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- BANGED UP ABROAD: HELLHOLE -

complain to these people. They were armed, they were dangerous, and we were now inside their circle.

I realised – with total clarity – that it was too late for second thoughts.

I soon snapped back to the real world as they tightened the vests as hard as they could, with a sharp yank that knocked the breath out of me. But the vests still hung funnily. It was pretty obvious we weren't just a pair of fat bastards, that we had something big and fat under our shirts; something that shouldn't be there – and which would surely alert even the most stupid copper or Customs official.

At that point, the guys started getting into a bit of a flap about something, which just heightened our panic. They were high on drugs, going off in Spanish, waving their shooters about and shoving each other around. It was mad as hell, all a bit trippy, and then a bloke came at us with a big sewing needle and shouted, 'Now we stitch jackets on!' and started to sew the vests onto us. Soon they were as tight as possible and didn't hang down so badly. 'This way, cops no notice! And you cannot take them off!'

They were making out that they were doing this so that we would look as natural as possible, but I wondered if it was so we couldn't change our minds and dump them if we lost our nerve. Basically, they were so tight, it felt like we were wearing straitjackets. We'd have to be cut out of them with a knife.