of his indigo-blue robes. This so alarmed the camel that it refused point-blank to go any further. Nor could it be persuaded to kneel down in the usual way to allow the bride to dismount with dignity. The camel-driver tried cajoling the beast, then resorted to tugging it ever more impatiently by the reins, as Quicky began kicking the back of its knees.