U.K. bars visitors over Beatles quiz - Brazilians sent home after failing questions on Fab Four
I guess they’re really trying to match story with destination but still… wow.
Just wow.
I have an image of a stark hill side, a rickety bridge spans a gorge. A customs inspector leans on his staff, as the tourists approach he commands “Stop! You must answer my questions three ere the British Isle you see! What… is your name? What… is your favorite colour? What… is ugly and yellow and lives off dead beetles?”
For a moment, I thought it was US Immigration, again…
Might I ask?
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
If it’s true, it’s bloody stupid. How embarrassing.
Oh, er sorry, an old Joke.
Yoko Ono
This sounds about standard for British immigration officials, I’m afraid to say. the stories I’ve heard about the way they’ve treated people trying to enetr Britain have made me throughly ashamed. My own boyfriend was put on the first plane back to Hungary once for failing to give adequate answers to a series of random personal questions- they rang me up and grilled me over the telephone as well. i hadn’t seen him for 4 months previously, and he was coming to attend my graduation 
Thank Og Hungary will soon be joing the E.U and they won’t be able to do things like that to him ever again 
I flew back to London in October 2001 – I have an English accent, but an American passport, and at that time, it was a shiny new reissue…this made the lady at customs suspicious, and when she spied my guitar case, she made me play, and after I did (despite being asleep on my feet after the long flight), she latched on to my grubby Arsenal scarf, and started to quiz me about the squad – made me think of that scene in ‘The Man with Two Brains’ when Steve Martin says something like, ‘Damn, your drunk tests are hard!’
Amusing!
Immigration officials in general seem to have an incredibly roundabout way of trying to ascertain people’s bona fides. On my one and only trip to Canada, the Powers That Be took it into their heads that I couldn’t possibly be a genuine student if I was traveling in late September (which is absurd, since lots of colleges have nontraditional schedules and I was through with my coursework anyway, but I digress). Two different officials spent about half an hour grilling me about my dissertation topic, but neither of them asked to see a student ID, which would have settled the question immediately. (I should, of course, have shown it to them anyway, but my brain tends to shut off when scary men in uniform are firing questions at me.)