A Letter from International Evening: From Our Own Correspondent

The building in which the event was set to be taking place hoved into view; it was an old Eastern block looking governmental building that had, as my guide told me, been devoted to the training of young comrades. We rolled up in a convoy of jeeps and C.1.1 trucks, and were greeted by Kosaks who showed us to the various regional food stalls. A woman's ball gown became caught in one of the cars. She was shot.

As per usual, many of the evening's guests gravitated less to the various flavours of rice on the other stands, and towards the jerk chicken being served by a Jamaican man of Jamaican origin, aided by his sandal-wearing friend who proffered curry. Jamaica, of course, an old U.S.S.H mandate.

After we had eaten, we were showed into the General's Palace Grand Hall, which, I am sure, was much grander when it was first built in the 1960's. One man had eaten so much curry and chicken that he could not fit through the door. He was shot.

We were then 'treated' to traditional poetry from some of the more artistic comrades, followed by traditional song (grandmothers baking biscuits were involved). Those who did not clap were shot.

By the end of the night myself and my guide left, whilst the Kosaks cleared the other guests into bags.