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How to waste 6 hours in a day The Boy came back from his grandparents on Sunday with tales of going to the Isle of Sheppey, betting at the dog track, more than a hint of Estuary in his accent (somehow it sounds worse than his usual West London, no T's included speech) and a top which is only missing a nickelson script to look at home on a charver. Don't shoot me, I know I am a snob at times. Him Indoors was a calming influence as usual (breathe deeply, smile and remember it's only once a year dear...). The plan was for my mum to come Monday afternoon with my niece and take him away to cross the channel today. That left more or less a day to spend with him. So far so good, except our passports have ran out which means travelling using his identity card instead, which means he needs an "authorisation de sortie du territoire" for leaving France again. Well South Kensington is only a tube ride away, nothing too drastic and while I am at the Consulate I can do the application for passport renewals, 2 birds, 1 stone. The idea was: go to the tube station for 9.30, get a family travelcard, alight at South Ken, get passport photos in the little shop outside the tube station, walk to the Consulate, going on past experience - wait for 2 to 3 hours, get all the documentation sorted, if there was time a quick look round a bit of the Natural History Museum (The Boy has been so often we can locate the favourite bits fairly quickly) then grab a sandwich and back on the tube in time to welcome my mum around 3.30. It sounded like a good plan. Instead it went like this: tube for 9.30, family travel card, South Kensington, passport photos, Consulate... well queue outside the Consulate to get to Reception, being handed tickets at reception and being told: "there is a 2 hour wait at the moment, just go for a walk and come back later, you have your tickets so you'll be able to go come back in". Change of plan then... we crossed the road and headed for a look at the workings of the human body and a peek at stuffed mammals, decided against going the the house infested with vermin exhibit (is my son the only little boy who loves that room of the Natural History Museum ?) in favour of getting an early lunch. Undetered by the experience of choose your own toppings I let The Boy decide where we should eat. He decided he fancied Japanese - salmon bento for him, noodle soup for me. Back at the Consulate after 2 1/2 hours we settled in the waiting room with our books, ready for a longer wait than usual. On the "now serving sign" number 52 is glowing (our tickets are 87 and 88), a staggering 50 minutes later the "now serving sign" is showing 54 and I feel like screaming. The staff all appear to have gone for lunch. I have visions of my mum stuck outside the house in the heat with my sister's toddler. Of course I have not taken my phone with me and I do not know Him Indoor's number. Fellow sufferers comment on the wait and the rudeness of one of the receptionists. 3.00 I decide I have waited too long to give up now and enquire as to the availabillity of a phone book to find my neighbour's number only to be told by above mentioned rude receptionist that : " we are not the post office" cue sweet smile and "a simple no would have sufficed from the lady behind me". Rush outside to the phone box, directory enquiries, call, wrong number, not enough change to call again, cash point, trip to a phone shop to not have to run around buying things I don't need for change, directory enquiries again, speak to neighbour who promises to let my mum in and explain I am stuck in administrative hell. Return to consulat to find things have moved on and I am only another 5 numbers away: victory. End result we left the Consulate at 4.30, passport requests have been put through and we have both finished our books. Not bad for a day's wait. The moral of the story. Maybe I should start taking my phone with me. |
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3.8.04 10:10 |
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Mission impossible is... ... finding a pair of size 12 shorts to wear on holiday because I do not fear the jinx factor and truly believe that it will be hot even if I pack summer clothes. In desperation I bought a pair of size 14 in Top Shop thinking that they were bound to size small, what with catering for the teenage market (and they were on the buy one get one free rail and I had spotted a nice top so they worked out cheap and it would not matter too much if they did not fit right ?). Since then I have been trying to persuade myself that it is a very handy feature to be able to take said shorts off without undoing the button. Then again I might just take them to Christine's to see if she can help me work out how to tighten them up bit since the side seems are not straightforward (binding and fancy edging + would involve taking the whole waistband apart). If that fails I can always cut off a pair of Him Indoors' old jeans. |
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8.8.04 23:54 |
