The State Of British Tommies (and other really important aspects of life)

So, the good news is I have managed to get the extra £450 I need for my visa. The bad news is, I had to relieve my SA credit card of about R6,800 plus charges to do so. Imagine you are in the most debt you could ever be in - you have never owed so much money in your worst nightmares (for these purposes, a mortgage does not count - at least then you have an asset for your efforts). Then suddenly, you are forced to squirm a bit more, causing you to sink that extra bit deeper into the quicksand, which is now busy closing over your head. I'm breathing through straws sticking out of my nose. At least I'm still breathing, I guess.

Anyway. Good news: come Monday, I will hopefully be able to stay in the UK as long as I like - touch every single tree in the whole world. Bad news: I will probably spend the majority of my time here paying over my hard-earned income to government institutions; an exercise which, as most of you can attest to, is akin to sticking matchsticks under your fingernails. Excruciating and fucking annoying enough to turn the mildest mannered person into a mass murderer.

Enough complaining. I said yesterday I had a more light hearted post planned. Here it is then.....

On Monday I was talking about how rarely I get to have any time by myself. Living with three other people makes you face up to certain difficult realities. For example, I have forgotten what silence sounds like. I also don't know what it's like to make a cup of coffee only for myself - protocol dictates than when thou maketh tea, thou shalt offer thy housemates. I close doors with a marked incessancy bordering on mania - you can terminally fuck up your living situation if you have porno images of naked housemates interfering with your daily routine. If you're the unlucky couple with the smaller room and no en suite, your bad case of diarrhea is not only going to be overheard (and smelled) by the other three, it will also be the subject of continuous piss taking for the next few weeks. Deal with it. You will uncover characteristics that you don't particularly care for in all three of your housemates. If it's your boyfriend, it's ok - you love him despite his flaws, and are working flat out to change what you hate anyway. If it's the other two - well, you'd best prepare yourself. You will occasionally experience instinctive primal urges to push them head first over the balcony, or trip them down three flights of stairs. It's ok - this is normal. But whatever you do, DON'T GIVE IN.

One of the things about my housemates that annoys the holy shit out of me is their dinner conversation. Now, before I launch into this, I thought I'd include a disclaimer. I love them. They're my mates - my best mates, in fact, not just the roomey kind. I would not trade them for anyone else to live with, as I'm sure I would be in jail right now for intent to do grievous bodily harm if it was some of my other, less adaptable friends. But love them or not, this is what I hear probably about 3 out of 7 nights a week at the dinner table (I am usually cooking at the time, as they eat earlier than us, so there is plenty of scope for behind-the-back eye rolling and grimacing):

Eyes: These tomatoes are good baby.
Scarf: You think so?
Eyes: Yes, they're very firm. Way firmer than the ones we bought last week.
Scarf: Yes, they are. Full of flavour too.
Eyes: Yes, very flavoursome. They taste like Cape Town tommies.
Scarf: Cape Town tommies are SO much better than British tommies.
Eyes: I know! Perhaps we should try getting tommies from somewhere else?
Scarf: Maybe M&S instead of Sainsbury's. But it's more expensive there.
Eyes: You're right, it's like 10p more per tommy. I don't want to pay that much. But I also don't want to eat those crap tommies from Sainsburys again.
Scarf: Ja, because next time we buy tommies, they might be horrible, like they usually are.
Eyes: And there's nothing worse than those soggy, flavourless tommies.
Scarf: I miss Cape Town tommies.
Eyes: Me too. Remember how delicious it was to have cheese and tommy sandwiches in Cape Town.
Scarf: Every bite was good. And no matter where you bought them, you knew they were going to be firm and full of flavour.
Eyes: Especially Woollies ones. Woollies tommies are the BEST!
Scarf: But these ones aren't bad.
Eyes: No, not bad. Not great, but not bad.
Scarf: Maybe they'll be even better next week. Maybe Sains is going through a good patch.
Eyes: I think I'll have tommies on my sandwiches this week, as they're not too bad.
Scarf: Ok, and tell me how they are when you get home tomorrow, and then we can see if I should put tommies on for the rest of the week.
Eyes: Ok cool. They won't be as good as Cape Town tommies, but they should be quite nice.
Scarf: Nothing is as good as Woollies tommies though, hmmmm.

