At Linquenda House, Harare's gloomy immigration department, the official inspecting my visa extension form asks me what I do. "I'm a wineseller," I lie.
Ever since its non-league football team was drawn against Manchester United in the third round of the FA Cup back in December, this sleepy town where nothing ever happens has been temporarily roused. And it all comes down to identity.
The Parexel unit is a strange and private outpost within the sprawling concrete compound that is Northwick Park Hospital. It is basically one long corridor with seven or eight wards running off it, each containing half a dozen beds.
I was listening to the radio one afternoon last summer when I heard the advertisement for the Parexel lab. In mellifluous tones, a male announcer called for healthy non-smoking males between the age of 18 and 50 to step forward.
When Zimbabwe's best selling Daily News was forced to close by repressive media legislation two years ago, critical voices disappeared from the country's mass media, and independent reporters fled abroad.
For Roger Deakin, the writer who swam throughout Britain for his book Waterlog, lidos are "the cathedrals amongst swimming pools, of immense value to our culture and enjoyment of life". Clearly not everyone agrees.
Margaret Murray wears a pink T-shirt with the legend "Pretty Kitty" emblazoned across it in glitter.
Last month, England's first residential unit for antisocial neighbours quietly opened for business on a Manchester council estate under a veil of secrecy.