"I'd like to," I reply, "but we'll get into trouble."
"Trouble with who?"
"The religious police."
"Oh don't worry about them."
"Well, all the same, I think I'll stay here. I quite like my head being attached to my neck."
Then the security guard walks past giving us a wholly disapproving look and the conversation grinds to a halt.
On the way down here, a five minute walk, I also came across a gang of boys stuffing crisps and sweets into their mouths all at the same time, who also engaged me in conversation, crumbs flying everywhere as they spoke in surprisingly good English.
"Merry Christmas," I say as a gap in the traffic appears, allowing me to cross the seaside road.
"Yes, Christmas good," one of them shouts.
The MBOs have got up to leave and as they do one of them says "I love you". Rather taken aback by this amorous statement on a chilly yuletide evening, I answer "Merry Christmas" but don't think they got it.
It was work as usual today and half-expecting to be allowed home early (you've got to be joking) I heard no mention of the festive season other than a laughing African asking "How's your Christmas going?" They do love to goad in the sand so I told him I was considering sticking a CD of Christmas carols on the inter-office tannoy system but decided that it wouldn't go down too well, corroborated by the anger that shot into his eyes. I had earlier suggested to a Canadian who lives in my block that we should spend the evening going round the neighbourhood knocking on doors and singing carols.
"What are you smoking?" was his response.
"Unfortunately nothing," was my answer. "Santa didn't show up this morning and answer my letter."
"That's because you ain't got a fireplace and Santa's really your Dad."
"Hmmm ... could have something to do with it."
On the way home from work, when I said Merry Christmas to Taslim the tubby Bangladeshi taxi driver, his eyes lit up and prompted the desperate question ""You want to go Bahrain?" because that island of debauchery, 90km distant, celebrates the Christian festival quite openly and all manner of frivolity is on offer, including church services, turkey and stuffing, but his reason for optimism was the $150 I'd have to hand over for chauffeuring me there and back. We then got into an argument about whether or not god exists. Being a Bangladeshi, he believes that god created man, while I believe that man created god. He didn't like that idea one bit but then again I do provide him with hard cash on a yearly basis, which shut him up. Money talks and the 'word' stays silent.
Tolerance of belief? What's that?