And so on... and on, and on, and on, AND ON. For a good 15 minutes. I am not lying. Substitute the word tommies with any of the following: bread, soup, lettuce, cucumber, chicken, curry sauce - it doesn't really matter. They can, AND DO, have this conversation about anything. Repeatedly. Sometimes I will leave the room, and when I come back 10 minutes later, it's like no time has passed. They're still talking about the same shit. They never get tired of it. Shoes and I check the clock sometimes, sharing secret looks of disbelief, as the minute hand ticks along and the subject matter never changes. It's amazing. They could go in for the Olympics of Inane Dinner Conversations about Food.

Like I said, I heart them. But if I have to hear one more conversation about the state of British tommies, I may very well give in to that primal urge after all.

In Case I Haven't Dealt With It Quite Enough Yet

I've just found out my UK visa is going to cost me double what I thought it was. I was prepared for £500 - it costs £950. I'm unable to express in words what this means, both financially and psychologically. I have 6 days to come up with an extra £450, having already borrowed most of the rest of the money from Eyes and Scarf, as I didn't get paid by my promotions company this month (a fuck up on their part). I'm meeting Shoes on my lunch break, and we're going to try and draw most of the balance off our SA credit card. According to Absa, we can draw a maximum of R5000 while 'overseas'. I love that, 'overseas', but in the meantime I actually live here. If we're successful, it would leave me only about £120 short.

It is stupefying how every time I seem to have everything sorted, something else crops up that threatens to topple the precariously built house. Shoes and I have never been this broke. In all the tough months we've had in London, we have never resorted to eating crap. This month, we are. I count each and every penny as if it is gold dust.

Things will get better though, as Shoes worked a lot of overtime last weekend, and I get paid for three days promotional work at month end. This money should nearly cover the excess on the visa. It's just right now that's the problem - I've borrowed all I can from my friends, and as tempted as I am to turn to my parents, it just doesn't make any sense with the R15 to £1 exchange rate.

I had another more light-hearted post planned for today, but I think I'll save it for tomorrow. I don't feel very light-hearted right now.

Summer Holiday

I'M GOING ON HOLIDAY!!!!!

My PEO appointment for my new visa is booked for 14 July, and that gives me a month afterwards in which to organise my Schengen visa for travelling.

I have plenty to tell about the weekend, but I am now going to spend the rest of my afternoon looking for accommodation in Mallorca, so I will fill you in tomorrow.

Thanks for the positive vibes everyone - I am officially the happiest person on the planet today!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Chillout Session

Stress has a taste. It's metallic, like Red Bull, but also bitter, like coffee brewed too strong. It has acidic properties too. It can make your stomach heave as if you've had too much tart white wine, or a huge Mexican dinner.

I can't actually decide whether Wednesday or Thursday was my worst day this week. It is literally one step forward, two steps back with this visa drama. I found out that I could apply at the Portugeuse Consulate for my Schengen visa, after having been told it would have to be the Spanish Consulate, where I couldn't get an appointment for love nor money. One step forward.

However, the date I am eventually going to get for my PEO appointment (for my new UK visa) is so close to the date that I fly, that the Consulate says it can't issue me the travel visa in time. It says the turn-around time is a month. 2 steps back.

I still don't know for sure what is going to happen. Once I've written my citizenship test on Monday and phoned to book my PEO appointment, I will have a better idea of where I stand. But hope is hanging by a thread.

I finally decided last night to surrender the fight. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying to get my paperwork organised - I'll do everything I can within reason. But I've accepted the fact that I'm not going to be able to go. If it somehow does work out, then I will thank God for the miracle and have an amazing holiday. If it doesn't, well, I am mentally prepared for it.

This might seem like a negative way to look at things, but for me it is merely preparation for the next mental battle I have to face. The exhaustion and fatigue and disappointment everytime I try and travel are so consuming that I lose not only the will to try, but also any fun in the build up to the holiday. By the time one of these events is over, I am left trying to pick up the pieces for long after the holiday is forgotten. And I haven't even mentioned the money, which we can ill afford at the moment.

After making my decision last night, I had a fantastic night's sleep. I even had a really nice dream, involving a fabulous braai with my family and the really hot boys from another family we were friends with when I was younger. No, it wasn't THAT kind of dream! They were just eye candy ;-) But it was the first dream I've had in as long as I can remember.

