happy mardi gras! for those of you stateside, the uk celebrates “pancake day” for shrove tuesday. which entails eating pancakes for dinner – an enterprise i could thoroughly get behind, except that “pancake” here refers to a crêpe. with lemon and powdered sugar. or golden syrup.

they do sell bisquick here though, thank goodness, so we had fluffy american shortstacks with maple syrup and butter.

the bottle of maple syrup we purchased says, “delicately smooth taste of butterscotch and creme caramel.” um, no. butterscotch tastes like butterscotch. caramel tastes like caramel. and maple tastes like maple.

Like this post

Unlike

it’s midnight.  the people in the flat one down, one over from ours are having a party.  which apparently includes extremely loud techno music, lots of screaming/yelling/shrieking/singin at the top of ones lungs, and stomping (??!).  the whole apartment is shaking and it’s just ridiculously excessive, even for a friday night.

in the uk, you do not call the cops for this.  noise is a council problem.  this is what we pay our council tax for.  so at about 12:30, we ring the emergency noise line, and they say they’ll send someone out.  even more shockingly, no one in the flats immediately adjacent or above/below this craziness has bothered to complain.

a little green wandsworth car comes out.  and then leaves.

jonno rings back the noise line.  apparently they cannot ask the people to turn it down because there were people “loitering”, and they deemed it unsafe.

loitering? at a party? well i never!!

seriously.  they tell us they can file a report.  that’s it.

we try to go back to bed.  j has to go into work in the morning.  it’s 1:30.

and finally, i spring up, put on slippers and go downstairs.  there’s a 20-ish guy outside the flat with a beer, the door open, insanely loud music blasting out.

he seems a bit unsettled by the approach of a woman half-asleep in pyjamas.  i ask him what time it is.  he (in all seriousness) looks at his watch and tells me it’s 1:30.  he begins to look sheepish.

i say, “which means that that noise is beyond ridiculous, and completely unacceptable.  i live here too, and it’s incredibly rude to be this loud at this hour of the morning.”

he starts apologising, says he’ll take care of it, and immediately begins to start yelling at the people inside to turn the music down.

i shuffle back upstairs.  the noise drops off immediately.

climb back in bed and fall asleep.

the damnwells – bastard of midnight

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

got to hang with my friend stacey who was passing through london for a day, and we spent an evening wandering around down by the southbank, then going to see this show.  bizarrely enough, with all the pics i took, i somehow didn’t get a pic of the two of us.  go figure.

but i love hanging out at the southbank at holiday time.

Like this post

Unlike

this must be the newest stage of expatting. the stage where you stop trying to replicate what you’d do at home (and never really coming close enough to satisfy anyway) and just do something completely different instead.

tomorrow is thanksgiving in the states. brits here have a hard time comprehending the importance of this holiday, but it’s one of my favourites because it remains relatively “pure” – family, friends and food. it’s not yet been turned into an obligatory gift-giving occasion, or wholly commercial enterprise. and while the roots do, of course, harken back to a time when we mistreated and exploited the people and land that were here first (and in many ways still do), the theme of the holiday itself is about gratitude for what we have in our present day lives.

we cannot change the past, nor predict the future – but here and now, on this one day, if we have people in our lives that we love, and enough food to fill our bellies for this meal, then that is something to be grateful for. if you believe in a god, then you give thanks to that god. if you believe in mother earth, then you give thanks to her. if you simply believe in family and friends, then you give thanks to them for their presence in your life.

nothing more is required – a meal shared with loved ones, and thanks. so simple, yet so profound. it’s that which i love most about thanksgiving, but is so difficult to communicate to those that haven’t grown up with it.

each year here so far, i have been lucky enough to have fellow americans join me in my celebration. people who “get it”, who understand the emotion that thanksgiving conveys, and how difficult it is to be far away on a day when others are drawing near. and there’s a shared acknowledgement that while we try to recreate the holiday in our own way as best we can, we also know that it is never going to be quite right, simply because we are here… and so many of our loved ones are there. people back in the u.s. are coming together, and we are far away.

