In the end, despite the perpetually volatile Middle-East situation which could spill over here if things kicked off in say, Gaza, it’s the fatigue rather than the danger that gets to you. Shatila wears you out. I get up around 4.30am for several reasons; firstly this is the only time of day free of power cuts or when the internet’s guaranteed not to disconnect, so I’m assured a trouble-free time.

After which comes my two hours daily writing; 1500 words a day, adding up to around 60,000 now. All this in beautiful peace before the camp wakes to create its non-stop cacophony.

The cramped conditions in narrow alleyways with buildings up to seven storeys each side bring an echo chamber effect. The eternally rasping hornets that are the young males’ scooters, the huddled homes of thin walls that mean every domestic row is public property, the kids eternally out on the street yelling and screaming, the bawling babies, the general volatility and loudness of the camp population all combine to make the noise virtually seamless from around 8am to midnight. And there is nowhere to go to escape, inside or out. Many of Shatila’s inhabitants spend much of their lives out in these alleyways, including a generation of young males bursting with testosterone and looking for an outlet. Slowly the noise grinds you down.

The sense of chaos that is often Lebanon transferred itself to early rehearsal sessions with the play, where almost every comfortable assumption I had about producing drama was put to the test. At the read-through, the cast were unable to pronounce or understand the text, which can present minor problems. Hardly anyone turned up on time for the first sessions, while other kids from the school banged on the metal door and jumped up at the windows screeching.

For the first two sessions most of the 18 young cast members, when they did arrive were convulsed in uncontrollable self-conscious giggles. Their main interest appeared to be the giant cold sore I’d developed. Bet the RSC directors never experienced this.

On the plus side, the kids are fantastically keen, and Samiha the head teacher is pulling out all the stops. And I’ve just found an ingenious and cheap way to create fog, having already cracked snow and ice. There’s simply no way the show won’t go on, 10am, Monday Dec 1. A friend emailed me to say he’d sent an invite to Tony Blair, who alas, has declined.