I woke up refreshed this morning, and came into work for what has been a relaxing and pleasant day. It helped that both directors were out all day today, so instead of doing the work of 2 or 3 people as I have been doing all week (which has only added to the stress), I got to read Perez Hilton and catch up on all my gymnastics news.

And I feel completely calm about it now. I am ok with not going. This will not be another Turkey. This time my boyfriend will stay behind, and we will go for a spa day or something so I can get a bit of R&R.

If it works out, I will be very happy, but for now I choose to believe that it will not. I still have a small ray of hope burning deep down, but it no longer defines how I am going to handle the situation. My decision to be at peace about this does.

I feel rather New Age or Zen writing this - I am so not the meditation type! I am all about action, all of the time. But I've realised that sometimes you only make things worse for yourself if you try too hard.

And guess what? The Twitch seems to have gone.

I Want It That Way

I have not had a very good start to the week.

Yesterday I went to a funeral, and while funerals are never pleasant affairs, it just seems that much more miserable when it's the first thing you do on a Monday. Gay Best Friend, whom I have not seen much of since we moved out of Woolwich, texted me just under three weeks ago to tell me his husband had died. I had met M a few times. Our first encounter springs to mind, when he arrived after work at our Woolwich local where GBF and I, who were down a good 4 glasses of wine apiece, were holding court on the centre couch. As he walked in, he was bombarded by the two of us launching ourselves at him and both trying to talk over each other to tell him the story of our day. I distinctly remember dumping the contents of my bag all over his lap in a drunken attempt to find my missing keys. Luckily he was very patient by nature, and saw the humour in our rather unorthodox meeting.

When GBF told me the news, I was shocked. M was suffering from Crohn's disease, an inflammatory bowel disease for which there is currently no cure. Many Crohn's sufferers live a long and good quality life by adhering to a strict agenda of drug and lifestyle choices, much like diabietics. M, however, was one of the unlucky ones. His condition was so chronic that he was on 17 different meds a day to control the symptoms. He was also overweight. He died from a sudden and unexpected heart attack, brought about by the combination of meds and general poor health.

It was a good few days after I received the news that I was finally able to contact GBF. He was kept busy for a while with all the arrangements that come with someone passing, and he was holding up remarkably well. At the service yesterday, he read a short but beautiful letter he had written to M, and then dedicated the song Footprints In The Sand to him. It was simple and poignant, but I found it difficult to sit through. This is only the third funeral I have attended, and the first for a non-family member. The fact that he was young, and it was so unexpected..... it sat like a stone in my chest. I felt such despair as the curtain closed on his coffin, and seeing GBF's naked pain was so hard to watch.

We retired afterwards to the pub for the wake, as is tradition in the UK, and it was there that we chanced upon a story that made us all laugh so hard we cried genuine tears of joy. Two of the guests, good friends of both M and GBF, had arrived a little early for the service. The crematorium has two chapels, and there are two services going on simultaneously. They also churn the services out - they run 15 minutes apart all day from 9am to 6pm. Somehow, Sharon and Julia ended up in a waiting room, and stood around, ahem, waiting, for someone to call them for M's funeral. A funeral director appeared from a side door and ushered them into one of the chapels, saying they were ready to begin. Shazza and Jules sat dutifully in a pew at the back, and turned to watch the coffin being wheeled in. A Catholic priest took to the podium (I know this is not the right word, but I can't remember what is?!?!) and said a prayer, inviting the guests to cross themselves in Catholic tradition. Shazza and Jules followed his lead, although both were a little confused, as they had never known M to be a religious man. The coffin was lifted up onto the platform, and Jules suddenly noticed the flowers adorning it. Carnations! GBF is a florist by trade, and M had an insider's knowledge of and attachment to flowers. If there was one thing Jules knew, it was that M did not like carnations. The light dawned, and she broke into a fit of giggles as she realised she and Shazza were at the wrong funeral. The giggles quickly became tears of hysterical laughter, and she bolted from her seat and out the back door. Shazza, thinking her friend was just overcome with emotion, stayed put, and continued to observe the Catholic tradition of saying goodbye to their dead. It was only once everybody was seated and the first family member was halfway through his speech that the light dawned for her also, but by then it was too late to go anywhere. Shazza sat through a random stranger's funeral, all the while biting her lip to prevent from causing major disruption to the service. Jules spent the 40 minutes doubled over in the corridor, struggling to breathe through a laughing fit the likes of which she had never encountered before.