this year, through a variety of circumstances, the thanksgiving meal with fellow americans just isn’t going to happen. i thought about moving the date around, or trying to change the venue… but in the end, i decided to stop trying to put a square peg into a round hole. it’s never going to be right, because it’s just not right. i’m here, and they are there. it’s an american holiday, and i live in the u.k.

so we’re going out. to an american themed restaurant, that promises turkey and pumpkin pie and football and sam adams beer.

i used to think that going to a restaurant for t-day was sacrilege. but i think i’ve finally come to the realisation that no matter how i juggle the turkey and side dishes in a teeny british oven, no matter how i search out the traditional tinned pumpkin and cranberries and stovetop stuffing, no matter how many americans i gather together to celebrate with, no matter how hard i try to make everything the same as it would be back home, thanksgiving will never be the same, because it’s different here. my life is different here. and somehow this year it seems fitting to finally embrace that by doing something different. maybe i should be depressed about that, but somehow, i find myself relieved – like i’ve finally given myself permission to be okay with it all.

so i’ll be sitting in bodean’s tomorrow evening, with loved ones, a meal, and thanks.

in the true spirit of the holiday, nothing else is required.

Like this post

Unlike

running along wandsworth common this morning, and what did i spot? the notoriously craggy face of gordon ramsay.

to be honest, i’m surprised i even noticed – i’m notorious for being oblivious to these kinds of things. he was running with a guy who looked like a personal trainer. didn’t look like he was sweating too much though – c’mon gordo, put some effort into it!

Like this post

Unlike

people often think i’m some sort of alarmist when it comes to privacy issues in this country.

i submit exhibit “a”:

Everyone who buys a mobile telephone will be forced to register their identity on a national database under government plans to extend massively the powers of state surveillance.

Phone buyers would have to present a passport or other official form of identification at the point of purchase. Privacy campaigners fear it marks the latest government move to create a surveillance society.

A compulsory national register for the owners of all 72m mobile phones in Britain would be part of a much bigger database to combat terrorism and crime. Whitehall officials have raised the idea of a register containing the names and addresses of everyone who buys a phone in recent talks with Vodafone and other telephone companies, insiders say.

another completely useless proposal. this is meant to get at terrorists who use pay-as-you-go mobile phones. what the government fails to understand here is that:

a) we’re only 2 hours away from the rest of europe… where no such registers exist, and current law says you’re allowed to bring in pretty much anything from the eu into the UK as long as it’s not illegal or exceeds “personal use”

b) the rate at which people swap sim cards in and out of phones, or amongst friends, family, etc. makes any such register hopelessly inaccurate from the start

c) there’s this thing called the internet where you can buy all sorts. clearly no one in government has ever shopped for a mobile from hong kong on ebay.

d) the only way in which this register could possibly work would be if they

- first outlawed private sale of mobiles by individuals (new or used)
- second outlawed private sale of sim cards (which is really what they’re after)
- third outlawed swapping of sim cards amongst individuals
- fourth signed on all mobile service providers
- fifth managed to sign the entire eu onto the notion of restricting mobile/sim sales and import/export in the uk
- sixth outlawed the purchase of mobiles from non-approved sources (such as the internet)
- seventh devoted more enforcement resources to monitoring the internet for sales (because they don’t already have enough to do with trying to restrict guns, drugs, child pornography)
- eighth restricted sales of mobiles only to adults (as the idea of having children’s info on a database would be most unpalatable to the public)
- and ninth devoted more resources to monitoring the mail for the illegal transport of sim cards smaller than postage stamps.

in other words, this is another harebrained scheme by government designed to “crack down on terrorism” by infringing on the rights of many millions of innocent citizens, which is easily circumvented well before it is even put into law… much like the i.d. card initiative.

unfortunately, that won’t stop them from trying.

my morning jacket – off the record

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

coming home from shopping today, i saw you get on the tube. your haircut and clothes were neat, expensive looking, chosen with obvious care, but you had no handbag or jewellery. your face was naked and pale, your eyes bleary, red and wet.

you sat opposite me, avoiding eye contact, head slightly bowed, as silent tears streamed down your face. you neither hid them, nor made any motion to wipe them away. it was a look of resigned but dignified grief. an open and honest sorrow, plain for all to see.

