Thursday 20 March 2008

Gone Chillin'


That's Idle in the distance, chillin wid his bitches at Bottom Bay in Barbados. We'll be there in a day or two and this idle, empty blog will become even idler and emptier for the next fortnight. I might change my blog header to include tumbleweed in future.

Luckily we all have up to date passports. Here's a bona fide letter to the minister responsible for fingerprintingirisrecognitionstoolsamplesandDNA:

Subject: Passport Application

Dear Minister,

I'm in the process of renewing my passport but I am a total loss to understand or believe the hoops I am being asked to jump through.

How is it that Bert Smith of TV Rentals Basingstoke has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a satellite dish from them back in 1994, and yet, the Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date?

How come that nice West African immigrant chap who comes round every Thursday night with his DVD rentals van can tell me every film or video I have had out since he started his business up eleven years ago, yet you still want me to remind you of my last three jobs, two of which were with contractors working for the government?

How come the TV detector van can tell if my TV is on, what channel I am watching and whether I have paid my licence or not, and yet if I win the government run lottery they have no idea I have won or where I am and will keep the bloody money to themselves if I fail to claim in good time. Do you people do this by hand?

You have my birth date on numerous files you hold on me, including the one with all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 30-odd years. It's on my health insurance card, my driver's licence, on the last four passports I've had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off the planes and boats over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable census forms that are done every ten years and the electoral registration forms I have to complete, by law, every time our lords and masters are up for re-election.

Would somebody please take note, once and for all, I was born in Maidenhead on the 4th of March 1957, my mother's name is Mary, her maiden name was Reynolds, my father's name is Robert, and I'd be absolutely astounded if that ever changed between now and the day I die!

I apologise Minister. I'm obviously not myself this morning. But between you and me, I have simply had enough! You mail the application to my house, then you ask me for my address. What is going on? Do you have a gang of Neanderthals working there? Look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I don't want to activate the Fifth Reich for God's sake! I just want to go and park my weary backside on a sunny, sandy beach for a couple of week's well-earned rest away from all this crap.

Well, I have to go now, because I have to go to back to Salisbury and get another copy of my birth certificate because you lost the last one. AND to the tune of 60 quid! What a racket THAT is!! Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a new passport the same day? But nooooo, that'd be too damn easy and maybe make sense. You'd rather have us running all over the place like chickens with our heads cut off, then find some tosser to confirm that it's really me on the goddamn picture - you know... the one where we're not allowed to smile in in case we look as if we are enjoying the process!

I served in the armed forces for more than 25 years including over ten years at the Ministry of Defence in London. I have had security clearances which allowed me to sit in the Cabinet Office, five seats away from the Prime Minister while he was being briefed on the first Gulf War and I have been doing volunteer work for the British Red Cross ever since I left the Services. However, I have to get someone "important" to verify who I am -- you know, someone like my doctor...who, before he got his medical degree 6 months ago WAS LIVING IN PAKISTAN...

Yours sincerely,
An Irate British Citizen.

12 comments:

lilith said...

Bon voyage! Bring back some sunshine please.

idle said...

I'll be your way this weekend, lil, (with my gin and lemon tea, of course), visiting the idle kin before departing these shores.

I'll look out for someone like you holding a baby that looks like Alan Shearer.

NotClauswitz said...

Nice letter!! We got sunshine already but it could stand to be a little warmer...

Jane Llewellyn said...

Have a great time in BGI... I hear the weather is..



sunny;-)

Nick Drew said...

allowed me to sit in the Cabinet Office, five seats away from the Prime Minister while he was being briefed on the first Gulf War

aha ... then we may have 'met' (on CCTV)

45govt said...

It is HOT. Drop me a line if you fancy a beverage or three.

Sen. C.R.O'Blene said...

Absolutely marvellous Idle!

Let's hope you don't change banks at the same time otherwise you'll probably be arrested!

Have a great break - we need these now again.

Electro-Kevin said...

I'll be eating Marmite sandwiches in the sidings at Goodrington about the time you land.

Are you jealous ?

idle said...

Unusually busy traffic on the idle blog.

Thank you, dc, scrobs and lj.

Nick, this is not MY letter, you understand. I have not yet been invited into the Cabinet Room.

45, I'll drop you an email with some details of my whereabouts. Mrs idle has read your blog profile and considers it reasonably safe.

May your marmite sandwiches in the sidings at Goodrington be just the way you like them, e-k.

Mermaid of Moorgate said...

Oh oh oh that letter is so true! So you are off on another idle jaunt then? Some people have it too easy! Enjoy it oh idle one!

idle said...

merms, you are alive!

I thought I might have to don the scuba gear and search for you off Barbados.

I am going to swim with your cousins the green turtles anyway, as I always do.

Tuscan Tony said...

Barbados? Apalling place - unless of course you are shallow and vapid enough to consider "enjoyable" the hedonism of sun, sand, sea, and Mount Gay Rum. Plus seafood by the bucketload.

Stiff upper lip, it'll soon be over.