It lightened the mood, and we all felt that M was laughing with us - how could he not?!!?!?

So that is the one thing that has me feeling a bit down. The other is further complications with my visa. I'll keep it short: I need to write a test before I am allowed to book an appointment for my new settlement visa in July. This test used to be compulsory only for people applying for citizenship, but the government has decided that everyone applying for indefinite leave to remain (ie permanent residence) must now also write it. I can't book my appointment until I have my test results, and I can't write my test until my passport comes back from the Home Office because that is the only form of ID the test centre will accept. I already had a small window in which to organise all these visas in time to travel in August - this new factor has narrowed that window by a whole lot more. The pressure is building and I am incredibly frustrated at how I am being thwarted at every turn. If giving up was an option, yesterday I would have done it - I was that gatvol (had enough). Unfortunately, giving up would mean I'd have to return to Cape Town for good in August, and I'm not ready to do that yet. So while this does decrease my chances of going to Portugal and Spain, I have to press on and hope for the best. Now I have to decide whether or not I am going to buy my non-refundable flights along with everybody else this weekend or if I'm going to wait and see what happens, and pay perhaps double closer to the time.

As you can, it is sucking big time to be me at the moment. If I had one wish right now, I'd wish for a British passport. I can't actually think of anything in the world I want more. Anyway, onwards and upwards. I'll keep you posted.

Second Time Around

As I am paranoid about anything relating to me and travelling and visas, I have second guessed my decision to write this post. I am unnaturally superstitious about giving voice to the worst case scenario in case it comes true (see the list of posts on the RHS of this page if you don't know what I am talking about). However, if the worst case scenario does indeed come to pass, I am going to need to use this blog for major therapy and I will need endless empathy and commiserations from you, so I might as well give you the background now.

Today I am posting my passport off to Immigration by special recorded delivery. The fact that I am being forcibly separated from my passport is enough to induce heart palpitations and an unattractive line of sweat across my upper lip.

The reason for this dates back to this post, which explains how my passport got stolen just before my trip to Cape Town. It's amazing how one small event can trigger a chain reaction that is still in effect so many months later, and which shows no sign of halting anytime soon.

I still do not have a valid visa in my current passport. I have no visa at all actually, just an entry stamp that I was given when I smiled nicely at the border guys on my re-entry into London (ok, I'm simplifying matters a little). This means that as it stands, I can't travel. I need to get my visa restamped in my passport before our trip to Portugal and Spain in August. Right, so no big deal. Or so you'd think.

However, things with me are never that straighforward. I have two options to get the kind of visa I need: the first is posting my application along with my passport to Immigration at a cost of £160 and waiting 4 - 14 weeks for it to be processed; the second is making an appointment to go in and see them personally at a cost of £500 and obtaining my visa within 24 hours. If this was the only visa I needed to get this year, I would bite the bullet and pay the £500, thereby staying secure in the fact that my passport would not leave my side and that I'd get my visa on the same day.

But it isn't the only visa I have to get. In a cruel twist of fate, this visa for which I must now apply expires in August 2008. Upon it's expiry, I have to apply for my Unmarried Partner Visa - Indefinite Leave to Remain. To make things more difficult, I can only apply for this new visa 28 days before the expiry of my old visa. I also cannot apply for the new visa unless the old visa is endorsed in my passport.

In layman's terms, it means that Immigration is shafting me for £160 for a visa that I will have for only 2 weeks before it expires and I have to cough up another £500 for the new visa, as a postal application for the second visa would take too long and I wouldn't be able to on holiday. It also means that until all this visa shit is sorted, I can't even apply for the Schengen visa that I need to travel to Portugal and Spain.

With the timing of our trip and my horrendous luck in all matters passport related, the worst case scenario I am looking at is forked: My first visa application may be delayed for unknown reasons, and I will miss my window of opportunity for the new visa. If this happens, it's tough shit, see you later - they will not accept my application for renewal, and I will have to go home - as in leave London forever. The other possibility is that I get both my UK visas sorted, but can't get an appointment for my Schengen visa within the tight time frame I will be left with, which means I can stay in London but can't travel.

So why didn't I check this out earlier, you ask? I did, and was told I could probably just apply for the new visa in July, and not have to get my stolen one reissued. So imagine my dismay when I phoned last week to make an appointment for the new visa, explained my situation and was told there is a good chance that my application will be denied unless I have a valid visa endorsed in my passport.

