The BIG News and a trip to Her Majesty's Passport Office

A couple of months ago, Mr B came home from work and announced
"I've been offered a new job at work".
"Oh really? That's nice.  What is it?"
Turns out the question I should have been asking was 'Where is it?' as the answer to that turned out to be ..... Phoenix.  Yes, Phoenix.  The one in Arizona.
So, after much deliberation and discussion, it's official.  Team Barlow is packing up and will be swopping the lush green fields of Sussex for the deserts of Arizona at the end of March.  Gulp.

The first challenge was when to initiate the visa application as we had been advised that this could take up to 8 weeks to complete and no travel could be undertaken until the process was complete.  As we were planning a trip to Phoenix to complete the due diligence on schools before the application deadline and also view potential residential areas at the beginning of February, we were advised to hold off and complete the visa application as soon as we returned to the UK.  OK, phew, so no worries there then.  Wait  ... **gets to bottom of email version of War and Peace from Immigration team and notices final sentence**

"...  passports will need to be valid for the length of your Visa (3 years) and at least 6 months after your Visa expires otherwise it can cause problems with immigration when you are travelling ...."

Sorry, what?!  Brilliant.  That will be a trip to the Passport office in London then.  Never mind, I haven't been to London for ages. I am sure there will be some lovely shops for me to while away a few hours in. I could make a day of it!  Now, let's see ... where actually is the passport office I wonder?  Oh. Right next to Victoria Station.  Never mind.

Helpfully, my appointment was for 11.45 am, which given that I couldn't collect said passport until 4 hours later, meant that I would have to hang around until at least 4pm.  In Victoria.  Fabulous.  Still, I could go and have some lunch and then perhaps have a walk up to Buckingham Palace and St James Park.  I haven't been there for years!

The day of the appointment dawned and whilst there was not a cloud in the sky, it was also 2°C and freezing!!! Being keen to ensure that I didn't miss the train, I had vastly overestimated the time required to get to the station, park and collect my ticket, and was consequently forced to spend 25 minutes sitting on a bitterly cold and windy platform.  I amused myself with a bit of people watching ...  good grief, has that woman seen what she is wearing?  Where on earth can she be going on a Tuesday morning dressed in a purple velvet hat with half a greenhouse attached to it? ... and pondering the merits of Network Rail's tinkling notification bell (reminiscent of Gladys Pugh in Hi-de-Hi) which advises that a fast train is approaching about a nanosecond before it actually belts past at 100mph.  After an hour of comfort that only a train journey on the Brighton to London line can provide, i.e. standing room only, with some geek's laptop jabbing me in the ribs, in an overly heated carriage  (not helped by the fact that I was dressed for an Arctic expedition in anticipation of walking round Victoria for 4 hours in the freezing cold), I arrived in Victoria ... 35 minutes early.

I spotted a Starbucks not far off and so decided to grab myself a warming cappuccino, with extra chocolate sprinkles obvs, and take a slow walk back to Her Majesty's Passport Office.  Despite the vain attempts to communicate my name correctly to the barista of Eastern European origin, my coffee was still delivered with with the now familiar cup marking ... Beth. Sigh.

The actual appointment was surprisingly on time and trouble free and so once I had handed over the extortionate fee at the cashier's desk I descended the two flights of stairs and started out of the building.  Ooooh, hang on a minute, better make a trip to the loo before I leave given that I have 4 hours to waste walking the streets of London.
"Excuse me.  Could you tell me where the toilets are?"
"Yes Miss (he will be on my Christmas card list). Up those stairs on the 2nd floor. Opposite the cashier's desk".  Oh good.  I re climbed the stairs I had just descended and barrelled into the Ladies, noting that it could do with a good clean (and quite frankly a squirt of air freshener wouldn't have gone amiss either).  I recall thinking how unusual it was to have several child size basins on the wall at a lower level.  How many toddlers are they expecting in here?  As I came out of the cubicle (having taken great care not to touch anything whilst I was in there and carefully balancing my bag on my knee ... no mean feat when dressed as Scott of the Antarctic I can tell you) I noticed a man washing his hands at one of the basins.  Tutting loudly, I was just about to inform him that he might well want to be making an appointment at Specsavers,  when a horrific thought began to dawn.  Perhaps those weren't child basins after all ...   Oh God!  Quick decision required ... should I just style it out and continue to the washbasin as if nothing was amiss or should I just bolt and run?  I opted for the latter.  When I finally emerged from the 'proper' Ladies next door, ahem ... (well, honestly, they could have made the dress on the sign a bit bigger) I glanced up and noticed two of the Cashiers opposite, who had clearly noticed my earlier error, nudging each other and guffawing into their tills.  Time to make a hasty exit I think!

Right, so, only another 4 hours to wait.  Ooh, look ... Marks &Spencer ... maybe I'll pop in there for some lunch.  After purchasing myself a pot of tea, a cheese and ham toastie and a piece of carrot cake (what?  I had to stretch it out as long as possible didn't I?), I sat myself down at a table to mind my own business.  Clearly not a trait observed by the elderly gentleman who sat himself down at the table next to me.
"Are you going to eat all that?"  Is he talking to me?
"Sorry?  The sandwich?"
"Well, yes ... and the cake"
"Well, yes, I was planning to"
"Oh.  Not on a diet then?"
 Bloody cheek!  (Must have been all the layers I was wearing ... ahem).  Why is it that old people think that they can just say whatever they like?  My 88 year old Mum is exactly the same.  She once looked down at another lady's shoes who was sitting next to us in a cafe and said very loudly "Ughh. How can people wear shoes like that? Aren't they ugly?".  I almost choked on my tea! #nofilter.  Whilst we are on the subject of tea, do servers in M&S these days not know the difference between a milk jug and a cup? What's up with that? Honestly!

Feeling guilty after eating a sandwich AND cake under the scrutiny of 'The Weight Watcher', I figured it was time for a walk and set off towards Buckingham Palace.  Helpfully, it was at this precise moment that my phone battery decided to run out ... thanks so much ... and so unable to seek out directions, it was only after a very long detour that I arrived at The Mall.  I strolled round St James's Park, wandered along Birdcage Walk and stopped to watch the Queen's Guard going through their paces at Wellington Barracks, before finally arriving at the Palace itself.  I had forgotten how beautiful it actually is and how lucky we are to live so close to all of this incredible history that tourists travel thousands of miles to see.  Ooh look, the flag's flying so she must be in residence. Wonder if she's in?  I could murder a cuppa and a sit down - my feet are killing me (bet she would also have a proper milk jug).

Cold and fed up I decided that it must easily be close to 4pm by now (not being able to check my phone for the time) and so took a slow walk back towards Victoria.  As I approached the Passport office, I looked around for a clock in case I was a few minutes early.  Ah yes, here's one .... 2.35pm!!!!  Oh come on! Another cappuccino and the longest half an hour in history looking through the magazine rack in WHSmith later, I was finally able to collect my shiny new passport and head back home.  Mission accomplished.  Ethan Hunt would be proud.