It was so close to the cliche it had to be true. Those wonderful Italians!
The rain poured down mercilessly as lightning did what lightning does and thunder did the same in the brooding sky over the Brazda camp.
A long queue of refugees, mostly women and children, formed what looked like a huge headless Chinese dragon as they carried thin lines of canvas over their heads to keep the rain off while making their way to where British soldiers were handing out armfuls of clothes.
The soldiers, from the 2.1 Airborne Division, were soaked to the skin but in great form. Some guided the queue, smartly sending back queue-jumpers, while others handed out brightly coloured cardigans, jumpers, skirts, and T-shirts with "Kuwait Friendship" written on them.
The women and children, and some men, went away laden and with giggles and smiles as wide-ranging as the January sales. One soldier, his arms bare and dripping from the heavy rain, tore off the plastic wrapping covering packs of T-shirts and handed them out in bundles of 10 or 12, while a colleague showed a Kosovan Albanian man that he was wearing nothing beneath his tunic and that his chest was now almost as wet as his face.
Then a noise like thunder. Well, not quite. It as more like the cat at night. It came from a tent the other side of the hospital, where Israeli medical personnel were going from tent to tent, wearing rubber gloves and face masks, tending to the mostly elderly sick.
Inside the tent sat a tightly packed group of Italian soldiers raucously singing what sounded like a hymn, as a uniformed chaplain with glasses sat in the middle conducting them with an army baton.
"Alleluia" some interjected, out of turn, while others attempted excruciating harmony. There was a lot of laughter.
The "padre", who was in his mid-30s and about 10 years older than his far-from-Vienna Boys choir, was "sacked" by one of the soldiers. He then stood up, selected various groups to pretend to play various musical instruments, including the trombone (they had to do the motions as well as the sound), the drum and a falsetto attempt at a saxophone, and when this cacophonous jamboree got going he began a oompah-pa song himself.
Other soldiers came running through the rain from around the camp. One Italian, with a huge grin on his face, announced: "This priest ees crazee."
Then he joined in. He also started poking at the bulging canopy above, now heavily pregnant with rain. It splashed loudly to one side, drowning the din.
Refugee kids came running through the rain and gathered at the tent entrance, carrying oranges and Fanta. The priest came to them and, stroking their heads, explained: "Everyone is so tired. This is good for morale. But if the general hears, we will be all in big trouble."
He had brought 2,000 footballs to the camp that morning and remembered with great satisfaction the sight of so many kids enjoying themselves.
A shout from an Italian officer behind the fence startled everyone and silence fell. But only for a while. Soon they could be heard again from the other side of the camp.
Loud and clear, but no sweeter to the ear.