Confused yet? I don't blame you - I am living this nightmare and I'M confused! All you really need to know is, either I come out of this with all my paperwork in order and a wonderful holiday under my belt... or I am royally fucked. Please cross fingers it is the former. I will as always keep you updated.

The Hook-Up

I'm pretty much over my enormous irritation from Monday's post. Of course I'm disappointed I can't go on the trip, but also, there was a small part of me that just KNEW that I was going to be paying for that one mistake (getting my passport stolen) for a long time to come, because that's just how it is with me and travelling. I expect the absolute worst now, and then I have my day or two of ranting when it turns out that my fears are justified, but I'm over it pretty quickly. It's not really a surprise. My housemates accuse me of being unnecessarily negative in my attitude to travelling, but erm, ja.... that's very easy to say when you haven't been through what I've been through. If the travel gods were playing russian roulette with your plans, you might also be just a little cynical. And easily pissed off. And anyway, I've just proved that I'm not being negative, only realistic.

So. We're not going to Germany anymore, and now that I'm over my initial rage at the unfairness of it all, I'm able to look for the positives in the situation. For example, we're trying to pay off our debt, and when every spare penny you have should be going towards that, it's not the smartest idea in the world to take yet another trip. So I can feel good that the money we would have spent is being smartly distributed, instead of frivolously thrown about.

Also, I have a feeling that this time, if Shoes and I don't go, the others won't go either. Although several of our friends expressed interest at the time, a quick poll over the last couple of days has revealed mixed feelings about actually going ahead with the trip; some due to money issues and others to different trips they'd prefer take. In fact, as it stands, the only people definitely in are Eyes, Scarf, OJ and possibly Neutrino, who has already explained that July is the worst month of the year for him in terms of cash flow. So if he can't go, it will be down to three, and I guarantee that Eyes and Scarf won't go if it's just the two of them and a plus one. Not that I am feeling smug about this at all; I am merely satisfied that it hasn't worked out for everyone so I don't have to miss out again. I think that's a fair enough reaction. Maybe we can try again next year, and maybe in the interim Shoes and I can just get married so I don't ever have to face this issue again. This is the third time I've had to mention marriage as a solution now, so I think that is definitely grounds for seriously considering doing the deed. If I wait too much longer, how many more trips will I miss because of my stupid passport and visa issues? It makes for a very tepid London experience, because believe me, for 7 or 8 months of the year, London is the kind of place that you get desperate to leave. And not being able to induces the very uncomfortable feeling of being trapped in an overcast and depressing prison.

In other equally dramatic news, although news which does not yet affect me directly, my company has officially been bought out by another radio giant. Our CEO broke the news to us on Tuesday, and ended months of speculation and uncertainty. Well, I say that, but once the merge has been accomplished and all the technicalities adhered to, which will take about 4 months, the uncertainties will actually just increase. That is when our new owner will take over the day to day running of the newly merged company, and will start hiring and firing at will. It unsettles to me to know that my boss is already exploring alternative employment opportunities.

Last time we merged in 2005 - our company acquired another to form who we are today - the PAs were told that they would all have to interview for their jobs as there were too few slots available. Then a few went on to take the attractive redundancy package offered, and luckily the interviews never happened. I wonder if this will be the case again? How ironic - I finally take a permanent job to get the security and career opportunities I've been sorely lacking for the past two years, and now I might end up losing my job! Of course, it's a long way off, and none of us are really bothered right now. But it will interesting to see how things pan out in 4 months time.

Tomorrow morning I leave for the Commercial Conference; the annual team-building, inspiring and educational 24 hours that are supposed to give my department new direction for the future, and which usually just end up being a race to get out of hand more quickly than the person next to you. Finally, my first proper office party in London. I'm very much looking forward to it - details on Monday. :-)

No More Drama - er, when?

I am in visa hell once again.

I'm sure I don't need to summarise all my travel disasters for you again, but if you want a refresher course, all my travel-related posts are listed under Travel Traumas on the right of this page.

