Another night at the palace. I never fail to be impressed by it, the body guards and black 4x4s, the dramatically-lit trees and the piles and piles of candied fruit and canapes. I have grown rather attached to the special guards who wear red uniforms and carry sharp swords, although tonight came too close to one, only to be reminded by a very polite gendarme that I was not to press myself too close. I was reaching through the throng of journalists to hear the Sudanese president speak, but was distracted by the red hats.



The Sudan-Chad peace deal was signed on the steps,the photographers smashing glass candles sticks under foot in an effort to get close, and some music piped up. 'I know that voice,' I thought, the unusually-high for a man notes wafting through the crowd. And there was Ismael Lo on a podium singing weepily. By the time I got to him, the camera crews were already on him. What a lovely evening, a peace deal, a cocktail or two, and some music.