About bleeding time!
After almost three years of married bliss, I’m finally due my interview in London Town to obtain myself some visa or other so I can live happily ever after as a makeshift septic. I know it’s been a long time coming and it also isn’t official until the chubby lady behind the counter at the embassy utters something relatively cheesy; but the 16th of August is D-Day.
Six weeks ago I emailed the swines asking when my interview date might be and they replied curtly that I’d receive notification of a date within 4-6 weeks. You can imagine how miffed I felt when the deadline passed without anything flopping on the doormat. Subsequently, I emailed them again but still received no reply. Then, on Tuesday, I decided to give them a bell on their £1.20 a minute hotline to see if anybody knew what was going on in person. How surprised was I when the lady on the end of the phone informed me that it could be twelve weeks in all meaning another six weeks of thumb-twiddling.
The last time I remember feeling this gut-wrenchingly impotent was around the age of twelve whilst waiting on my first drop handlebar push iron to arrive through the post. Every day of the five week summer holiday dragged by as I waited by the window for the delivery bloke. I remember it turning up during the last week of the hols and me having wasted five weeks in a tunnel-grump (that’s a tunnel vision of grumpiness).
Anyway, with the thought of my interview now sometime in the next millenium, I trotted off to my sister’s to nonce about drinking Black Stump with John. It was only once I arrived back and checked my email that I noticed that London Consular had replied to the previous week’s email approximately 45 mins after I’d called them informing me that my interview was on the 16th and that they’d sent all the details by mail the day before.
How had the embassy woman not known this when I rang earlier and had given her my case number that she’d checked on the immigration mainframe?
Not that I’m overly bothered. However, one has to ask whether throwing oneself at the mercy of governmental bureaucracy is always the wisest of policies. I know of at least four other folk from round here who simply adjusted status after getting married out there.
But me: I had a blog to run. 
Seems more like illegal substances!
Have a nice day y'all
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