Anyway. This time I have just discovered I can't go on our planned trip to Germany in July. We've been planning two holidays this year - one to Spain in August, which will be our longest and most expensive trip, and then a shorter 5 day trip to Germany in July to attend the Full Moon Festival - possibly the best trance party on the planet. Most of you are by now aware of my love for trance parties, and this one is so big, so major, that last year's trip to Portugal just pales in comparison. We first started talking about going a month or so ago, and we planned to book our flights in May.

But guess what, once again I will have to pull out in yet another bad episode of deja vu, while everyone else gets ready for the party of a lifetime. Why? This is all a snowball effect of losing my passport. I came back into the UK with a full passport, but you might remember from this post that I still needed to get my UK visa re-issued once over here. As I am South African and our passports are equivalent in value to the Zim Dollar, I need a visa everytime I want to visit a different country. I have yet to apply for my UK visa re-issue, as I am travelling up to Scotland with my company this weekend and I need my passport to do so (Scotland is part of Great Britain and my UK visa allows me free access to all GB territories, so I therefore do not need to show proof of a visa when travelling to those places - I just need my passport for identification purposes).

So my plan was to come back from Scotland and straight away post off my application, and have my passport complete with UK visa back by end of June at the latest. I would then apply for my German Schengen visa 2 weeks before our trip. Today I started filling out all the application forms and checking that I have all the necessary documents. Then I saw this on the front page of the German Embassy website: You must have a passport with one blank page and residence permit for the UK, both valid for at least three months longer than the expiry date of the visa.

This is a problem, as my UK visa runs out in August this year. Which means that if I tried to apply for a Schengen visa using my UK re-issue visa as proof of my right to be here, they will deny my request based on the fact that at the time of application, I would have less then three months left on that visa.

So the logical solution is to renew my UK visa, right? After all, I am eligible to stay here - in fact, my next visa will give me indefinite leave to remain aka permanent residence, which means I will never again have to apply to stay in the UK until the day I decide to apply for citizenship, if we get that far. My current visa expires on 10 August. But the British Home Office, being the most fastidious of Immigration Authorities, has rules in place that only let you apply for a new settlement visa a maximum of 28 days before the expiration date of your current one. In other words, the earliest I can apply for my new UK visa is 14 July. We are supposed to fly on 16 July. I was planning on paying for the Same Day Service for my UK visa anyway, which costs £500 but has the advantage of being ready almost instantly. So I'd have that in place. But I would then have one day to organise a Schengen visa, and usually Schengens take between 2 and 7 days. Even if they told me it was possible to get it on the same day, unless it was a guaranteed thing - which it never is - I couldn't afford to spend all that money booking flights and whatnot, only to have my visa delayed and not be able to go.

So there you have it - for the third time in less than a year, I am facing missing out on a trip that I desperately want to make, while everyone else will probably go ahead without me anyway. I don't say that with bitterness, because hey, I'm a realist and past experience has told me that at the end of the day, people will do whatever they want to do and whatever makes them happy, and unless you're terminally ill or about to die and they are guilted into staying behind, they're going - end of story. The exception this time is Shoes. Last time with Turkey, I was big enough to let him go. I then proceeded to have a complete meltdown when he was gone, as how was I to really know how crap it was going to be to get left behind? This time I was prepared to put my foot down and start World War III over it if I had to, but it turns out I needn't have worried. He's not going without me. Ok, so I did have to ask him - he didn't offer - and there's was an infitesmal pause before he said no, and he certainly didn't sound very happy about it. But I think he realised I was stretched to breaking point last time... in fact, that I am still a bit fragile from all this drama, and my first instinct when I made this fabulous discovery today was to burst into tears. I probably would have; in fact, I VERY nearly did when I was speaking to Shoes on the phone, but I'm at work and I really don't dig crying in front of colleagues, so I managed to hold it in.

I'm just really disappointed. It's beyond ridiculous now, wouldn't you agree? Ok so it happened once, fine. And then it nearly happened again, and despite the fact that I eventually ended up going to CT, that was the most traumatic time of all. So, hey, that's enough shit for one person to deal with in 6 months, right? But no, apparently not. Third time unlucky. I'm just wandering how many more times I'm going to have one of these posts to write. How many more times am I going to be "Poor Lopz", while everyone else feels bad for a couple of days and then gets over it and goes away on an awesome holiday? What the hell is the point of living in this shit hole if I can't travel, seriously.

If I was signing an anonymous letter to a magazine column right now, I'd sign it Gutted, Gatvol and Had Just About Enough. And please pass the brandy.