Monday, March 09, 2015
My handler organised a beach holiday for me, I think in Gaza. Yes, it was a bit rough and ready, but a beach is a beach. People were enjoying the surf, though it was a bit far out, not too far really. I had to go into a cabin in the water by the shore, which it turned out was a toilet. After the trip, when I thought about it at home, it occurred to me that it was a pity to have effluent in the sea, even only a bit, where a couple of hundred yards away there would be people swimming and playing. However, the call came again for another secret mission, this time to Israel. It was only when we reached the border and military guards let my handler proceed through the turnstile that I realised I'd forgotten my little passport. Oddly though, it didn't matter as they never checked and we found ourselves on a sort of pier, over another beach. Turn about and there was our destination, a pub called Szel's. It's a small place, almost dark as night inside. I leave my handler sitting at one of only a couple of tables in the bar. The staircase is unlit, and three chairs across one of the steps almost block the way. But there is a gap on one side and I continue on up to the next flight of stairs.