What a terrible holiday period for Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab.
By the time, we had opened all our presents, stuffed ourselves with turkey, fallen out over charades and finally slumped in front of ‘Gavin & Stacey’, Umar should have been sitting at the right hand of Allah, surrounded by a variety of 57 vestal virgins, clad in white silk lingerie, feeding him grapes, tending to his every whim, straddli
- [That’s enough vestal virgin fantasties - Ed].
Even worse, the young man does not have much to look forward to in the coming weeks of 2010.
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His girlfriend is unlikely to accept his perfectly reasonable explanation that the white, sticky stuff coating his boxer shorts and trousers is indeed PETN explosive residue and nothing more sinister after his 20 minute visit to the aircraft lavatory, clutching a copy of ‘High Life’ magazine.
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Umar Farouk will need nerves of steel and great mental strength to endure the endless questioning and sophisticated interrogation techniques used by the FBI and CIA. Overcoming sleep deprivation, maintaining stress positions for prolonged periods and surviving water boarding are child’s play but heaven help him when the US authorities play Metallica, David Gray and Dire Straits 24 hours a day with the volume turned up to 11.
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Poor Umar is unlikely to be able to claim a refund on his underwear from Marks and Spencer. ‘I’m sorry, Sir but with no receipt we can only offer you gift vouchers. In any case, these Y-fronts appear to be worn and, worse, slightly soiled.’
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If and when he should finally rediscover a place in his girlfriend’s affections (after persuading her that he wasn’t pleasuring himself when he placed the blanket over his waist), sexual intercourse is going to be very painful with charred bollocks and a red hot poker that is just like - well - a red hot poker with third degree burns.