THIS WEEK I enjoyed an hour of happiness.
I was on my way home, after collecting William Polk's new book about Iran. I admire the wisdom of this former State Department official.
I was walking on the seaside promenade, when I was seized by a desire to go down to the seashore. I sat down on a chair on the sand, sipped a coffee and smoked an Arab water-pipe, the only smoke I allow myself from time to time. A ray of the mild winter sun painted a golden path on the water, and a lone surfer rode on the white foam of the waves.