As my roots and culture span three continents and coupled with a plainly demonic passport photo, I'm something of a cross border curiousity.
Immigration lady flicked through the stamps in my passport, and lingering over the impressive full page, shiny embossed visa to the Republic of Laos she eventually declares out loud “Bombay?”. My feeling is this is not going so well. Hearing the B word (B-O-M-B) in airports makes me anxious.
So for the third time this year, I'm diverted from the main queue and marched off to a back office where I am greeted by a certain stocky Argentine 10 look-a-likey in an impressive uniform.We quickly ascertain there a lingustic barrier and with stern consternation he explains in Spanish that I'm going to be asked a series of searching questions. “Oh good I love quizzes”. With precision (in Spanish), my number 10 says “Who is the most famous footballer from England”.
Me: “Easy, Nobby Stil-es”
DM10: …......(blank expression)
me: “er ok, Bobby Shartlon”
The brain is befuddled after 20 hours of journeying, I'm starting to sweat and my inquisitor has knotted his brow. I want to say in rapid quick succession: “Peter Shilton, Gary Lineker, Paul Gascoigne