as the train hurtled on through the tunnel, i thought about asking you if you were okay, though it was clear that you weren’t. i thought about offering you a tissue, but your carriage stopped me from breaching that invisible wall.

in the end, i did nothing. see, i’ve been there too – with private emotions on display in a public space, because there’s no place to hide them, and the shock of deep sadness inures you to caring. it happens in big cities – you can cry anonymously in front of a group of strangers, who all pretend they don’t see.

as we pulled into my station, i got off, and as the doors closed behind me, i glanced back one last time to look at you through the window. you knuckled your eyes dry, smoothed your hair behind your ears, sat up, fixed your gaze straight ahead, and the train sped away out of sight.

powderfinger – passenger

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

argh! why oh why do people in london not move aside for ambulances!!!

it’s infuriating! they all sit there passively, not even attempting to pull to the side of the road. and now, having actually been in the back of an ambulance, it’s even more maddening.

that could be someone’s family member in there, suffering a heart attack, or with internal injuries, or going into anaphylactic shock. and they just sit there in their cars on their mobile phones, or playing with the radio, or twiddling their thumbs, without any sense of urgency whatsoever.

*move the fuck over*

Like this post

Unlike

i’m watching the closing ceremonies of the olympics, and the “handover” of the flag and flame to london for the 2012 summer ceremonies.

i wish i could be excited about the prospect. i wish i could say i’d still be here and be proud to be hosting the festivities. watching the olympics live and in person has been one of my lifelong dreams ever since i was a little girl. i should be ecstatic at the opportunity.

however day after day, i am continually astounded by the sheer ineptitude and poor infrastructure of this massive city. when i can’t reliably get to work on time, do errands after 6 pm, or get customer service that even remotely resembles anything like *service*… well i despair of the idea of adding *millions* of tourists to the mix.

i mean, they couldn’t even get the bloody logo right, the budget has ballooned from an initial £2.3 billion to over £9 billion, and the london olympic committee is already downplaying expectations.

whilst i have no doubt that four years from now it will be a sparkling televised affair, i can only breathe a sigh of relief that i won’t have to be subjected to the unmitigated disaster it will make daily life for ordinary londoners.

Like this post

Unlike

i have never spent so much time chasing people to *do their fucking jobs* as i have had to in this country. every little thing takes 20 phone calls to follow up. people who’re supposed to call back, don’t. people who are supposed to arrange things, don’t. people who’re supposed to fix things, don’t.

at the moment i am chasing a doctor’s appointment (for three bloody weeks now!), a parcel (which was meant to be delivered two separate times), and our landlord (who after calling her for a week, *promised* someone would be out to fix our boiler *today*… but they were a no-call, no-show, and after spending the nicest day of the year at home waiting for him, i’m particularly pleased!) last week i was chasing the human resources guy at my new job to send me my paperwork, the human resources guy at my old job to sort out my annual leave, and the cable company.

every simple task turns into a monumental chore of chasing people with phone call after phone call just to get them to do their jobs, and my mild phone anxiety doesn’t make things any easier. screwing up my courage to ring people over and over again is emotionally draining.

you’d think after five years of dealing with the farce that is customer service in this country that i’d be used to it by now. but somedays it’s so goddamn tiresome i could just cry – and the few times when things get sorted straight away, i could positively weep with relief.

is it really so much to ask that things just work the way they’re supposed to??!

Like this post

Unlike

british summer may have many flaws…

…but they are nearly all redeemed by the british strawberries.

Like this post

Unlike

a mate of mine has been having a rough week, so we met up for a drink after work last night. meandering around, we stumbled onto a new place in balham i hadn’t seen before – a mexican cocktail bar! i wasn’t quite sure what a “mexican cocktail bar” comprised at first, and having had my share of truly awful “mexican” food here in london, (and lots of barely passable tex-mex), i was skeptical that there could be anyplace even remotely authentic just down the street from me.

i’m happy to report, it was really good! they don’t do a massive variety (mostly taquitos and tostadas, appetizer and more “snacky” type stuff) which is probably just as well, but what they do was very tasty and was accompanied by many, many authentic mexican beers. my friend and i had a small raft of negra modelos, and they were very reasonably priced for being import.

