Rob Blackhurst

he Eritrean Ambassador to the Court of St James's could be forgiven for suffering from bouts of Embassy envy.

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The Eritrean Ambassador to the Court of St James's could be forgiven for suffering from bouts of Embassy envy. Unlike his opposite numbers, his mission is not in the Regency town houses of Pall Mall or the Garden squares of Mayfair. There is no national flag fluttering in the breeze on the roof. Instead, this Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary is based on the second floor of a modern office block in Islington - next to a down at heel language school on one side and the loading bay of the Iceland supermarket on the other. Inside, amid beige carpets and leatherette seats, the Ambassador sits in front of a flag and asks for my business card to personally enter into his Outlook address book. "We should keep in touch" he says, tapping away at his keyboard to keep on top of his administrative house-keeping: "I have been collecting business cards since I arrived here'.

The post of Ambassador for a small country in London can be trying. They struggle to make the voice of their country heard by the British Government amid the cacophony of 10, 500 mission staff from 186 overseas territories based in the UK. And they have to fulfil the Ambassadorial role with the most meagre of resources while other countries have armies of diplomats at their disposal. The United States has 400 diplomatic and 330 support staff working in its vast fifties fortress in Grosvenor Square. Ambassador Robert Holmes Tuttle returns home to his official residence, Winfield House, set in twelve acres of lawn to admire the de Kooning and Rothkos hanging from its walls. Though others can't compete with American diplomatic might, the Japanese have one hundred and forty staff in their palatial Piccadilly pile. And even France still maintain over sixty diplomats and a residence for their man-in-London that was once belonged to the 10th Duke of Marlborough.

Earlier, I had called Embassies from the world's smallest and poorest countries to find out how they represent themselves on shoestring. Can they really do anything more than construct guest lists for their national day celebrations and repatriate the bodies of their citizens who drop dead on London's streets?

The first challenge was finding someone to answer the phone. Most were shut for long lunches like rural post offices. When I finally got through to the Andorran Embassy I was told that the Ambassador will be busy for the next four months. And, no, she can't spare fifteen minutes on the phone before then. The Apostolic Nuncio (or the Vatican's Ambassador in Britain) Faustino Sainz Muñoz, has, bizarrely, a policy of not giving interviews to the press. The North Koreans, with an embassy in a suburban semi in Ealing, are huddled in a never-ending morning meeting. Eventually, when I got hold of the Ambassador's assistant I am told; "I don't understand it but he [the Ambassador] never wants to speak to you. Ever". At the Embassy for Turkmenistan and San Marino the BT call-minder mailbox is full. And the Embassy of Burundi has given up on London and relocated to Brussels.

It was a relief therefore when Eritrea's Tesfamicael Gerahtu called straight back and invited me to meet him in Islington. He is intense and tough but speaks in a world-weary hush. I ask him about the gold camel on his suit lapel. "It is the national symbol related to our national liberation struggle" he says "Camels carried our wounded, our munitions and our supplies. We ate them and drank their milk. It perseveres in difficult circumstances and isn't distracted by storms'. The metaphors of national struggle are fresh since Eritrea only gained international recognition in 1993 after a thirty-year civil war. Bankrupt, it had to conjure up a network of Embassies from nowhere – so took over the offices of an Eritrean charity for its London mission. Gerahtu has four diplomats and six local staff – but none of the usual Ambassadorial retinue of cooks and drivers. And his has not been the usual smooth upward path from university to career diplomat to Ambassador. In the mid seventies he abandoned his degree to join the Eritrean People's Liberation Front where he ran a network of schools and hospitals in "the liberated areas".

He offloads the sales patter on the investment opportunities in Eritrea's trade and tourism – bird watching, scuba diving, and travelling on a "revived Italian colonial era steam locomotive". But it is the age old task of an Ambassador – protecting his country's borders – that is his main priority with the Foreign Office: "Ethiopia has continued to occupy sovereign Eritrean territory and refused to implement agreements on the ground. This is contrary to international law and policing has been very negligent. We have regular meetings with the Foreign Office. I met David Miliband recently and we discussed the boundary issue". He is tactful, but he doesn't sound hopeful that he will win the diplomatic battle.

