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What happened to Ibishimi?

By CAR Hills   March 2001

I am on a New Deal course, enduring the stupefying boredom of a morning with Mike. He is the nasty policeman of the training course, and we know him as “Nosferatu.”

There is a knock on the classroom door and someone hands him a note. He reads it in mounting horror and rushes out of the room.

“Oh, dear,” I say, “I do hope he isn’t suffering from incurable cancer.”

“No, he’s just got flat vowels and a dodgy diphthong,” says Chris the cheerful Mancunian.

“Well, but he did have that hospital appointment the other week,” says ever-hopeful Hester.

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