As it turns out, however, taking alchol into the country is not permitted. I was informed of this by the customs officer at the Waggah border who x-rayed by luggage, spotted the bottle and seized it. I pointed out to the official the madness of a situation whereby a country produces its own beer and gin but bars anyone bringing the stuff into the country.

I also pointed out (with regrettable arrogance, I afterwards realised) that there were bigger issues confronting Pakistan than some foreign journalist bringing in a bottle of booze. Surely, I insisted, if it was against the law, the official would be able to show me that law in writing. The patient, polite and calm official did just that, collecting the book of rules and regulations from his office and letting me read if for myself.

It was crazy I insisted; anyone who has been to Pakistan knows that middle-classes Pakistanis love a drink and that in private homes you're never far from a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label. "Sorry Sir", said the official. "When you leave the country present this receipt and you can have your bottle returned."

I wandered off in huff, bemused and angry.

But the more I thought about it, the more I came to admire that customs official. He knew his job, he knew the law. I might not have agreed with the law, but in a region of the world rife with corruption, here was a man actually playing by the rules. I came to the conclusion that, confronted with all the problems as it is, Pakistan needs more men like that customs official. Not less.

A week later, leaving Pakistan and heading back into India, I dug out the receipt and handed it over to the customs man on duty, fully expecting that the bottle of vodka had been destroyed, impounded or was otherwise missing. Not a bit of it. "Here you are Sir," said the official, handing over the bottle and a pen. "If you would please just sign for it."