With no budget for lavish embassy receptions, Eritrea celebrated their independence with a family day in Finsbury Park. I ask whether the lack of Mayfair address and a six-figure entertainment budget is a handicap. His eyes glaze over at the mention of such fripperies. "We are a young nation that inherited a completely devastated economy as a result of thirty years of war. Whatever we have we want to invest in the sustainable development of the country. A proverb in Eritrea says "you can only put your feet in shoes that fit you. The shoes we buy has to fit that reality"

Such steely disdain for the fairy-dust of diplomatic life is rare in Ambassadorial circles. Most countries small are reluctant to give up their St James's or Mayfair postcode– as if to do so would mean national humiliation. Nepal's palatial Embassy is on Billionaire's row in Kensington, neighbouring Lakshmi Mittal's house. Diplomats at the Embassy for impoverished Afghanistan are a few minutes stroll away from Harrods in Knightsbridge. And even Yemen, the tenth poorest country in the world, manages to maintain a four-story townhouse in Kensington.

But those countries with populations that would fit into an English county town can't begin to dream of a stucco and marble building in Embassyland. Moldova are based in a shopping mall in Chiswick while the Pacific islands of Tuvalu (population 11,000) has its embassy in Cottenham Park, South West London. The newest recognise sovereign state in the world, Montenegro, is the latest tiny country to face the Embassy real estate dilemma. Ambassador Dragiša Burzan is renting shared office space in an office block a few hundred metres from Pall Mall. Since Montenegro's split from its federation with Serbia in 2006, he now represents just 600,000 citizens. He is bulky with thick parted greying hair, a tanktop and a Wing Commander's moustache. Before the fall of the Berlin Wall propelled him into politics he was a lecturer in nuclear physics. And he still has some of the wry urbanity of his former career.

Burzan was Deputy Prime Minister and Foreign Minister in the Montenegro Government as it tried to uncouple itself from federation with Milosovic's war-mongering Serbia. It seems an odd demotion for a high-ranking Minister to end up as a mere Ambassador – but it is common for smaller countries to maximize their clout by appointing a heavyweight in London. A few gentle years in London serves as a bauble to a distinguished career. But Burzan has found himself scouring London for office space. "Other countries might have sent technical staff first. But I'm not here to impress anybody. I have work to do. Marble and things like that will perhaps come later on"

Burzan has the unique distinction of having been appointed Ambassador to the Court of St James's for two different countries. Until the split in the Serbia/Montenegro federation in 2006, he was Serbia and Montenegro Ambassador, where he shared a grand Embassy in Belgrave Square with twenty diplomats. But he seems to be enjoying his diminished circumstances. When he represented Serbia, his country was locked into opposition with the British Government in opposing independence for Kosovo: "I had the problem of Kosovo at that time which was very contentious – but now at the political level Britain supports Montenegran accession into the EU so the representation of this country is not difficult". He still looks shell-shocked by his Ministerial experiences: "I was Foreign Minister during those critical years. I'm proud of what we achieved in escaping the war". I ask if he's relieved not to be Foreign Minister. "Oh my God, yes" he says, sucking on an icicle-thin Eastern European cigarette: it was very stressful".

Most of his time in London is spent reporting back to his national capital, Podgorica, about cultural trends. "I've been following this credit crunch in great detail. I'm not an economist, but I've learned the terminology". But he knows that Montenegro is unlikely to be a priority for a British Minister and has to concentrate his efforts lower down the food chain "We are not very interesting for the top people because we are no problem. If Miliband had had coffee with every Ambassador, it would have to be 180 coffees. It is not possible. You don't have to be upset because of that. I'm not". But he admits that there can be a misunderstanding of how much access Ambassadors get in London in his home country. In countries where the approach to Foreign Ministers is easy they think you sit with Miliband every morning discussing what his going on in Georgia. It's a naïve understanding of how it works".

