They kept asking the same questions over and over, in the same monotone, and I gave the same answers.
I cannot answer that question.
After a couple of hours they stopped, and brought me a cup of tea. Then the offered me a cigarette, which I declined, and they took a break.
I drank the tea during the next round of questioning. Unexpectedly, it wasn’t drugged or tampered with.
After a couple of hours, they brought me another cuppa and then took me to a bathroom. When I got back to the interrogation room they’d brought biscuits as well. The questions varied, but I gave the same answers. Even though they were now asking how my Dad was.
After dinner, which was very decent for all that it was basic meat and two veg, they started asking me about my opinions on the performance of Arsenal this season. Not being a fan, I suggested that Arsenal’s problem was that they always tried to walk it in, and they seemed well pleased with this.
That’s when they brought the beer in, and one of the interrogators introduced me to his sister.
The evening went rather well after that and, after a couple of hours of them discussing the fine points of The Archers, the interrogators “left us two young people alone”.
She didn’t speak any English and, although very pleasant and quite pretty she seemed as baffled as I was.
I went to the door and listened. In the corridor, the interrogators were talking.
“And tomorrow,” one said “we will invite ourselves over to his place and borrow his lawn mower.”
“And this will be effective?”
“The implied level of familiarity will be torture to his English soul. Soon he will break.”
Idiots. I haven’t even got a lawn.
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