Ten hours spent in a smoky Russian prostitutes’ club shooting for a new Syrian sit-com. The “foreign tamers” lurk around hostels and hotels to recruit the blonde and the brunettes as extras. The Egyptian production director screams numbers; the director – spectacles, white hair and orange jumper – kisses the famous Egyptian-Russian lead and retreats to the computer screens. S. pours champagne for a romantic meal. The effect lost by the plastic cork. Extras include one Scottish cancer-survivor, one American truck driver turned traveler, a former USAID agent. Everyone has been warned off the bottles of local whiskey yet as we leave they have been emptied. Hasty lunch break over shawarma wraps and spiked Pepsi. Actresses are dressed in dominatrix outfits. The Russian and Ukrainian prostitutes hang out in the back of the bar, all wearing shiny silk dresses. One swings ably around the stripper pole.