My doorbell rang this morning, I picked up the parlophone. It was the postwoman: “Harold Tor? Come pick up your parcel I will only wait a moment”.
Still half-asleep and half-naked, I quickly put on some trousers and a T-shirt and rushed downstairs. Postwoman Samia stood there, with my letter. I said Hello, and this young woman barely out of school shot me an arrogant look: “Passport?!”