i didn’t get a chance to check out the margaritas, but that’s okay – it gives me an excuse to go back

Like this post

Unlike

the other day, drinking on public transportation was banned. and what that lead to, predictably, was a giant booze party that ended in violence.

i’ve lived here quite a while now, and one thing i still just cannot wrap my head around is the british approach to drinking.

many of my u.s. readers will be surprised to learn that drinking on public transportation was legal in the first place. in fact, drinking in almost all public places is perfectly legal. this, in and of itself, is not a bad thing. but combine it with the british attitude to alcohol, and you get a lot of problems.

drinking makes up a significant percentage of most socialising in the u.k., and drinking regularly (read:daily) is considered the norm by many. going to the pub several times during the week for “a few pints” is fairly typical, and binge drinking on weekends is a frequent occurence. for special occasions or sporting events, the ante is upped even further. nor is it restricted to the menfolk – many women i know go home and unwind after work by consuming the better part of a bottle of wine. just because.

all this drinking means there are high levels of associated rowdiness, illness, and violence – the news is full of it every day. and because of this, tube rides home on saturday evenings are loud, crowded, sloshy affairs. yobs sit at the back of buses with a can of lager, disruptive, intimidating and vandalising. empty trains become rolling parties for underage teen drinkers, smoking cigarettes and playing music.

and in response to the ban on alcohol on public transport, there’s near riots in a protest of the loss of their “right to drink”.

i just don’t get it – the french drink a lot. the spanish drink a lot. yet they don’t have anywhere near the consistently excessive levels of binge drinking that occur here. every weekend is seen as another opportunity to get wasted. and the problem is not even so much that it’s their “right”, but that they seem to take real pride in just how much, just how often, and just how many places they drink. they seem intent on drinking themselves into a stupor just as often as possible.

they’re drunk at sporting events, drunk on holiday abroad, drunk on the tube, drunk in the park. anywhere and everywhere.

i’m no teetotaller, and i’ve certainly had my share of embarrassingly tipsy evenings and hungover mornings. but they are the rarity rather than the rule. jonno and i frequently go a week or two without any alcohol – something nearly unthinkable to most of my british friends, who tell me how they find it really difficult when they “detox” by abstaining for 10 days.

when i first arrived, i enjoyed the more relaxed attitude to drinking. five years later, i’m so tired of all the public drunkenness and shit that goes with it. i’m astounded by just how deeply alcohol permeates everything – it’s depressing and ugly.

not that the ban means people will be any more sober when i’m on the northern line after 11:00pm, mind you. just that there will be fewer empty bottles rolling around under my feet.

anti-flag – drink drank punk

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

bank holiday? check.

pouring rain? check.

grateful dead – box of rain

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

of course, it’s “for our own good”. no reasonable suspicion necessary.

and as always with this kind of logic, those who have nothing to hide, have nothing to fear… right?

Sir Al Aynsley-Green called for more research into the effects of increased police powers.

New measures are being used by police to search for knives using hand-held and walk-through metal detectors.
…

“The work we are doing in London in particular is working alongside communities to do robust stop-and-search operations using knife arches and search wands where intelligence tells us that there is the most likelihood that people are carrying knives and weapons,” she said.

“That is not aimed at victimising young people; it’s aimed at keeping them safe.”

Under the Metropolitan Police’s plans announced this month, officers can search people without reasonable suspicion under Section 60 of the Public Order Act.

…

“I know that’s a problem – but until we make them all realise they have to get rid of all their guns and knives we wont find a solution to this problem.”

…

Camila Batmanghelidjh, founder of children’s support charity Kids Company, told the BBC that stop-and-search did not address the “core problems”.

“Violence is a bit like a virus,” she said. “It’s spreading amongst children and children are feeling really unsafe, and the reason is the failure of adults to create structures that protect children.

“So what’s the point of just searching the children and not solving the core problems? The kids are carrying knives because they don’t feel safe.”

if the police honestly think they can get knives and guns off the streets through random stop-and-search, they’re even more deluded then i first thought.

and we all know “random” is never really random, now, is it?

it’s got boris’s seal of approval – therefore it must be good.

