A bit of a problem, servants. Us Brits, we just don`t do servants. Well, a few of us do. The very rich ones that live in country houses and go fox-hunting and are called Lord and Lady Thingummybob and such like. And the Queen.

She `does` servants...lots of them. The rest of us have long ago moved away from the idea of servants. The very word gives us trouble. Feelings of anxiety and guilt assail us at the thought of considering a person as subservient, somehow below us...just not the done thing, these days. Just not...somehow...politically correct.

If we do have servants we don`t call them that. We call them by a range of euphemisms that we use to try and fool ourselves that we do not really have servants. We have `dailies` that come and clean our houses. We, especially the older Brits, might refer to their `char lady` or the `woman who does for me` or the `daily help` - but you would never hear any of us refer to the people we employ to clean for us and do the ironing as `servants`. All of which of course required some adjustment when I came to live and work in Pakistan.

My introduction to the politically incorrect world of household staff was via Zakir, our first of many, who attached himself to my wife and I like a limpet shortly after we arrived to live in the village of Chalt, north of Gilgit and high up in the Karakorams. Despite having a sunny and helpful disposition Zakir had a number of distinct drawbacks.

Perhaps the most quickly obvious was that he smelt. Not just any old smell...Zakir had a smell that you could cut into chunks, box up and then sell to terrorists for use as a non-conventional weapon. He also broke things, which during his short tenure with us included two windows, most of our new crockery, a chair (no...no idea how) and the pressure cooker.

Moving swiftly on there were Gog and Magog...the two Afghans who were supposed to be my night-guards when I lived in Peshawar and who managed to open fire on one-another one night, each in the mistaken belief that the other was a burglar. Parveen, Punjabi, never been out of the village in her life who wanted to open the door of the plane and pop out for a walk somewhere at 25,000 feet between Islamabad and Karachi. It`s a long and colourful list our domestic help, which has culminated in the two that care for us today - Sakina and Lizbeth, who are treasures in every way.

Domestic staff can have a rough life in Pakistan (or anywhere for that matter) and tales of servant abuse abound both in the press and on the verbal networks that keep us all up to date with the local gossip. I long ago decided that if I was going to employ people to look after me and my household that I was going to do it with my own version of political correctness firmly in place. No abuse, verbal or otherwise, `please` and `thank you`, regular days off, consideration for spousal and children`s ailments and a contract of employment that sets things out for all concerned.

(Yes, even if they are illiterate which most of them have been.) My Pakistani friends - some of them - were aghast.

`You`ll ruin them` said they. `They will cheat you and steal` said they.

There seems to be an assumption that if you treat domestic staff with decency and respect that they are always, and without fail, going to do the dirty on you and exploit your good nature. Now I have to be honest - yes, there have been a couple of duds in the domestic retinue. I shall draw a veil over the sordid details but yes, I have fired a couple and would fire any who abused their position.

Having said which the majority have not robbed me at every opportunity, cheated on the change when they go and do the shopping or experimented with my aftershave lotion as a female perfume. They are not running a food-smuggling operation under my nose nor letting their relatives in the back door at night to pillage my larder or relieve me of my valuables. All of this does go on, and I know there are gangs of `servants` who prey on middle-class households like my own, robbing and sometimes murdering their employers.

I am not so naïve as to think that all servants are paragons of virtue, because I know they are not. But I do believe that if you treat people decently and fairly as an employer then, for the most part, they will respond positively to you.

My current `daily` Lizbeth came to me having been appallingly treated by a previous employer. Beaten and abused, she expected the same from me. She was mildly bemused when I sat her down after interviewing her and explained what a `contract of employment` was. Explained that she would be paid in full on the last Saturday of each month. What her holidays were. How I liked my tea and toast to be made. That if she ever served me saag she was in deep trouble. She is punctual, a good cook and keeps my house like a new pin.

Sakina has an altogether different job and lives en-famille.  In UK I would call her a `carer` - simply, she looks after my elderly father-in-law. She makes the food he likes, talks to him in a language he understands and generally keeps life on an even keel for a widowed ninety-plus man who I could never look after as well as she does.

It took me a while to get to grips with `servants`. There have been ups and downs and I know I `do it differently` to the way in which many others handle their domestic staff. I know I am considered at best a little odd for the way I deal with my servants, and at worst barking mad - but will continue in the firm belief that everybody, even servants, has a right not to be abused.