Living in Jerusalem, you meet some pretty interesting people. It’s a bit like the movie Casablanca, where everyone's running to or from something, all there for their own mysterious reasons….just without any semblance of neutrality. One particularly stifling week back in July 1997, I met the Second Coming of Elijah twice within three days.

The first time was when I stopped at the Citadel bookshop on my way to work at Abu Shanab’s pizzeria by the Jaffa Gate. I was prepared for an evening coaxing drunken Greek Orthodox priests off the creaking tabletops, so I wasn’t fazed when a small French voice said over my shoulder, “Behold, the day cometh that shall burn as an oven; and all that do wickedly shall be stubble.”

Admittedly, it was freakin’ hot down there in the Old City, but it seemed the only person the heat had gotten to was this shabbily-dressed, meek-eyed Frenchman. The prophet Malachi promised in the bible that the prophet Elijah would physically descend from heaven sometime between about 200BC (Jesus was a candidate for a while, as was John the Baptist) and the end of the world.

It might be the appeal of Elijah’s Chariot of Fire as a mode of transport over the Eged Bus Company, but the prophet is a favourite for those under the influence of ‘Jerusalem Syndrome’. The syndrome is a well documented set of religiously-themed delusions, suffered by previously sane people on arrival in the city. I thanked Elijah for his warning, and hurried on to Abu Shanab’s.

Two days later, I was returning from the market by ‘service’ – a shared minibus taxi. As is always the case, just when I thought there was not a molecule of air left for another passenger, three more bundled in. ‘Elijah’ spotted my blue eyes under my headscarf, and slipped greasily into the plastic seat beside me.

Our new prophet was 6’5” if he was an inch, Dutch, muscled, and clad entirely in black leather. “I am the Troubler of Israel”, he said. “Good for you”, I replied, “how exciting”, as I sidled closer to the window.

Arab eyes looked the two Europeans up and down, trying to figure out what was happening. “Huwa Elyas” (he's Elijah), I explained, hoping they would see the plea in my eyes.

“Huwa Elyas!” hooted the driver, winking at me in the rear view mirror. ‘Veeerrrry goooood!”. He dropped me at my stop with great ceremony, and whisked Elijah on to his destiny.