But there is one part of London life in which Ambassadors for the most remote Pacific island and tiniest European Principality are equal to the major powerhouses; diplomatic flummery. "Protocol is something we enjoy very much" says Burzan: "we are equal there. And the smaller embassies are very grateful to the British authorities for that". Every Ambassador on arrival in London is collected from their embassy by the Marshal of the Diplomatic Corps and driven to the palace in one of the Queen's horse drawn carriages to present their 'Letters of Credence" at Buckingham Palace. Two horses pull their carriage – unless they are from members of the Commonwealth – in which case they are given four. So Malta or St Lucia are endlessly flattered that Britain gives their Ambassadors more formal recognition than it does to China or the United States. Burzan opted to be picked up from outside the Stately Lancaster House rather than outside his functional office block in Lower Regent Street. Like all Ambassadors for small countries he becomes chivalrous and sentimental when the Queen is mentioned: "Meeting Her Majesty is a great privilege. She's very prepared and serious about her job".

During State visits the Head of State is introduced to every Ambassador according to their place in "Diplomatic Precedence". Wearing their country's diplomatic uniforms – all ostrich-plumed hats and sashes – their position in the line is dictated strictly by the date that they presented their Ambassadorial credentials to the Queen rather than the size or importance the country they represent. All countries have an equal chance in the lottery of precedence: the Former US Envoy Raymond Seitz found himself placed between the Ambassadors for Cuba and North Korea at all State functions– neither of which had diplomatic relations with his country.

My next call was to newcomer to the London diplomatic scene who are unlikely to have any problems paying their rent. Monaco have a central London address, a PR account with a former editor of the Daily Express, and more expensive Britart than is likely to be found anywhere outside of Charles Saatchi's living room. But new Consul General Evelyne Genta has her mind on more mundane matters. She is having trouble with her broadband, and untold consular hours are being wasted talking to an Indian call centre. "BT are driving me to desperation" she tells me in a thick French accent.

The Regency Townhouse that serves as her consulate is a stone's throw from the vast American Embassy in Grosvenor Square. Fifty something Genta has the look of a glamorous society hostess about her – an impression reinforced when a cocktail chef arrives in reception. The Consulate doesn't provide her with a cook, she says, looking momentarily baffled, when I ask her about her Ambassadorial support: "because I have my own". We sit around a board-table in Prince Albert's Office surrounded by Damian Hirst originals. In the way of Monaco's gilded village society, Genta grew up with Monaco's ruling monarch Prince Albert who asked her to establish the Consulate in London two years ago. Her background reeks of demi-monde glamour – educated at the French Lycee in London while her father established casinos here before marrying into a luxury watch business: 'You are talking to the biggest Anglophile. Except for security – but then again I read the Daily Mail everyday".

Her main purpose in being in London seems change the reputation that Monaco has for unsavoury dealings: "Monaco is a real country with its own laws an a seat at the United Nations. Everyone thinks of the Monaco casino – but it only represents two per cent of our income. What did Somerset Maughan call Monaco? "A sunny place for shady people?" We have to forget that sentence".

Genta is more likely to be found lunching with tax advisers in the city to encourage a fresh wave of wealthy settlers. "It is very important to get a personal feeling about them. We are looking for people to work who don't just sit in the Café de Paris sipping a drink. We are looking for people with hedge funds and fund managers".

But, usually, in the tight circles of the super-wealthy, they usually come on some recommendation: "People don't come out of blue. They are friends with somebody or know somebody. And the world is very small".