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One of Him Indoors' friends who has moved to California with his family a few years back is in the UK for a few days. They managed to squeeze in a round of golf in the tight schedule on monday afternoon, only to be rained out at the 9th hole - Welcome back to the British summer ! Last night Him Indoors, Dave and their friend Glyn decided we should go out for a beer and a curry before coming back and crashing out at ours. The beer was nice (slight hesitation on my part should I go for summer ale or Pride - decided to play safe and went for Pride) and I was called sweetheart by a chappy at the bar which is never bad for the ego. Not so sure about the men's choice of Indian restaurant. The colours were a bit bright for my liking (I am talking about the food not the decor) and I can't say I approved of the restaurant buttering my roti. The conversation was good and ran along familiar lines - children, schooling, childcare costs, copper plumbing, comparison of British and US education offerings, mishaps and misadventure since the last visit, work and responsibilities, shift work, the attraction of Las Vegas if you are not into gambling. Because alcohol had flowed rather freely other subjects cropped up which I would normally associate with a girly night in rather that in mixed company, especially with Him Indoors and Glyn who are rather sedate: boobs, pelvic floor exercises, threesomes, nannies and au-pairs etc. Most enlightening. Dave also brought up the whole question of my applying to the LAS to become an EMT. Put bluntly he enquired as to the reason why I have not done it yet - after all I have been talking about it for over a year. I came up with the usual excuses: I don't feel I am fit enough at the moment (not sure if I could easily lug a heavy patient down a narrow staircase), Him Indoors is less than keen on my working shifts, some relatives have been less than encouraging with reactions ranging from a loud laugh until they realise I was actualy serious when I floated the idea to a horrified look. Still I still think I would enjoy the job and even reading Tom Reynold's blog (random reality) for a few month has not managed to put me off. Maybe I'll take the first few steps, take an evening class in human biology, get fitter and then start to work on Him Indoors. Then again I might just procrastinate and not do anything about it. Bracing myself as tomorrow I shall go back to the Consulate to collect my passport. |
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12.8.04 00:19 |
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Passport - check... Improvement - the wait to collect the passports was shorter than that to apply for renewal (only an hour). Unfortunately I drew the short straw and got rude receptionist to serve me. No hello, please, thank you through the whole conversation and a good-bye which sounded more like a f-off. When she had located the passports she called out my name without using the title and managed to mispronounce my son's surname (takes some doing) and in a 2 minute exanged slipped in a complaint about a colleague and scolded me for checking the details too fast. Does one get put on some sort of unofficial consular blacklist if one writes to the Consul to suggest a member of their staff would be better suited to roles which did not involve contacts with the puplic, that is unless the Consul is keen to perpetuate the cliche that all French people are rude of course ? Still I must have been in a really good mood as I did not once feel like pushing out of the way people on the tube who can't grasp the concept of stand on the right, people who stop and drop their luggage in the middle of the corridors to check the map and people who struggle with the idea of putting your ticket in the slot, taking it again on your way through and getting a move one cause nobody likes to spend more time in the confines of the underground than strictly necessary. Can't work out if the general mellowing was due to creeping old age or the mood enhancing virtues of cucumber rolls (personally I blame it on the soy sauce and seaweed). Him Indoors has been packing and I have done my bit by staying out of his way and picking green beans in the garden this morning to prepare a salad for the journey. However carefully we organise the packing there is a rule which cannot be broken : "100 miles down the road one of us will remember some essential item which has been left out because we thought the other one was dealing with it" so this time he is in charge, that way when the missed item comes to light Him Indoors can take the blame. One question remains: should I pack my wetsuit (my seal costume as The Boy calls it). I was urged to try it on last night to check it still fitted and decided against providing the man in my life with a few minutes of comedy, nothing like watching me wriggle into rubber and contort myself to grap the end of the zip and wriggle again but with a hand over between my shoulder blades to make him laugh out loud. Having seen the gymnastics for myself in the mirror when I first tried it on in the shop's changing room, I have to admit it is rather funny to watch. Still I decided to be mean and deprived him of a fit of the giggles - and no I won't post a picture of me posing as a sea lion.
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13.8.04 10:52 |
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