THE PRESSURE

Amnesty International have been out in force in my local town this week. You can't walk two shops without having another one of these guys rush up to you with their "Can you spare a minute for Amnesty?" If I'm honest, I find it all very intimidating.

It doesn't help that, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, the Amnesty International colours this year are black on black. Really, it's like something out of a samurai revenge flick, a group of sinister night stalkers approaching me in the evening twilight while I'm minding my own klown business.

One of these Amnesty guys I could handle, maybe two or three, but eight in quick succession is overpowering odds. I'm suffering from enforced walk deprivation, I'm being battered with questions from different interviewers, it feels never-ending and all I want to do is get out of that situation, get home and see my family just one more time. I feel like they're trying to force me into making a statement I wouldn't make under normal conditions.

None of the pro-torture guys are hassling me on the streets like this.