Why I should never look at Twitter

Foreign trips can offer a sense of perspective. Heading to Saudi Arabia, I prepare for my first stint of diplomacy. While most of the world has been fixated on Ukraine, a different subject has dominated the news in Britain for the past few weeks. I wonder how, if asked, I’d explain to a Saudi minister the British media’s interest in whether an open packet of crisps and a length of mauve tinsel constitutes a party.

My first problem is more practical: what clothes does a feminist pack when visiting Saudi Arabia? Ministerial briefing packs are not terribly helpful on this point. As a mother of three adult daughters, I’m not exactly a shrinking violet when it comes to defending women’s rights, and I’m not sure what to expect from the trip. I seek advice. ‘It’s a desert, it’s hot,’ well-seasoned travellers tell me. I am aware of this, but what do I actually wear? More terrifyingly, I’m facing down a back-to-back programme of long days discussing tourism, entertainment and culture. As someone who has been eligible for a bus pass for almost five years, I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s about 8 p.m. when we arrive. Very sensibly, I wore comfies for the long flight. The ambassador is meeting us, but it’s all very relaxed, I’m assured. Just a light supper and straight to bed. Our arrival doesn’t go quite to plan, though, as in the airport I round a corner and am greeted by a flank of photographers, before being ushered into my first (and completely unexpected) formal engagement with a Saudi ministry team, who address me as ‘Your Excellency’. As I sip my green Arabic coffee with cardamom, in rose oil-scented surroundings, sat on a chair which could easily be mistaken for a throne, I realise that I am wearing a cardi and that all the men are far better dressed than me.

Pretty soon, I find my preconceptions of Saudi Arabia are outdated.