IVAN: Welcome to UK, my friend. First thing you need in my lovely country is to get a slalom. [MAKES A SNAKE-LIKE, ZIG-ZAG MOVEMENT WITH HIS ARM] You have papers for me? [LOOKING AROUND SUSPICIOUSLY] Careful. Important to be discreet at all times.

NURIDDIN: Shit. Can’t get rid of fucking things. There is one tickling my balls as we speak.

IVAN: If you don’t keep down mess, I will tickle your balls myself, with my very sharp hunting knife. I see you arrive from France on Bernard Matthews Eurostar. With all other slalom-seeking turkeys. Pleasant journey, I trust.

NURIDDIN [HANDING HIM PASSPORT]: Constant stench and noise of farmyard birds is very relaxing. But listening to Afghan idiot talk non-stop about suicidal mother-in-law for thirty-six hours has left me with urgent desire to commit murder.

IVAN [LOOKING AT PASSPORT]: Which country you come from?

NURRIDDIN: Uzbekistan.

IVAN: Please, do not insult my intelligence with made-up names. Like Honolulu and Great Yarmouth. Give me real country.

NURIDDIN: Passport say Macadamia.

IVAN: Passport also say Woody Allen. This is because you bought it from slimy Russian faker outside Sainsbury’s in Bratislava. Must have little chat with old fellow, before I slit his throat.

NURIDDIN [PULLING ITEMS OUT OF HIS BAG, WITH MORE HUGE STORMS OF FEATHERS]: But look, [WAD OF NOTES] he give me Macadamian currency, [COAT-HANGER] traditional Macadamian yak-hypnotising equipment. [NEWSPAPER] Even Macadamian Evening Standard. [POINTING TO FRONT PAGE] They have just won Eurovision Song Contest.

IVAN: Can you control your bloody feathers, please. I do not want conversation with pillow-fight. Every person in this bar come with stupid passport from Macadamia. [POINTING IN TURN] Mongolian Elvis. Japanese Coco Chanel. And Ugandan schizophrenic in yellow boiler suit and trilby – ZZ Top. [WAVING WITH FORCED SMILE AT MAN OFF-CAMERA], Yes, my friend, I know, wimmin go crazy for sharp-dressed man.

NURIDDIN: So which country I am?

IVAN [BRUSHING AWAY FEATHERS]: Under circumstances, I would say Turkey. Slalom application is very easy. [ZIG-ZAG MOVEMENT WITH ARM] Is there any injustice in your country?

NURRIDIN: There is widespread violation of human rights.

IVAN: Good. Have you been tortured?

NURIDDIN: No. But my brother keep tying my bootlaces together when I sleep on kitchen table. This drive me insane. What happen if British don’t like my slalom? [ALSO MAKES ZIG-ZAG MOVEMENT WITH ARM]

IVAN: Slalom application normally take ten years. By which time you will have house, wife, three kids and Ford Fiesta with sun-roof.

NURIDDIN: I don’t want Ford Fiesta. Very dodgy suspension. Where I get this house-wife-kids?

IVAN:  In old days, very easy. You wait until British person go on holiday, walk into house and live there. These days, much easier. Council give you free penthouse with river view, marble balcony and very nice mimosa plant.

NURIDDIN: And what about work?

IVAN: Very funny. British always complain we steal their jobs. So best not to upset them. Take money from Government, and supplement income if necessary by begging. Sit next to cashpoint machine for few hours, and look dismal. I think this will suit you.

NURIDDIN: I also get wife from council, yes?

IVAN: No. But legislation change next year. You will have to borrow one of Ugandan chappy’s wives. Very nice German girl. From Baden-Baden. So good they named it twice. That is her only joke. But she have beautiful moist bare skin and go like Trans-Siberian Express under shits.

NURIDDIN: I too have beautiful moist bearskin. They will go well together on living-room sofa.

IVAN: To get nationality, you must also learn British National Anthem, and be force-fed baked beans, Marmite and instant coffee every day for three weeks.

NURIDDIN: I have cast-iron drainpipe under my throat.

IVAN: Unless you go to Scotland, where you will require personal stomach-pump.

NURIDDIN: I also hear it is compulsory to have intercourse with other-half of leader of Labour Party.

IVAN: Not any more, she is very two-faced woman who fake orgasm.

NURIDDIN: But imagine power of my Uzbek weapon of mass destruction, with a cherry on top.

IVAN: Believe me, my friend, if you, and your turkey-feather-tickled balls, can eat Marmite, sing National Anthem and shag Prime Minister’s wife all at same time, without anaesthetic, they will give you fucking OBE. And then you will become big joke.

NURIDDIN: Very serious business. I understand everything. So, when we start slalom-skiing? [SEVERAL ZIG-ZAG ARM MOVEMENTS]