We head upstairs to a reception upstairs. I am handed a "Princess Grace" cocktail – a long drink full of rose-petals that tastes like alcoholic Potpourri while Genta rehearses her best anecdotes about consular work. Whereas large Embassies can act with the impersonality of officialdom, she has to assume that, on an island with a population of eight thousand, she will see them again "I had two eighteen year old boys turn up. I said "where are you staying?" and they said "grandmother said you would sort it out". Genta had to offer them a bed in her house. "I could send them into the street. If you are a young Monagast you can be sure that I know your father, your mother, and your uncle" And the bespoke consular service can extend to scanning her rolodex for Harley Street's finest: "You end up with someone Monaco in a panic with toothache. You make all the dentist's appointments for them".

Serving Ambassadors for small countries are, unsurprisingly, keen to claim that they still have an essential role. But how much of it is now about keeping up national appearances? Unlike centuries ago, when States exchanged messages through their Ambassadors, Foreign Ministers can now speak directly on the phone and see each other regularly at the endless whirligig of international conferences without needing intermediaries. And can an understaffed embassy really send back information about Britain that diplomats in their home country could not find by sitting in their Foreign Ministry reading the British newspapers online?

I call Pavel Seifter, who was Czech Ambassador in London until 2003 "It's harder to get listened to if you are a small state. Confidence is an important thing. A lot of representatives from smaller states don't feel that they deserve a hearing. They are happy to interact in the Foreign Office at desk officer level without realising that desk officers decide nothing. And part of this confidence comes from keeping up with the pink gin diplomatic lifestyle – the Mercedes with Diplomatic number-plates and a central London address: "If you've got your embassy somewhere in Balham it's not only inconvenient to get there – but it sends the signal that you don't really take Britain so seriously"

Even a medium size European power like the Czech Republic could struggle to get noticed in London, he says. "You have to fight to get a hearing somewhere up the top. I never got as far as Gordon Brown in my time. But I'd get face to face meetings with the Foreign Secretary". But it was much worse for Slovakia with its population of only five million: "Slovakia when I started were still in a position where nobody took notice so I did my best to support my colleague after the split. There would be receptions and they would say 'I can see my colleague the Czech Ambassador and he would know that'. And next to me would be the Slovak Ambassador who nobody would mention. So I would have to say "yes and so would my colleague here".

Others are more sceptical that Ambassadors for small countries– unversed in the power structures of a foreign land and possessing no essential interest for Britain – can ever make much difference. Carne Ross, who worked inside the Foreign Office for fifteen years, has established Independent Diplomat, a consultancy that advises small countries on how they should represent themselves. They prime diplomats on etiquette before meetings and help them navigate the maize of the Foreign Office: "I found in the Foreign Office that the role of embassies in London was remarkably slight. I personally think the role of Ambassadors is in unavoidable decline. It's a not a role whose status can be taken for granted any more" " says Ross "If you think – 'what's on the mind of David Miliband'. For an Ambassador to get to him and make a difference to his views, and thus make a difference to the fortunes of their country and British Foreign Policy – it is incredibly difficult".

And it seems that even their symbolic role in flying the flag for their country might come under threat as leases on their over-sized palaces come up for renewal. Malawi, has already given up its building near to Buckingham Palace and has moved its Embassy into the Ambassador's residence in Hampstead. Hugo de Blocq van Kuffeler, publisher of The Diplomat, a Tatler-style chronicle of the Diplomatic scene says "Some of those buildings that embassies are in are still on leases that were signed a hundred years ago. And obviously a lot of those embassies are in extremely expensive areas – in Belgrave Square and Kensington Palace Gardens. They will pose a dilemma to countries about whether to renew them".

But it's the small slights that are upsetting the Ambassadors the most, according to de Blocq van Kuffeler. They've recently noticed that the practical assistance that the Foreign Office once offered Ambassadors newly arrived in London has disappeared for small countries: "There used to be simple desk support for Ambassadors arriving – giving them advice on where to send their kids to school. But the budget for all this kind of thing via the Foreign Office has disappeared. I think if you ring up from the Chinese Embassy you still get whatever you want. But not if you are from the smaller embassies"