I just spent the last 5 days in Northern Darfur eating pizza.

Surprisingly good pizza - although I could have done with less ketchup splashing  across the top. I should explain that as good as it was I wasn't randomly there sampling  pizza I went there to be in place for our live G8 reporting.

But if you should happen to find yourself in South Darfur as opposed to North Darfur and craving junk food. The state capital Nyala boasts a very popular Indian restaurant.

Obviously I don't imagine the refugees will be cashing in their UN rations any time soon -it's the equivalent of $50 for a meal for three - but then they're not the target market. The aid workers are. And before the emails flood in about the incredibly important work they do - I'm not begrudging them the small luxuries that spring up in their surroundings.

I'm just saying pizza in North Darfur? It's a tiny bit odd that's all.

What's interesting is that as the businessmen of Darfur find themselves evolving to benefit from their status as the "worlds greatest humanitarian disaster ltd" -the ltd bit is quite important.

I found myself in the middle of an argument between my Palestinian cameraman and a rebel officer over whether living with Israeli Apache helicopter attacks and incursions was worse then living with the constant spectre of Sudanese government aerial bombardment raids.

You'll understand why I began busying myself with my perfectly functional torch battery - the camps have become virtually no go-to outsiders.

Any attempt to film or interview camp dwellers can spark off a riot.

Last year a Sudanese translator was killed in a camp riot during a UN visit because the refugees thought he was a spy.

It's not just dangerous for Arab and Sudanese journalists, towards whom there is an understandable degree of suspicion but towards Western journalists as well their is now a very real hostility.

In order for us to film in Abu Shouk camp (admittedly I am Sudanese) outside El Fashir in Northern Darfur we first had to meet with camp representatives and convince them we weren't spies before they took us to meet with the tribal leaders whom we also had to convince we weren't spies. Who still had to send out a delegation with us so we wouldn't spark a riot. And after suffering through what they have suffered, the people here are very heavily armed - this isn't the kind of riot where rotten fruit gets thrown.

At heart though I'm not sure I have such a huge problem with the hoops they make us jump through. I guess a part of me thinks that we journalists probably should learn to ask permission before we go merrily traipsing through what are effectively people's homes but then I suppose we have a presumption. A trust that we will be welcome.

What do you mean, 'why?' Surely we're the cavalry?

Or at least we're the ones who will tell the cavalry where to find everyone who needs saving.

Maybe that's part of the problem - four years on for the people of Darfur there is still no cavalry in sight so perhaps it shouldn't be so difficult to understand why our welcome is no longer as warm.