Like this post

Unlike

we live in a large block of ex-council owned flats. people round these parts seem to think this means it’s public property, and take it upon themselves to sit out front under the trees, drinking beer and strewing rubbish about. this irks me to no end, and no one else in the building seems to have a spine, so i find myself challenging people who seem to be “loitering”. this confrontation is a practiced but tiresome routine by now.

so when i popped home to check the post at lunchtime today and found a group of three 20-somethings having a picnic lunch in front of the building, i momentarily thought about letting it pass. but… i just couldn’t.

me: (wandering across the lawn) hi! do any of you live here?

girl1: um, um, er… actually, we just work around the corner.

me: okay, well, i’m not sure if you’re aware, but this is private property, not a public park. if you like, there’s a park just down there (points in direction of wandsworth common 5 min. down the road), or another park just down there (points in direction of tooting bec common, 5 min. in the opposite direction).

guy: oh, okay.

they continue eating. clearly waiting for me to leave so they can ignore the interruption and finish their sandwiches.

me: so, you know, feel free to move along.

they slowly start gathering their food together, flashing me dirty looks. girl2 mutters something under her breath.

guy: you know, that’s really pedantic of you. (rolls eyes)

me: actually, it’s not. people hang out here and throw rubbish around, and i *live here*.

guy: (heavy sarcasm) you don’t have to make up excuses, you know.

me: dude, i don’t have to justify myself to *you*. i pay rent here, you don’t. i don’t go to *your* house, plop myself in *your* front garden, and eat my lunch!

the cheek!! the sense of entitlement!! does nobody here have any sense of respect for people’s property?? what the fuck is wrong with people!?!

you know, people give new yorkers a lot of shit for being rude… but actually there is a finely honed set of social rules about what is and is not acceptable behaviour. you break the rules or show disrespect, and someone *will* confront you about it. here people seem to get away with murder because everyone is too fucking passive (or afraid) to challenge anyone.

london may be more outwardly civilised… but that doesn’t mean people are any more respectful or polite. i’m sick of it.

archers of loaf – harnessed in slums

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

not the church,
not the state,
women must decide their fate!

our bodies,
our lives,
our right to decide!

edited to add: hurrah!!

Like this post

Unlike

someone asked me the other day why we were planning to leave london.

this is a huge part of it. the bnp has managed to win a seat on the london general assembly, meaning that they won over 5% of the vote.

i don’t care that people voted for a conservative mayor. i care that people voted for a representative of the british equivalent to the neo-nazi party, or the ku klux klan. they’re sickening, and they make my skin crawl and they’re now part of my elected government.

can you imagine a member of the kkk being elected in new york, or l.a.?**

i’ve mentioned here many times the increasing backlash against immigrants in the u.k. it’s been steadily and dramatically rising since both the 7/7 bombings, and the expansion of the e.u. to include several eastern european countries. people are scared of muslims, and resentful of the influx of eastern europeans they see as stealing “their” jobs (for the benefit of my american readers, it’s very similar to the anti-mexican sentiment in the u.s., except that in this instance, the immigrants are legal). none of this has been helped by the fact that the government has not handled either situation terribly well.

this 5% is just the tip of the iceberg. the economic and religious fear only serve to foment hatred and intolerance, and there’s much more below the surface. the bnp is only saying what a lot of people are thinking.

which means it’s time to go.

**this election also points out the larger demographic disparity between the “two londons”. inner london, which is much more economically and racially mixed, and outer london, which comprises the more populous, whiter and wealthier suburbs.

Like this post

Unlike

so i voted. i was tired and annoyed, and jonno complained, but i dragged him with me down the street anyway. in the end, i voted for the (hopeless) green party as my first choice, and labour as my second choice. i have no illusions that either will win, and i’m not thrilled with either choice… but just the act of voting still gives me a little rush, each and every time.

it’s funny – my mum used to take us with her into the voting booth when she went to her polling station, and i remember being impressed at the awesome privileges of adulthood. it seemed like such a solemn, important, *potent* responsibility. i guess i still see it that way.

i’m fond of saying that if you don’t exercise your choice, you let everyone else make the choice for you – and effectively abdicate your right to complain. you had a chance to try to do something about it, and decided you couldn’t be bothered… too late now to whinge.

