Google analytics

Sunday, 2 June 2013

Don’t lose your passport

A rant. The perils of travelling abroad.


Dear Mrs. Ms. or Sir:

I am in the process of renewing my lost passport and still cannot believe this.

How is it that Argos has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a  TV from them in 1990 (23 years ago), and yet, the  Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date. 
For Christ sakes, do you lots do this by hand?  Ever heard of computers?

My birth date is on EVERY income tax form I've filed  for the past 46 years. It's on my NHI card and my driver's license, It's on the last five bloody passports I've had. And it's on all those census forms that you insist I fill in.

Would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Rosemary, my father's name is Anthony and I'm reasonably confident that neither name is likely to change between now and when I die. (Especially pertinent is that they are, in fact, dead.).  
Between you and me, I've had enough of this bureaucratic rubbish!

You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my  #*&#%*&address.

What is going on? You must have a gang of bureaucratic Neanderthal morons working there!

Look at my bloody picture. Do I  look like an arab terrorist?  And "No," I don't want to dig up Yasser Arafat, for fuck sakes.  I just want to go and sit on a sun lounger on a sandy beach.

And would someone please tell me, why would you give a damn whether I plan on visiting a farm in  the next 15 days? 
If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a chicken or a goat, believe you me, I certainly wouldn’t tell anyone!

Well, I have to go now because I have to go to the other end of the the county and get another #*@&#^@*@&  copy of my birth certificate to the tune of £9.25.

Would it be so difficult to  have all the services in the same area so I could get a new passport the same day? Nooooo, that would require planning and organization.  And it would be too logical for the @&^*^%@%government.

You'd rather have us running all over the place like chickens with our heads cut off.  Then, we have to find some fuckwit to confirm that it's really me in the bloody picture - you know, the one where we're not allowed  to smile......Hey, you know why we can't smile?

We're totally pissed off!


- An Irate FE.

P.S.: Remember what I wrote about getting someone to confirm that the picture is me?  Well, my family has been in the UK since time began.  I have served in the Royal Fleet Auxiliary for something over 43 years and have had security clearances up to atomic secret.. However, I have to get someone important to verify who I am - you know, someone  like my doctor........   WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN INDIA !

Rant over.