We’d been warned they’d likely pull out one of the younger, smaller looking members of our group for questioning and check their answers matched our group leader’s.
That’s the trouble with such blunt profiling, they pull B, the actor.
On the plane I wish I could sleep, but as ever it eludes me.
Back in Blighty I seem to flip back to UK mode without missing a beat as Stuart and I find our Oyster cards and catch the bus to my folk’s place.
After a less than restful night on a dodgy camp bed (I kindly let Stuart have my bedroom), I spend a morning chatting to my folks and already I see how it’s hard to relay what we’ve seen in a way that makes sense.
Stuart eventually surfaces (his phone had doubled up on his efficient end of summertime adjustments, leaving him an hour out) and we catch the train and tube across London and settle into our train seats at Euston ready for the last haul home.
Stuart looks at me and says “we’ve been travelling for over 30 hours”.
I’m ready for home.
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