We were quite late to the Georgian restaurant, which lies under the roof of Harrods.
Its an attractive open space, a pianist was playing a lovely grand piano, under the large atrium . Even though we only go there at Christmas time I still recognise the waiters and maitre d to whom I explained I needed a smoking table. So we sat and waited with a glasses of wine and champagne in the bar area. And we waited and my missus was getting just a little fretful. Eventually we were shown to a table at the far end of the restaurant, but at least I could smoke. Nice meal, nice piano, and all was well with the world when a couple of arabic looking gentleman were shown to the adjacent table.

Dressed in suits, in their early thirties; nothing remarkable in that but I had my eye on them, as one does these days, and reckoned they, with their softer features probably hailed from the Libyan region. They weren't without money, though the shorter one had a weak smile and the other looked tougher when he laughed.
Nuidge nudge wink wink who's this....its Dodi's dad Mr Harrods himself, witjhout his bunch of minders, coming our way….. Passing by, and, flashing that confident El Fayed smile he sat down at our neighbours table. They were in earnest discussion when we came to leave. Nothing to lose I thought as we stood to go.

"Excuse me Mr Fayed but can I say what a wonderful restaurant you have here." He stood up from his meal, "We always come here once a year for our Christmas treat" "Very kind" he said with a grin. Spying my wife and walking round said to her "Let's have a kiss" and proceeded to do just that.
Well he's the boss there isn't he.
That's an interesting arabic custom" I thought and said "Thankyou, you remind me of my older brother" He wasn't impressed so I added 'well younger really' and gave him an arthy guffaw as we departed. And the moral of the story..... Now you know why women are encouraged to wear the Bhurka in Arabia.