Let's Hear It For The Palestinian

A little while back, my laptop stopped working. It was lifeless. Not like the hair of a woman in need of Pantene Pro-V but wholly without life. None of its little lights came on when it was connected to the mains and this didn't change no matter how hard I jabbed at the on switch.

I had some vital work to do and I felt a rising panic that any files on the machine might be lost for ever. I needed help.

I had noticed before that there's a little computer repair shop around the corner from my flat so I slipped the laptop into its bag and carried it there like a wounded kitten. I presented it to the proprietor and asked if there was any chance he could repair it urgently.

Something in his weary expression suggested that few people came into his shop without pleading for instant resolution. Well, who would? Who'd take an injured laptop to a computer repair shop and say: "in your own time, mate... I'm not that bothered"? We're too reliant on the bloody things to be that sanguine.

He laid his hands upon it. Then he closed his eyes and murmured lightly. After thirty seconds or so, he announced that the laptop was repaired.

Any doubt on my face was swiftly removed by the appearance of the clumsy Microsoft animation emerging from the darkness of the reanimated screen.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and asked him what payment he would like for this miracle. He told me that he hadn't yet had his breakfast and would be happy if I could provide him with a tenner so he could buy something to eat.

I offered to double it if he would explain what he had done and we shook hands on the deal. I handed over a crisp twenty pound note and he told me with a smile on his face that he had brought it back to life by reciting several verses from the Koran.

I stayed for a little while and we had a bit of a chat (during which he revealed the prosaic explanation for his 'miracle'). It was all very friendly until I asked him where he was from. With his Middle Eastern looks and accent, I expected it might be Iran.

"I'm from Palestine," he told me and I then felt him searching my face for an indication of my prejudices. I hoped he saw none and he certainly seemed satisfied with whatever he did or didn't see.

Since then, I have faithfully taken anything in need of repair to the man I call 'The Palestinian' and he has always reacted the same way. After initially saying he's far too busy, he has always taken on the job... almost always repaired whatever needs repairing and charged very little money for the work. He is, in the parlance of my hometown, a diamond geezer.

I got a shock the other day when I saw him on the television news limping his way through Glasgow Airport after being deported by Israel. It turns out that he was aboard the flotilla of boats that tried to defy the naval blockade which is keeping badly-needed humanitarian aid out of Gaza.

In the clip at the bottom of this BLOG, he describes how those on board the attacked boat fought back against fully-armed soldiers. His pride in their bravery is immense and his eyes shine with passion and good humour.

The complexity of the politics of the Middle East is beyond the remit of my modest little BLOG but I can say without hesitation that I am proud to know a man willing to stand up for his beliefs. Dr Hasan Nowaran... I salute your courage.