and no matter how crummy the candidates are, or how lost in the sea my vote is, i can’t help but be eternally grateful that my vote will be *counted*. someone will mark my choices, and add them to the chorus of voices. individually we cannot effect change, but as a collection of individuals, we can change our piece of the world.

and as tired as i was, and disillusioned as i felt, i couldn’t help but think about the people in zimbabwe tonight. wondering what they might give to have their voice heard, their vote counted. to be able to effect change in their piece of the world.

in the end, i didn’t vote because my one ballot matters so much – i voted because theirs has mattered so little. for years they’ve lived under a military dictatorship that has run their country into the ground – poverty, hunger and unemployment are rampant. yet election after election, in the face of violence, massive corruption, and overwhelming disillusionment, they still turn out and vote.

and if the people of zimbabwe can continue to vote, in the face of all that adversity… how can i possibly not?

the acorn – hold your breath

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

so i’m officially registered to vote, and my first election is coming up on 1 May for London mayor.

J got a brochure in today’s post outlining the choices. up to now, i can’t say i’ve paid a lot of attention. in fact, part of me was hoping i wouldn’t get registered in time, because the three major candidates (well two major candidates, and one b-stringer) are all a bunch of nitwits. there’s red ken, barmy boris, and brian who?

here are my alternate choices, according to the pamphlet:

bnp: “remember London the way it used to be? asylum seekers and illegal immigrants are engulfing London. stop immigration. house british people first – it’s only fair. british jobs for british workers.” “we should celebrate things like st. george’s day and other christian festivals like st. patrick’s day, instead of other festivals such as ramadan and eid.”

bnp – the (not even thinly veiled) racist party

the left list: “take the battle for the future of London’s working majority against the wealthy minority into City Hall. London would be better with stronger trade unions.”

left list – the delusional socialist party.

the green party: “abolish the congestion charge for the cleanest cars, while charging the gas-guzzlers more. oppose all airport expansion. vote green party as your first choice, and use your second choice for the ‘least worst’ of the other main candidates.”

green party – the “we haven’t got a snowball’s chance in global warming hell” party

uk independence party: “no to mass immigration. no to the european union. cap the cost of the olympic games.”

ukip – the “closing the barn door after the horse has left the stable” party.

the christian choice: “promote marriage and stable family. stop the mega-mosque. champion the unborn.”

christian choice – the “what would jesus do (except practice tolerance towards other religions and beliefs)” party.

the english democrats: “putting england first. £13.5 billion of your money bankrolls scotland every single year. st. george’s day is mocked.”

english democrats – the “wake up and smell the scottish oil money before you go cutting off your nose to spite your face” party.

london elections: what a joke.

dinosaur jr – freak scene

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

so i sent off for my first UK passport a month ago.

first, they asked my referee to confirm all his passport details. unfortunately he was on holiday for 2 weeks. (their flimsy excuse was that they didn’t have his passport number in their database – which, if it were true, i can only assume would have raised major alarm bells each and every time they’ve swiped his passport at immigration for the 8 years he’s lived here.)

now, i’ve been selected for interview.

which is good really – i was starting to feel ignored. because i haven’t already been interviewed in person by them, oh…. at least a half dozen times i can think of. because i haven’t already had to prove my identity, provide intimate details of my life (including information about my parents, grandparents, and ex-husband, which cannot be of *any* interest to them whatsoever), and allow background checks into my tax records, finances, and employment. they’ve ascertained my identity two separate times when i applied for work permits, once when i applied for my spouse visa, once when i applied for my permanent residency, and two separate time when i applied for my citizenship (last done less than 6 months ago).

they have access to my bank details, they have access to my travel patterns, they can track my mobile phone, they can read my emails, they have me on CCTV about 300 times a day. they have possession of my u.s. passport.

there is not one single iota of information they do *not* know about me. what on earth can they possibly confirm through interview? when my last menstrual cycle was?

in the meantime, i can’t even book a holiday anywhere, so i’m stuck here all through may when the rest of the u.k. is off galavanting about.

the more i think about it, the angrier i get. nothing in this country ever goes smoothly for me. just give me my fucking passport already.

spoon – anything you want

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike