KNOCK KNOCK

I spent a day recently with the Uk Border Force. Having drunk so much on the plane from Turkey, I lost the power to speak English and was detained, along with bogus students and people-traffickers who use sham marriages: They should see mine!

Anyway, back at the border, I recorded one dry as dust Officer at work with the visitors.

“What is the reason for your visit, Sir? Tourism? You want to visit Salford, the Gorbals and Millwall on match night? Are you sure you don’t mean terrorism, Sir? The natives there are pretty scary. Next!”

“Stand in front of the camera, please. Ah, well nourished, no trace of drug abuse or self abuse. You don’t look shifty or stroppy and you’ve combed your hair. I’m sorry, sir. I don’t believe you’re a student. But you can stay 3 months. Your fellow students will soon bring you down to their level!”

“Ah, another student. Bread, bush meat and gherkins in you suitcase. Don’t tell me, Miss, you’re on a sandwich course. Next please!”

“Drunk, sly, giant expenses book and tiny, broken calculator. You’ve got to be a budding politician. Next!”

“Hello, Madam, you’re applying for asylum because your government persecutes you, treats you like dirt and lies to you; then bleeds your medical services dry while letting their cronies off the hook?”

“I’m sorry, Madam. I’m sending you home for your own good; it’s even worse here. Can I come with you?”

© Mike Atkinson