Passport to Macadamia

[IGOR AND NURIDDIN ARE TWO ROUGH-LOOKING YOUNG MEN STANDING FURTIVELY ON A STREET CORNER DOING A DEAL]

NURIDDIN: Of all places in Bratislava, why you have to sell passport outside Sainsbury’s?

IGOR: Everybody who buy passport want to go to UK. Everybody in UK shop at Sainsbury’s. Any more stupid questions?

NURIDDIN: What is UK like?

IGOR: Black cab, red bus, fish-chips, mind the gap, Hanger Lane Gyratory System. I was tour guide for seven years. Easy in, easy out, easy money.

NURIDDIN: Decision is very difficult for me. You think I get job as hairdresser? My head is splitting in two directions.

IGOR: Forget job. Every Friday morning, Duke of Edinburgh arrive in Trafalgar Square with huge wheelie-bin full of cash, which he throw at pigeons and immigrants. Then he take everybody down East End in horse and carriage for knees-up, with warm beer and eel jelly. I found him very generous aristocratic racist. Which country passport you want?

NURIDDIN: Eee-You. Give me decent country. Nothing cheesy. Something in Danish blue.

IGOR [HANDING HIM SEVERAL PASSPORTS]: Here. I give you good price.

NURIDDIN [OPENS ONE PASSPORT AND STUDIES IT]: This passport is for woman. Sophia Loren. Do I look like person who can carry off horny Italian grandmother? Why you show picture of very shrivelled prune?

IGOR: I don’t do pictures. I cut photo from Sainsbury’s fruit and veg catalogue, just to give you idea. Try this one.

NURIDDIN [OPENS PASSPORT]: Con-dol-eezza. This is very good for black American Secretary of State, not for white Uzbek barber’s assistant. What is this photo?

IGOR: It is picture of Macadamia nut. Closest likeness I could find. Passport is for Republic of Macadamia, so there is no problem.

NURIDDIN: Is Macadamia in Eee-You?

IGOR: Next year. After Bulgaria. But this document cannot be used at airports, stations or ferry-terminals. British have special machine for matching photo with voice.

NURIDDIN: So where I use it?

IGOR: You take hot-air balloon from Amsterdam and then hide underneath French turkey-truck for thirty-six hours until you hear words “Bernard Matthews”. I will supply Velcro. What more you want?

NURIDDIN [POINTING TO IGOR’S BACK]: What else you got in that bag? Zsa Zsa Gabor with cucumber?

IGOR: There are things one can only dream of. I see from your little Uzbek sense of humour that you are bloody timewaster. I have to satisfy very demanding wife who is circus performer from Thailand. She want to have operation [POINTING DOWNWARDS]… down there.

NURIDDIN [LOOKING DOWN AT STREET]: What? In manhole?

IGOR: In your country, maybe. In my country we call it Vlad the Impaler’s unrequited sausage repository. She has dream to fire ping-pong ball over Vienna Opera House. With a vagina enhancement and a good south-westerly breeze she will never stop erupting with self-confidence.

NURIDDIN [HOLDING UP ANOTHER PASSPORT]: Look at this. [SHOWING HIM PASSPORT] Republic of Macedonia. And inside… [OPENS PASSPORT] Simon and Garfunkel. I think you are faking rubbish.

IGOR: OK. It’s true. I normally work in Pick ‘n’ Mix at Sainsbury’s. But overtime is crap. However, I can give you very good recommendation.

NURIDDIN: I don’t want job in supermarket. Everybody is leaving Sainsbury’s these days to go work in salt mine. There is less argument over rota.

IGOR: Go see my brother. Outside Tesco’s in Bucharest. He do very good Norman Wisdom with pistachio. Authentic Mr. Grimsdale signature. Plus he give you free Clubcard.

NURIDDIN: What is Clubcard?

IGOR: With Tesco Clubcard you can do anything in Britain. Buy house. Drive Formula I racing car. Even shag Prime Minister’s wife.

NURIDDIN: Some people do anything to stay in UK, eh. What time is next turkey-truck from Paris?