I like Britain. In the early 1960s I spent the first three years of my life here. My memories are of the taste of rain, dogs barking in the park and the smell of Dove soap.

As an adult, I still feel affection for the country. But as an Israeli, in the past years I’ve suffered from one of the British traits I like the most: support for the underdog.

You always favour the underdog — any underdog. They seem to be right because they are weak, and in the best tradition of British gallantry you want to protect them and hit the stronger party over the head with your umbrella.

The strong, in our case, is Israel. We have the bad luck of being